You Again: A Shelter Bay novella (Shelter Bay series Book 8) Read online

  You Again

  JoAnn Ross

  Copyright © 2014 by Castlelough Publishing, LLC

  Kindle Edition

  Cover design copyright by Syd Gill Designs

  Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. The characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. All incidents are pure invention and any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A book nerd, a brainiac science guy, and a misplaced killer whale…

  Meghann Quinn wasn’t always a hugely successful author. Adam Wayne wasn’t always a marine biologist studying whales. Back in high school in Shelter Bay, Oregon, she was the shy book nerd helping the brainiac science guy pass English. Meghann had no idea Adam would turn into such a hottie. Adam has no idea their once-upon-a-time sweet summer romance inspired Meghann’s popular teen novels.

  Two shy geeks didn’t have the courage to share their true feelings back then. But now that Meghann’s back in town, they’re pondering life’s important questions. Such as, will Adam ask her to the Snow Ball? And what are they going to do about the lost Orca who shows up on Christmas Eve? And can two nerds get past their initial insecurity to take a second chance on a once-in-a-lifetime love?

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Book

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Excerpt from A Sea Change

  Other Books from JoAnn Ross

  About The Author

  “Destiny! Destiny! No escaping that for me!”

  Young Frankenstein

  1

  After years of waiting tables and bartending all over New York City, struggling not to dump Stoli martinis over the heads of guys who’d pat her butt, and doing temp work where she’d often be expected to appear in a business suit and heels at a moment’s notice and put up with similar Neanderthal behavior, Meghann Quinn considered the ability to work at home in her pajamas one of the best perks of her job.

  Today she’d changed out of her usual writing uniform of yoga pants and oversized Doctors Without Borders T-shirt to meet her editor, who also happened to be her best friend, for lunch. Having arrived early at the restaurant located in the beautiful old Metropolitan Bank building, and after being seated in the upstairs mezzanine she began browsing the web on her phone, catching up with the outside world that she’d lost track of while deep in book-deadline hell.

  Five minutes later, she decided that the young adult romances she wrote—which the New York Times Book Review had said captured the thrills and despair of high school in all its roller coaster glory—seemed rainbow and unicorn cheery compared to world reality these days.

  “Hey.” A familiar voice pulled her out of a depressing op-ed piece about the number of children who were food insecure. “I’m sorry I’m late. In case you haven’t noticed, everyone on the planet has come here to celebrate an iconic New York City Christmas.”

  Meghann put down her phone. “I thought Dickens made London the symbol of Christmas iconicity.”

  “A Christmas Carol is, indeed, iconic,” Caroline Winters agreed as she sat down at the table. “And, as a publishing professional, I sincerely wish it continued to stand at the pinnacle of holiday symbolism. But if a poll were to be taken, at least in this country, I’ll bet the top two winners would be It’s a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street. Which, by the way, is in total gridlock. You’d think the president was in town or something.”

  She blew out a breath as she pulled off a pair of crimson gloves. “I finally decided I’d make better time walking.”

  “Through the snow? In those heels?” Although she hadn’t witnessed Caro’s grand entrance, Meghann figured few men in the Blue Water Grill had missed those legs, clad in black tights displayed to advantage by a thigh-length red sweater dress and over-the-knee stiletto boots. “It’s amazing you even managed to make it up the stairs.”

  “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Caro said. “Though I’ll admit to having a bit of trouble at Herald Square because of all the piles of frozen white stuff on the sidewalk. But proving the holiday spirit is alive in Gotham, a guy who was on his way downtown from the New York Yacht Club had his driver pull over and offered me a ride.”

  “Yay for chivalry.”

  “I know.” Ignoring Meghann’s dry tone, Caro dimpled prettily as she looked through the railing to the bar down below just in time to have a man who could have stepped out of a Ralph Lauren commercial lift a coffee cup in salute to her. “It doesn’t hurt that he’s not only sweet as pie, he’s also hot.”

  Caro had graduated from Ole Miss, home to such disparate authors as Faulkner and Grisham. After deciding that writing involved spending too much time in your own head, she’d moved to New York and worked her way up through the publishing ranks to senior editor. Although she’d lost most of her accent, from time to time a bit of moonlight and magnolias slid into her speech.

  “He’d already had lunch at the club but insisted on waiting downstairs at the bar to take me back to the office. Isn’t that sweet?”

  “As pie,” Meghann agreed.

  “He also volunteered to give you a ride.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I know. You’re Ms. Independent.”

  The waiter chose that moment to arrive to take their orders. “Since nothing gets done the week before Christmas and we’re having the office party this afternoon, I think I’ll start celebrating early with a cranberry pomegranate martini,” Caro decided.

  Having finished her book, Meghann decided she’d earned a celebratory martini. “Make that two.”

