Back Where We Belong (A Second Chances New Adult Romance)
Read Back Where We Belong (A Second Chances New Adult Romance) Online
Authors: Alana Hart,Caia Fox
Back Where
We Belong
A Second Chance Romance
Alana Hart & Caia Fox
Copyright © 2015 Alana Hart & Caia Fox
All rights reserved worldwide.
No
part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any
form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the
prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental. Please note that this work is intended only
for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
Published by Hartfelt Books
Editing: Craft Write Editing
Template
Designer: Elwynn Cottage
SNEAK PEAK!
A love destroyed. A life in
ruins.
How can there ever be a
second chance for us?
I wonder what a walk along the
beach entails. It's midnight. We're not going to be building sandcastles.
“Are you cold?”
“No.”
“You're shivering a bit. This car
has a heater. It might even work.”
He adjusts the controls and warm
air blasts out. “Polar to tropical at the touch of a button.”
I laugh. “Every modern
convenience.”
“And even air conditioning,” he
says, and winks, winding down his window and then winding it back up.
We're almost there. I wish the drive
was longer. I feel safe with Luke in a moving car, but we're at the beach in no
time at all and getting out. He puts his arm around me and draws me to him. He
kisses me gently, just a touch of his lips on mine, twice, butterfly-light
kisses.
“You look like you're worried I'm
about to eat you up,” he says. “I can just take you home if you like.”
I don't want him to take me home.
“Let's walk on the beach. It's a nice night.”
A nice night? Is that all I can
say? Crap.
He holds my hand and we walk
along the sand. I feel the cool grains between my toes where my sandals kick up
the sand. The waves are slow, lapping the beach then receding in an endless
rhythm.
“Do you like living here?” I ask.
“I like living by the sea. But
there are four kids between five and seventeen, plus me and Mom and Dad at
home. We're living on top of each other all the time. In summer there’s not
even any school. It's like a zoo at times.”
“It does sound like chaos. But
it's better than when there's just you.”
“You're an only child then?”
“Yes, I'm not sure if they only
wanted one or couldn't have any more children. I think I put them off having
any more. I expect I got in the way of Dad's work and Mom's social life.”
“You're looking sad again. We
can't have that. I like it better when you laugh.” He squeezes my hand.
“Race you to that rock” He points
to a dark jagged mass jutting out from the sea onto the beach about three
hundred yards away. “Ready? One...two...three.”
He takes off, and I run after
him. We tumble onto the cold sand when we reach the rock, out of breath and
laughing.
“That's better.” He looks at me
in that intense way he has and he kisses me, his lips soft at first and then
more insistent, his hands holding me, pressing me so close to him that I'm sure
he'll feel my heart thud against his chest through our clothes. I can't help
responding to the feeling of his lips on mine, the gentle probing of his
tongue, his hard body, and I open my mouth to him and kiss him right back, the
sound of the waves in the soft night air providing the perfect backdrop for
that kiss.
“Much better,” he says gently,
kissing my nose when we finally part, a little breathless.
We lean against the rock. There's
no one on the beach. It's like our own private space. The sky is pitch black. A
few stars are out, but there's no moon.
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Contents
MADISON
“You can make them bounce,” he
says.
I look up, startled. The mist is
closing in, swirling around me. The beach is virtually empty, but I didn't
notice. I’ve been throwing stones into the sea for I don't know how long. Has
he been watching me all that time?
“Look, I'll show you.” He
selects a stone and throws it, making it skip across the water three of four
times.
I laugh. It's the first time I've
so much as cracked a smile all day. Blame my parents. They are nothing to laugh
about. I swear their fights are getting worse. They don't seem to care how much
their bickering affects me. We’re supposed to be on vacation. Some break! At
home or at our beach house in Sandy Cove, it makes no difference. They argue
just the same.
“Luke Baroncini, at your
service,” he says.
I look at him through the gloom.
“Italian,” I say, without
thinking how rude that might sound. Italian name. Dark Italian looks. A bit
wild. Thick dark hair. Brown eyes that could seduce a girl at fifty paces.
Tall. Dark. Handsome. Dangerous.
“Hundred percent American,” he
says. “My family on the other hand— very Italian.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I'm Madison.
Madison Collins.”
“Nice to meet you Madison.
Madison Collins. Very American.”
“Yes.” I laugh. My parents are
classic examples of American white, middle class ambition. At that moment, I
decide I hate them with a passion for being who they are, for bringing me here,
for ignoring me while they battle out their differences and continue to take
endless calls from work and friends as if nothing else matters.
Well, maybe I'll forgive them for
bringing me here. I like Sandy Cove a whole lot more now than I did five
minutes ago.
