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  “Fish!” I scream as I run out a few feet to my left, but no sooner do I dart in her direction than she’s already dashed past me the other way. The rather large dog barks up a storm with his tail pointed up and ears standing erect as he does his best to chase her.

  “No! Stop! Fish!” I howl in a tizzy as my sweet cat bolts my way, and just as I’m about to catch her, she zooms right between my legs and so does that pesky pooch, knocking me off balance in the effort. “Oh no!” I buck backward and trip over a piece of driftwood. My legs do a little tap-dance as I try to regain my footing, but it’s no use. I land smack on my bottom in the wet mushy sand as water pools around me in what feels like a hostile foamy display.

  “Oh God.” A sense of panic grips me as I struggle to rise. The memory of being trapped in that whiskey barrel comes rushing back uninvited, and suddenly every muscle in my body threatens to paralyze with fear. I struggle to rise just as a wall of water engulfs me from behind and I’m left gasping and reeling as I get sucked out to sea a good ten feet.

  Can’t breathe!

  Can’t see, think, or feel.

  It’s as if every nightmare I’ve ever had has suddenly come to life and sprung on me from behind in the form of a killer wave.

  “Hey!” A pair of arms gesticulate wildly as a man with dark hair wearing a full three-piece suit wades in cautiously, yet quickly, in an effort to give me a hand. “I’ve got you!” he shouts as I flail and gasp, trying my best to find my footing as another wave crashes overhead—this time right over the two of us.

  “Geez!” he shouts as he clasps his hand onto mine. Only, instead of pulling me toward shore, a swell pulls us both out farther in the opposite direction.

  “Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs, but with the wind picking up and the violent waves sloshing around us, I can hardly hear myself.

  My feet lose their grip of the bottom and my body demands to move with the wild current, but I’m holding onto the man in his nice three-piece suit as if he were a life preserver.

  “Swim with the horizon!” he shouts as he does his best to reel me in, but the violent swells have an entirely different idea.

  “I’m going to die!” I shout as I do my best to hoist myself back in the direction of the shore where I spot both Fish and that naughty freckled cutie pie, who thought it was a good idea to give a chase in the first place, both seated a safe distance from the waterline as they watch us struggle our way to safety. “Fish! Call for help!”

  “Duck!” the man in the three-piece suit shouts and I get pulled under as another hostile wave crashes overhead.

  We cork back up to the surface and he reels me in tight, wrapping an arm around my waist, and I see him for the very first time. My heart detonates just once at the sight of him—dark hair plastered to his head, gorgeous bone structure, a peppering of dark stubble gracing his cheeks, but it’s his eyes—I’ve never seen such light gray eyes. They’re stunning. And in turn they add a breathtaking allure to his already comely features.

  Beautiful. Just that word alone roams through my mind and a breath hitches in my throat at the thought.

  For a moment, it’s as if all of time stands still and those glowing eyes of his are conducting a takedown of all my good senses.

  “Are you all right?” His voice is husky and firm, and there’s a hard look in his eyes and, dare I say, an air of superiority about him in general.

  He’s good-looking and he knows it. I’m far too familiar with his type. But he has a scholarly appeal to him, and something about him screams the fact he’s been wounded a time or two. I try to steady my gaze over his to see if I can get a read on his thoughts, but there seem to be too many components distracting me at the moment.

  “Never been better.” I’m not sure why I spouted the lie. Considering my wet and wild predicament, I’ve never been worse.

  Another wave slaps over our heads and we’re sucked out to sea once more before being propelled at inhuman speeds in the opposite direction as the ocean vomits us back to shore.

  “Oh, wow,” I pant as I get on all fours in an attempt to gain my bearings. “We survived. We’re not dead.” I claw at the sand as I inch my way farther from the hostile water.

  “Of course we’re not dead. Come here,” he groans as he struggles to rise himself and he gives me a hand.

