Itll always be her, p.1
It'll Always Be Her, page 1
It’ll Always Be Her
The Bliss Cove Series (Adam & Bee)
Nina Lindsey
Contents
Book Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Also by Nina Lindsey
Check out my Nina Lane books!
About the Author
© 2022 Nina Lindsey. All rights reserved.
978-1-954185-24-1
* * *
Cover designed by Violet Duke
* * *
Published by Snow Queen Publishing
* * *
The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the author and copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Book Description
After getting pushed out of the scientific community, renowned physicist Dr. Adam Powers is relegated to working as a consultant…for a ghost hunter show. Talk about hitting rock bottom. At least this gives him the chance to expose supernatural sightings as nothing but a hoax. That is, unless the Bliss Cove librarian locking horns with him succeeds in proving otherwise. The sweet, scrappy woman almost has him believing in the unexplainable—and not just in terms of ghosts.
* * *
Bee Delaney escaped a bad childhood and fought to find her calling in the ramshackle mansion housing her beloved, semi-crumbling library. To save both, Bee sets out to prove a 19th century ghost lives within the very walls the town wants to demolish. Hello, instant tourist attraction! But while every ghostlike event caught on camera gets Bee closer to her goal, it deepens the rift that keeps Adam, and the only other thing she’s wanted more than a safe home, just out of reach.
Binge the entire Bliss Cove series!
* * *
— Bliss Cove Sisters —
THE MOMENT WE KNEW (Aria & Hunter)
ALL WE’LL EVER NEED (Callie & Jake)
EVERYTHING WE HAVEN’T SAID (Rory & Grant)
* * *
— Bliss Cove Bachelors —
THIS TIME WITH HER (Sam & Brooke)
COMING HOME TO HER (Lincoln & Grace)
IT’LL ALWAYS BE HER (Adam & Bee)
Chapter One
This has to work. Please let this work.
Bee Delaney didn’t want to think about how many times in her life she’d appealed for her wishes to come true…only to have them crash and burn like dozens of metaphorical Hindenburgs.
She pulled up the parking brake and peered out the front windshield at the massive Victorian mansion housing the Bliss Cove Library. A number of trucks and beat-up white vans lined the circular driveway, and at least twenty young men were hauling out electronic equipment and cameras, then depositing them on the library’s wraparound front porch.
But what if it doesn’t work?
Bee pushed aside the insidious thought. She reminded herself she was in control—or at least, she had a chance of turning the situation around. She hadn’t had any control when she was a child—all she’d been able to do was cross her fingers and hope on every lucky charm she possessed. But now, she could take action. She could plan a strategy, assemble her weapons, and fight.
And this time, she had an indisputable ally on her side. A partner. A comrade in arms. Yes, she had to prove he existed, but that wouldn’t be too difficult.
She hoped.
Picking up her purse and tote bag, she started up the narrow slope leading from the lower parking lot. Nestled among the trees and silhouetted against the gray October sky and rising sun, the mansion looked like a scene from a fairy tale…albeit an old one with scuffed edges and dog-eared pages.
The asymmetrical, four-story Gardenia House had been built in the 1890s. With a riotous mishmash of Victorian architectural styles, it had steeply pitched roofs and cross gables, pointed arches, lacy gingerbread ornamentation, and several dramatic towers and turrets. An octagonal cupola with windows on all sides sat in the middle of a rectangular platform at the very top of the house.
Every morning when she arrived at work, Bee experienced a little thrill of joy at the sight of the mansion. Though getting on in years and showing signs of wear—some townspeople disparagingly referred to it as “falling apart”—the house still stood proudly overlooking the ocean at the foothills of the California redwood forest.
And Bee intended to ensure it stayed that way.
“Hey, you work here?” A young man holding a black bag jumped from the back of a van. “We can’t get in, and we don’t know where to put our equipment.”
“I’ll open the doors, and you can store everything in the conference room before you set up.” Bee hurried toward the steps, glancing at the other men milling around. “Is Mr. Constantine here?”
“Rumor has it.” The kid rolled his eyes and hauled himself back into the van.
Navigating around the coiled extension cords and tripods, Bee pulled out her key and unlocked the front doors, which creaked in protest as she propped them open.
“Be careful with putting that equipment on the porch,” she called as the men hefted their speakers and monitors. “The boards are getting a little worn.”
Rotten was more like it, but she didn’t want to use that word.
The men surged inside, dumping speakers and electronics on the scuffed hardwood floor of the lobby.
Bee left her purse and bag behind the front desk and went back outside. She flagged down another scruffy young man wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt. “Excuse me, do you know where Mr. Constantine is?”
The guy snorted. “Probably getting his teeth bleached.”
“The dentist doesn’t open until nine.”
He stared at her, then barked out a laugh. “Try his trailer.”
He jerked his thumb toward the lower parking lot, where several large trailers were parked. Bee hurried back to her car and retrieved a coffee tray and a box of baked goods from the back seat before heading over to the trailers.