“You try it,” he says.
I don't know what he means for a
moment.
“Here's a good one.” He hands me
a flat, smooth stone. “Throw it like this.”
He picks up another stone and
throws. It skims over the surface of the water three times before it
disappears.
I copy his actions as best I can
and throw the stone he gave me, but it plops into the water ten yards away.
We both laugh. I like the way his
eyes crinkle when he's amused.
“You need more practice. It helps
to live near the beach. You here for the summer?”
“Yes, last before college.” I
make a face.
“You don't seem very happy about
it.”
“College will be okay.”
“Then you don't like it here?”
“Not that either.” This place is
looking more interesting by the minute. “It's just, you know...family stuff.”
“Designed to drive you crazy,” he
says. “Guaranteed. Even though they love you.”
I'm not so sure about the love
part. I shrug.
“I know just the cure for the
summer blues,” he says.
“What?”
“Ice cream. Chocolate. With
sprinkles on top.”
I smile. “The answer to
everything. I knew it all along. I just forgot.”
“Chocolate ice cream it is then.”
He holds out his hand, a question on his face.
I take his hand. What am I doing?
I don't know this guy. He's too smooth. He can't be more than a couple of years
older than me, but he's so much more confident.
I know I shouldn't go with him.
But his fingers feel cool and dry, just a bit sandy from when he picked up the
stones. I can feel the strength of his grip. I like that. For some reason, his
hand makes me think he's loyal and dependable. That's unlikely given how he
approached me on the beach. He probably picks up girls all the time like that.
But that's how his hand feels.
He smiles, and I think he’s happy
that I'm going with him. My heart thuds a little. Even if he's not luring me
away to an unknown fate, there's danger in that smile.
There's a cafe just along the
beach. He buys two bowls of ice cream, and we sit down.
“So Madison, tell me about you,”
he says.
I can't speak for a moment. My
thoughts are all over the place after watching him lick ice cream from his
spoon.
“Not much to tell really. Typical
American childhood. Nothing remarkable.”
“You're more remarkable than you
think you are.” He looks at me, and I blush. With my dark hair and pale skin,
I've never been one of those golden blonde popular girls, flirting like they
were born knowing what to say, how to look. Most of the guys at school take no
notice of me. It's like I fade into the scuffed walls of the classroom or
something. No one ever looks at me the way Luke Baroncini is.
“No, seriously,” he says, never
taking his eyes off me. “I noticed you right away on the beach. There's
something about you that makes me want to...feed you ice cream.”
We laugh. This guy is something
else. He's so obviously used to sweet talking to all the girls who descend on
Sandy Cove every year for the summer, I should tell him where to go. But I
don’t. I feel warm inside at his words. Because he's sitting here with me
eating ice cream. Because I'd like to believe he means it. And in some other
universe, maybe he does.
“What about you?” I say. “Tell me
about you.” I want to take the attention off me. I've never been comfortable
with people focusing on me too closely.
“Unremarkable Italian-American
childhood,” he says, smiling. “I help my parents out in their restaurant. I've
finished school. No college for me.”
“You don't want to go?”
Everyone I know back in Greenwich
is going to college just like me. I hadn't thought about doing anything else.
“There's no money for it with
five of us at home. But it would just delay things anyway. I want to work for
myself.”
“Like your parents.”
“Not like them. They're good
people, but they work too many hours for too little reward. But they've taken
on another waiter now, and my uncle in Chicago said I could go and learn the
ropes from him.”
“You're going away?” Too late I
realize how desperate that sounds, but it just came out like that. Luke is the
most exciting thing that ever happened to me at Sandy Cove—or anywhere for that
matter. Yes, one ice cream. Ten minutes in a cafe with a dark-haired, brown-eyed
cute guy. Most exciting time ever. I know. That's how pathetic my life is.
“No, not yet. After the summer
when things calm down in the restaurant. You sound like you would miss me.”
I blush. I want the black and
white checked floor of the ice cream parlor to swallow me up.
“What does your uncle do?” I
manage to ask.
“He started with nothing, and now
he's got one of the biggest car dealerships in the Chicago area. I can learn a
lot from him. I'll get something going myself closer to home after that. Where's
home for you?”
“Greenwich.”
“New York? The Village?”
“No, Greenwich, Connecticut.”
“I can imagine you in a leafy
suburb,” he says. “Large lawn. White picket fence.”
He's not far wrong. “Without the
fence,” I say, “otherwise spot on.”
“I've got to get back to the
restaurant,” he says.
That will be that then. He's
letting me down gently. It was nice while it lasted. Something to remember,
despite the embarrassment and me being such a loser. I know I should have
flirted or said something crazy to keep him interested. Guys like that expect
girls who know what to say, girls who make them laugh.