  Although the second-floor tables afforded more privacy than downstairs, Caro leaned across the table, clearly not wanting any possible eavesdroppers to hear her. “You have to accept the ride, Meghann, because I want you to meet him. I think he may be The One. And besides, there’s plenty of room. I swear, my entire apartment could fit into the back of his car.”

  “I’m not going to point out that as an editor, you should probably steer clear of hyperbole, but since it’s started snowing again and just in case he is The One”—she put in air quotes with her fingers—“I want to check him out.”

  “Please tell me that you’re not going to grill him the way you did Barry.”

  “Oh, would you be referring to the same Barry who was The One until he texted that he was breaking up with you just in case you’d failed to notice that he’d changed his status to single on Facebook? On, need I remind you Valentine’s Day? Thus suggesting he probably wouldn’t be showing up with roses and chocolate.”

  “Well, there is that.”

  “You’re lucky to be rid of him,” Meghann said. That was absolutely true. She’d never trusted the fast-talking, Armani-suited bond trader.

  “I know. But Shep is nothing like that. We’re going out tonight after I get off work and he even invited me to his parents’ home in Greenwich for Christmas dinner.”

  “Shep?”

  “It’s short for Shepherd. He’s named after his father, who was named after his grandfather, who was named after his great-grandfather. He’s technically a fourth.”

  Which showed a decided lack of origina
lity in the guy’s family, but was still an improvement over being named for a dog breed, Meghann thought as the waiter appeared with their drinks and took their orders.

  After a bit of discussion over menu items, they settled on sharing the pumpkin ravioli with side orders of orange and pomegranate salad.

  “I promise I won’t grill him,” Meghann said once the waiter had left. Unless absolutely necessary.

  “Thank you. And to be honest, I left the office late because although I read all night, I still had to finish reading Leaving Lonely Town.”

  Having been about to take a drink, Meghann lowered her glass to the table. Caro might be her closest friend, but she was also a diligent editor who was excellent at looking at the entire forest on those occasions Meghann had gotten lost in the trees.

  “I love it.”

  Meghann let out a long, relieved breath. After months of living with her fictional characters, she often grew so close to them she tended to lose perspective. “I’m glad. I know you weren’t wild about the proposal.”

  “I liked the proposal. A lot, or I wouldn’t have bought it. But I will admit to having a few qualms about Jason. I worried he could end up a stereotypical high school bad boy tempting wallflower valedictorian Heather away from the seemingly nice guy.

  “But the way you flipped them, by giving wounded Jason so many more sensitivity layers than he showed to the world, and revealing outwardly nice guy Will’s narcissism, (which he’d initially covered so well), worked. I actually got a little teary when, on that last page, Jason finally has his douchenosity, which, of course, he’s only taken on as a defense measure, eroded by the pure power of true teenage love.”

  “I cried when I wrote that,” Meghann admitted.

  “I could tell…I do have one suggestion though.”

  “Oh?” Meghann took a drink of the holiday-bright martini, hoping the change wouldn’t require a complete rethinking of the story she’d spent the past six months living.

  “How wedded are you to the grandfather getting that transplant?”

  “Well, since the notification call that a heart had become available was the only scene I knew when I started the book, I was pretty much writing toward it,” Meghann admitted.

  She knew many writers who plotted out their books with charts, arrows, and collages of their planned storyline. She’d tried that early on in her career and found it had only caused a huge wall between herself and her characters. Because she wrote to find out what happened, she’d learned to trust those characters to lead her through the often foggy woods and the storms that came with teenage life.

  “I think letting him die would work in many ways. It would give Heather a reason to break the rest of the way out of her shy shell so she could provide support for Jason. It could also show how much more secure loving her has made him. That he can lose his grandfather, who was the only person who’d ever truly loved him…”

  “Before Heather,” Meghann pointed out.

  “Before Heather,” Caro agreed. “But in the past, when emotions threatened to penetrate that defensive shell he’d developed, he’d become outwardly even more of a bad boy. Now, while the rest of his family—who’ve always held themselves up as models of perfection—are greedily battling over the inheritance, it’s obvious that he’s the only one who truly cares that the old man has died.

  “But he’s also resigned to the knowledge that his grandfather lived a long and fruitful life and can now be reunited with the wife he never stopped loving. Even during all these years since her tragic passing in that plane crash.”

  “Because he understands that kind of forever-after love for the first time in his life.” Meghann heard the distinct mental click that told her once again, Caro was right.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “I think healing takes time. And Jason will still have some problems to face. But readers will know that he’ll get through them. Not so much because of Heather’s love and support, which he’ll always have. But because she’s opened him up to accepting his emotions without always judging and beating himself up over them.”

  “So, you’re okay with that?”

  “Absolutely.” More than okay. Once again, Caro had come through. In fact, Meghann was already looking forward to writing Jason’s three-tissue good-bye scene with his gramps. “Thanks.”