  “Thank you,” I say and I’m about to introduce myself, or hyperventilate from the trauma that just occurred, when I spot that freckled dog growling at Fish, and Fish bravely standing her ground as she makes sure I’ve survived my seaside adventure. “Oh no, you don’t,” I say, charging my way back to dry land. “My cat is not a snack or a toy or anything in between.”

  The dog bullets down the sandy stretch of the cove and the man in the sopping wet suit takes off after him.

  “Sherlock!” he shouts as he runs lethargically, and I do the same as I head for the inn.

  “Come on, Fish,” I say and she lets out a hair-raising roar before hopping like a bunny all the way back to the Cottage Café.

  I’ll see you there, Bizzy! she calls out. I may never venture near the shoreline again. And so help me, if I see that beast again… On second thought, so help him.

  Trust me, Fish, I never want to see the shoreline again myself.

  I’m sure I could easily convince Fish to relocate—but only after she exacts her revenge. I’m sure of it.

  It’s going to be a long, soggy day, and I’m already wishing I could head back to my cottage and swaddle in a blanket in front of a roaring fire with a good book and a cup of hot cider.

  After I wring myself out, I carefully make my way back into the building. The inn itself is cavernous inside, with wooden floors distressed in a gray and white marbled color. There’s a large grand staircase that leads to a second level where most of the rooms are located. The doors and wainscoting, along with the counter that frames the front of the expansive foyer, are a rich dark wood heavily inlaid with carvings. There’s a large event room on the south side of the building that’s seen just about every celebration you can imagine and a formal dining room for the guests of the facility. The Cottage Café on the east end of the building leads right to the sandy shores of Cider Cove and is open to guests and to the public as well.

  Fish is already seated on her favorite perch, the white marble counter that spans the front of the reception area.

  Emmie bats her inch-long lashes my way in horror. Emmie and I look as if we could be sisters with the same long, wavy, dark hair, same frosty blue eyes, olive skin, and pouty lips. We happen to share the same formal moniker as well, Elizabeth, but we’ve devolved in different directions with that one. When I was born, Macy, my older sister, couldn’t say my name properly, so Bizzy it was. And Emmie was an adorable nickname that her mother gave her and it simply stuck.

  “What happened to you?” She trots over with a box of tissues and dabs the water from dripping off my nose.

  “I thought I’d make sure the ocean was still salty and wet for the party tonight. Check and check,” I say as I make my way to the front desk and run my eyes over the ledger quickly.

  “Oh my goodness, Bizzy!” Emmie sucks in a quick lungful of air as she quickly puts the traumatizing pieces together. “Are you all right? Can I get you something? A cup of hot coffee? An apple walnut cinnamon roll?”

  I can’t help but give a weak smile at that last one. That was my newest brainchild, the very dessert I dreamed up and tried to bake but turned the entire batch into a pan of rock-hard Frisbees. Thankfully, Emmie took my suggestion and it’s been a hit at the Cottage Café all month.

  But, before I can answer, the bell chimes at the entry, and in through those oversized doors comes a heart-stoppingly handsome man in a soggy suit and a leashed freckled beast striding in by his side, and I can’t help but give a wry smile at the two of them.

  Emmie leans in so close I can feel her body heat beginning to warm me. “Mother of all things holy. Can I keep him?”

  “I’d say yes, but
I think he’s bad luck,” I tease—mostly.

  He smirks at the thought. “I’d contest that theory.” His pale gray eyes needle into mine. I’m pretty sure you’re the one with bad luck, sweetie.

  I gasp as if he said the words out loud.

  See what I mean? Prying into people’s minds is a hazard of a superpower no one should be privy to.

  “I beg your pardon?” I’m quick to contest it. “My innocent cat was minding her own business when your lumbering beast decided to chase her into the ocean.”

  The poor pooch whimpers and sulks as if he understood me, and I have no doubt he did.

  The man straightens. The muscles in his jaw tense a moment, and it only gives him a meaner, sexier appeal, and I want to scream and throw things because he only grows more obnoxiously handsome by the moment, and perhaps more obnoxious in general, too.