He stands up and my heart sinks.
I'm sitting there with two empty bowls of ice cream, feeling worse than I did
when I ran out of the house earlier. Not good. Not good at all.
“Shall we walk back along the
beach?” he says. “I'm parked that way. Where are you staying?”
“My parent have one of the
beachfront houses.” I'm smiling again. I wish I could keep my cool. Does every
emotion have to show on my face?
“Great location,” he says.
“And you?”
“Above the restaurant across the
bay at Silver Point. It's pretty crowded with everyone there. Another reason to
move out.”
We walk in silence for a bit
through the mist, the waves breaking quietly on the shore.
“I think my parents are going to
get a divorce.” Why did I tell him that? I have absolutely no idea. He's not
going to care. Stupid Madison.
“Why do you think that?”
At least he's not ignoring me.
That's something. I have to tell someone. I've got no one else to talk to here
in Sandy Cove.
“Their arguments are getting
worse. They used to gripe at each other. Then they started shouting. Now they
are yelling like they hate each other. All. The. Time.”
He takes my hand and squeezes it
gently as if he cares what's happening at home. I know he doesn't. How can he?
I only just met him. But it helps. I like the feel of his hand in mine again.
He doesn't let go.
“Sometimes you just have to let
them get on with it,” he says. “Nothing you can do, but it sucks.”
We arrive at the parking lot, and
Luke leads me over to a wreck of a car. I want to laugh. I wonder if it will
make the few miles to Silver Point.
“Yours?” I ask.
“Yes.” He's grinning like he
doesn't care that he has the worst car there. By a long shot. “My uncle gave it
to me to fix up, but I like it just as it is. It has personality.”
“It has that all right. And rust.
In spades.” I can't help smiling.
“You don't like Mrs. Murgatroyd?”
he says, hand on heart. “I'm cut to the quick.”
“Mrs. Murgatroyd? You call your
car Mrs. Murgatroyd?”
“After my first grade teacher.
What can I say? I had a crush on her. She was my first love.”
I giggle. I can imagine Luke as a
small boy, already charming his teacher. He has such a cheeky look about him.
“Anyway, my other car's a
Porsche,” he says.
“Is it?”
“Would it matter if it was?”
“No.”
“No then.”
We both laugh, and he looks at
me, hesitating as if he's not sure what to say. But he doesn't say anything. My
heart is pounding just from the way he's looking into my eyes. His gaze is so
intense, I can't look away. It's as if we are in some space-time bubble in that
deserted parking lot in the mist, him looking at me and me looking at him.
He looks at my mouth then, and I
gasp as he leans against the car and pulls me to him and kisses me slowly and
gently like that's what he intended to do all along. I hardly know this guy and
he's kissing me, the slight stubble of his face in contrast with his soft lips,
his hands on my back and his hard body brushing against mine. Yet I don't pull
away in fright. I don't want to. He smells delicious—a hint of subtle
aftershave, his own Luke musky-masculine scent, ivory soap and chocolate ice
cream.
We pull apart. The kiss was
brief, but my heart is pounding and I'm breathing heavily. We both are.
“I really have to go now. I'll
see you if you're on the beach tomorrow,” he says.
He kisses me quickly on the lips
again and gets in the car. He rolls down the window. “Don't let them get you
down,” he says and zooms off surprisingly smoothly in his wreck. I was
expecting clouds of smoke from the exhaust or the engine to backfire, at least.
I have to think for a moment what
he means by his parting shot, because far from being down, I am on Cloud Nine.
Then I realize he meant my parents. But they can do what they like. I’m smiling
again. Because of Luke.
The mist is getting thicker. I
throw a few stones into the water. They all plop right in, but who cares? I'm
remembering Luke, how he looked, his gentle kisses.
I know I'd better go back to the
house. It's not that they'll wonder where I am, and I'm not hungry, but there's
only so much hanging around you want to do on a beach in the mist when you're
feeling happy.
***
The next day, I'm back there
waiting, hoping he'll show up.
The sun is out and I'm in a
t-shirt and cut-offs, sitting on the sand with a pile of stones I've gathered
and a book I can't be bothered to open. I just keep thinking about Luke. What
if I only imagined how he looked at me? What if he kisses every girl around
just like he kissed me?
It's much busier on the beach
today. There's a toddler who keeps wandering off from his mother. He's
interested in my pile of stones.
“You like them?” I ask.
He nods and picks one up.
I throw one in the water and so
does he, but his plops two feet from the edge of the water and splashes us both
and we laugh.
“Sorry,” his mom says. “I need
eyes in the back of my head with him. You here on vacation?”