  “Just doing my job. Thank you for making me look so good these past years. Not to mention the year-end bonuses that buy more shoes than anyone but Carrie Bradshaw should actually own. And you don’t have to remind me that she was fictional. I can tell the difference. At least most of the time.” She lifted her glass. “To great sales and yet more new readers joining your legion of fans.”

  They toasted, then admired the beautifully plated lunch the waiter placed on the table with appropriate ceremony.

  “I do have something else to tell you,” Caro said.

  “Oh?” Meghann took a bite of pasta and nearly swooned as the browned butter and sage sauce contrasted perfectly with the sweetness of the pumpkin.

  “You received an email.”

  “And that’s unusual why?” Because she’d learned early on how enthusiastic her young audience could be, after wearing out two assistants in a six-month period, Meghann had had taken Caro’s advice and had all mail sent directly to her publisher.

  “This one’s for a fundraiser.”

  “Again, not unusual.” Another thing she’d learned early on in her career was how many groups there were out there in the world raising money for various causes. And although she did her best, she’d also had to accept that she couldn’t save the entire world single-handedly.

  “True. But the guy who wrote the letter says he used to know you.”

  Meghann put down her fork. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who?”

  “Adam Wayne. In Shelter Bay, Oregon. Which is where you grew up, right?”

  Adam? Seriously? And how was it that just hearing his name caused her unruly heart to skip a beat?

  “I moved around a lot.” Major understatement there. “But I did go through high school in Shelter Bay.” While living in three different foster homes, but hey, who was counting? Meghann had long ago accepted that she continued to live those years, which were both the best and worst of times, through her semi-autobiographical teen novels.

  “It took a while to reach me because you keep the mail room busy and we have a couple of layers of interns culling out the more personal things to send to me.” She reached down into an alligator bag the size of Texas, pulled out the folded printout, and handed it across the table.

  Just seeing his name after all these years caused Meghann to be bombarded by so many emotions she wouldn’t be surprised if her body was emitting flashing lights as bright as the ones wrapped around the restaurant’s pillars.

  “So you do know him?”

  “I do. Did.” She skimmed the single page, noting with some measure of pride that Adam had remembered his punctuation rules.

  “From the way your face lit up, then turned the color of your martini, I sense a story.”

  “I tutored Adam our senior year.”

  “Ah, he was one of those jocks you wrote all the book reports for.” The ones who never asked you out, Meghann knew Caro was thinking but did not say.

  “No. Adam was a science nerd whose IQ was off the charts. But for some reason, except for science fiction and fantasy genres, he couldn’t get his mind wrapped around the classics that were being taught in class. And while he could probably program Java in his sleep, his punctuation skills were nonexistent. Which was a problem because, although everyone else had pretty much let him slide through because of his mad ninja genius skills, his senior-year English teacher refused to allow anyone to leave his class without an ability to express thoughts in writing. All the blue marks on his essays had knocked his grade down to a D minus. Which was dragging his GPA down into the danger zone when I was brought in.”

  “So, since you were the class bookworm, you were recrui
ted?”

  “Pretty much. Although my senior year foster parents insisted on giving me what the state gave them for my care, every dollar helped, so I picked up some extra money tutoring on the side.”

  She left unsaid that by the time the first hour lesson was over, Meghann would have tutored Adam Wayne for free. “I also was in charge of the library at a summer camp for separated foster kids, but that was volunteer.”

  “I’d guess the situation must have hit close to home.”

  “You’d guess right. I’m not going to lie and say that it was easy being a foster kid, but I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have families broken up and siblings sent to different homes.” The nonprofit camp had allowed children to reunite for two weeks each year. “Adam ran the science workshops.”

  “Ah.” Caro tilted her head and studied Meghann as she took a sip of her martini. “Another story? A camp counselor romance?”

  “No. Not really.”

  That one summer night, when Adam, now Dr. Adam Wayne, Ph.D., had given Meghann her first kiss couldn’t really count as even a short story. Except for the fact that it had been better than she’d ever imagined any kiss could be. Even superior to those romances she’d checked out from the bookmobile that had arrived in Shelter Bay every two weeks before the branch library had been built. There’d been more stolen kisses, but by Labor Day Meghann had learned the hard way that summer romances were a lot like sandcastles, predestined to crumble and wash away.

  “So now the boy genius has returned to his hometown to open a hands-on science museum for local kids.”

  “Apparently so.” Adam had written asking for a donation of books for a fundraiser. Which made sense since she was undoubtedly on the donator list for the construction of the library.

  “I suppose you want me to take care of having some of the autographed copies we keep on hand sent out?” Caro said.

  “No.” While she hadn’t seen or heard from Adam for ages, the request was personal enough that Meghann wanted to handle it herself. “Since there’s a phone number with his signature, I’ll give him a call myself after lunch. By that time he should be at work.” Both the contact email address and phone number below his signature belonged to Coastal Community College in Shelter Bay.