  “My beast was simply following his instincts.” Those blue eyes, though. I could stare at them all day, he says internally as he openly inspects my features, and I can feel my cheeks heat up ten degrees at least.

  Does he like my blue eyes? Most likely he likes Emmie’s blue eyes, but—he is looking right at me. I try to pry into his thoughts to see what criticism or disparaging remarks are lurking around up there but there don’t seem to be any.

  He flexes a wry smile my way. “Who do I see about checking in?”

  Fish saunters over and sits between us as if she were showing up for duty.

  Don’t do it, Bizzy, Fish warns. Tell them to find shelter elsewhere. Like Connecticut.

  I wrinkle my nose at my sweet cat before clearing my throat.

  “That would be me,” I say, tapping over the keyboard until today’s check-in file pops up on the screen. “Name, please.”

  “Jasper Wilder,” he grunts it out as if he were angry at the fact.

  Emmie giggles as she hovers over my shoulder.

  “Jasper Wilder,” she whispers into my ear as if it were a secret.

  “Yes, I heard.” I bite down over a smile. Emmie and I happen to have a soft spot for the quasi-vampire related name.

  I glance down the list of names due for arrival today and note in horror he’s leased the cottage in front of mine.

  I suck in a quick breath. “You’ll be a resident?” I look up at him and he blinks a satisfied smile.

  “That’s right. I’ve leased a two-bedroom with a fenced yard.”

  “Wow, that’s—just great.” I have a feeling Fish will never let me hear the end of it. “What’s your pooch’s name again?” I say, hiking up on my tiptoes to get a better look at him from over the counter, and the poor thing is crouched low with his eyes pinned on Fish as if he feared for his life—as he should. Fish might be small, but she is mighty.

  “Sherlock. Sherlock Bones.” His lips curve into a smile as Emmie giggles herself into a conniption.

  “Sherlock Bones!” She pokes me in the ribs. “That’s so clever. Isn’t that clever, Bizzy?”

  “Bizzy?” His dark brows bounce as if my name amused him. I can’t say I blame him. My name has amused people for over two and a half decades now.

  A warm laugh bounces through me. “That’s right, Bizzy Baker. And this is my cat, Fish,” I say, nodding her way. “I’m the manager here at the Country Cottage Inn. And if you need anything at all—”

  “Ask for me.” Emmie snaps the key to his new home off the dowel next to her. “In fact, I’ll take you both to your cottage and make sure you’re well acclimated.”

  Jasper looks my way, his icy eyes searing over mine, and try as I might, I can’t get a bead on what he’s thinking. It’s as if he knows what I’m capable of and has suddenly erected a shield over his mind. Not that it’s possible, and not that I should be too concerned about his errant thoughts that may or may not be complimenting my eyes.

  I bite down over my lip as I look his way once again. Fine. I might be a little more than interested to know about his errant thoughts. He’s a looker. You’d have to be dead not to notice how arrestingly handsome he is. And judging by how fast my heart is pounding at the thought of him, I’m certainly not dead.

  They’re halfway to the door when a thought comes to me.

  “There’s a bonfire on the beach tonight! All guests are welcome to come.”

  He turns my way and grunts in lieu of a response, and I grunt right back like a knee-jerk reaction.

  I watch as Emmie chats away a mile a minute as she leads him and his adorable dog to their cottage.

  “Jasper Wilder,” I mutter under my breath.

  He’s far too ornery and perhaps far too handsome for my taste.

  I catch a glimpse of him through the window as he walks farther from the building. He pauses for a moment, turning my way, and my heart thumps wildly as if contesting my protests.

  “He’s not the one for me,” I insist.

  Is he?

  Chapter 2

  There is no more of a majestic sight than Cider Cove in the fall. Well, it’s almost fall, thus the giant banner strewn across the front of the Cottage Café that reads Farewell to Summer Bonfire! The café itself is attached to the inn with the rear dining patio that butts up to the white powder sand.

  Emmie and I have spent the remainder of the afternoon, and the early evening, tending to every last detail, including pre-packing the s’mores kits that are such a hit on this night every year.

  An entire mass of humanity has poured out into our tiny corner of the world just in time to witness a glorious citrine sunset. A live band plays from a platform constructed over the sand just down the way from the inn, and it’s wall-to-wall bodies as they sway to the music.

  I made sure to keep Fish at home for the night. There will be far too many people for me to ensure her safety, and I want to do just that.

  She made it no secret she wasn’t pleased to be left out of the festivities, but I gave her a few treats along with her Fancy Beast cat food in an effort to make it up to her. Fish has been such a delight to me in the last few months since she’s been in my life. I feel just as protective over her as if she were my child. I can’t imagine having an entire human to care for twenty-four seven. Lord knows, a furry child with a mind of her own is about all I can handle.

  Emmie rocks her hip into mine. “So when is Jasper getting here?” You know you can’t stop thinking about him.

  I balk at the thought. Emmie might be my best friend since childhood, but she has no idea that I’m capable of reading her mind. As afraid as I might be of water or tight spaces, I’m ten times more terrified of the masses finding out about my not-so-cute little foible. Reading minds isn’t a cute hobby or a zany quirk. It’s an invasive ability that no one should be capable of. As much as I love Emmie, she can’t keep a secret to save her life. And since it’s my life on the line, I thought I’d spare her the trouble of trying to keep it under wraps.

  “I’m not thinking about him.” I suck in a quick breath once I realize I just responded to her mind rather than her question. “I don’t know if he’s coming. I simply extended the invite his way. We’ll see what happens. And before you go there, every guest is invited tonight and you know that.”

  “Jasper Wilder,” she says it low and husky as if trying his name on for size. “Do you think he’s a vampire?”

  A few years back, both Emmie and I were obsessed with a young adult book series that featured a rather sexy vampire with that very name. I must admit, it’s not a moniker you hear very often—unless, of course, you’re speaking of the aforementioned fictional vampire.

  “Vampire?” an elderly female croaks from behind and my spirit brightens at the sound of that warm familiar voice.

  “Now look what you’ve done, Emmie. You’ve woke the dead,” I tease as I turn to find Georgie heading this way. Georgie has long gray hair intermingled with a dusty brown shade. Her face is relatively smooth, save for a smattering of crow’s feet, despite having already spent eighty-two years on the planet, and she’s dressed head to toe in a sparkling pink and
black kaftan, her signature attire.

  Georgie Conner is the one person who knows about my so-called gift—a complete accidental gleaning. And yet, she seems to genuinely appreciate it, too.

  “There are no vampires, Georgie. I can assure you of that.” I pull her in for a quick embrace and my nose twitches as we part ways. Georgie reeks of something and it’s not her usual spiced cinnamon perfume.

  “You like?” Her eyes are wide as she nods as if trying to get me to go along with the farce. “Here”—she shoves an armpit in my face, and I inch back, nearly tripping over a potted plant—“don’t be shy! It’s a new patchouli deodorant from Lather and Light. Macy is letting me test-market the stuff. Get a good whiff. You, too!” She aims her weaponized kaftan Emmie’s way.

  “No, thank you,” Emmie says, fanning the air between us. “I’m sorry, but it smells less like anything the Lather and Light would sell and more like your latest kill.”

  Not only is Georgie a celebrated artist who specializes in mosaics, but she’s an avid hunter as well. In the grand scheme of her nutty granola-ness, it almost seems contradictory in nature, but she insists she’s a proponent of thinning the herds.

  I’ve known her for going on a decade, and she’s yet to kill a single thing. That’s what I like best about her.

  “You don’t say kill.” She wags her finger at Emmie. “You call it dinner and you thank the creature for feeding you before you put it in your mouth. Now back to the topic at hand. When did we get vampires? I’ve been itching to hang with a coven.”

  “There are no vampires,” I whisper.

  Georgie waggles her brows. There are and you know it. Save a couple cute ones for me, would you? I have a thing for being bitten after midnight.

  A giggle brews in my chest because I have a feeling it’s true.