A sign on the largest trailer—a gleaming white pop-out with light shining around the edges of the shuttered windows—read Clyde Constantine beside a large gold star. She balanced the Sugar Joy treats and the coffee tray in one arm and knocked on the door.
No answer. She knocked louder. “Mr. Constantine?”
The door opened, revealing a handsome, blond man wearing a blue robe so fluffy it looked like it belonged on an alpaca. His smoothly sculpted face reminded her of a Greek statue, even with the prominent cleft in his chin. Every strand of his hair was artfully highlighted a different shade of gold or yellow to create a perfect sun-streaked effect.
Bee almost took a step back. He’s as dazzling in person as he is on TV.
“You’re early.” He looked her up and down in a clear assessment.
“I’m right on time, actually.” Forcing herself out of her starstruck awe, she smiled and tapped her watch. “Eight sharp. Good morning, Mr. Constantine.”
He squinted and pursed his lips at the same time, an expression that distorted his flawless features. Bee noticed that in the early morning light, his eyes were hazel or kind of a watery brown. Maybe the TV lights and cameras made them look bright blue on-screen.
“Where are your supplies?” he asked. “I requested peppermint and tea tree oils. Organic.”
Bee blinked. She’d never heard of putting essential oils in coffee, but perhaps this was a new LA thing. “Er…I’m sorry, but I didn’t get a request for your coffee.”
“Perhaps because I didn’t request coffee.” He smiled thinly, revealing shockingly white, straight teeth. “I don’t intake caffeine. What techniques do you know?”
“Techniques?”
“Ayurveda, Swedish, reflexology…which one is your specialty?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Seriously?” Impatience flickered in his eyes. “Bliss Cove may be a backwater dump, but I was assured I would have all the amenities I require. What kind of lubricant do you use?”
Bee gasped. “Mr. Constantine, that’s an extremely personal question.”
He stared at her as if she were an earwig. “What kind of foot masseuse are you?”
“Oh!” Relief flowed through her, and she laughed. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m Beatrice Delaney, the head librarian and director of the Bliss Cove Library. Not a masseuse, foot or oth erwise. I told your producers I’d be here to meet you and the team at eight for a tour because I have to open the library by nine.” She indicated the coffee. “I brought you coffee and pastries from our local bakery.”
His lip curled slightly as he reached for the door handle. “I don’t eat sugar or drink coffee, and the only person I want to meet right now is a masseuse who can unblock my first chakra. I need to absorb more earth energy.”
Bee nodded, hoping his attitude would improve now that their misunderstanding had been cleared up. “Yes, of course,” she said. “Earth energy is so important. You’ll need to meet our Bliss Cove mystic, Destiny Rose, while you’re here. Perhaps I can—”
“Look, you’re cute and all,” Clyde interrupted, “but it’s in my contract that no one disturbs me until at least ten. Unless you’re a foot masseuse.”
He closed the trailer door with a snap.
Seriously?
Bee stared at the closed door, her heart sinking. She’d fully expected Clyde Constantine to be as charming and charismatic in person as he was both on TV and in all his interviews. So much for expectations.
With a sigh, she adjusted her glasses and started back to the library. She really hadn’t expected to get off on the wrong foot with the celebrity host of Hex or Hoax? Maybe he was just having a bad morning with his blocked chakra. But she’d have to find a way to make amends with him soon if she wanted this whole venture to succeed.
And she desperately wanted it to succeed. It had to succeed, or she’d lose the library, her livelihood, and pretty much her entire reason for having lived in Bliss Cove for the past four years. Invested wasn’t even a strong enough word for her position.
Balancing the coffee tray on top of the pastry box, she hurried past another trailer. Just as she reached the door, it flew open and almost smacked her right in the face.
Startled, she stumbled back with a gasp, her balance wobbling. The coffee tray upended, smashing the paper cups against her chest. All the lids popped off, drenching her in Ooo-La-La Roast, Decaf Dream, and Big Bang Blend.
“Oh, shit.” A deep male voice penetrated Bee’s shock. “Are you okay?”
She blinked, staring down at the mess of coffee dripping off her brand-new lavender suit jacket and white blouse. Somehow, she’d managed to hold on to the pastry box, the lid of which was also now wet and stained.
The male voice muttered something she couldn’t hear—it didn’t sound very polite—before two large hands grabbed the box and crumpled tray from her. “You’d better come in.”
Bee forced her gaze up and found herself staring at a tall, dark-haired man wearing a wrinkled blue T-shirt, at least two days’ worth of scruffy stubble, and a pronounced scowl.
She opened and closed her mouth, unable to get any words past her shock. Why was he scowling at her? He was the one who flung open the door without paying attention to the fact that someone might be walking past.
“What…? Why did you…?” she spluttered.
“Come in.” With an impatient mutter, he tossed the ruined coffee tray into a nearby trash can and jerked his thumb to the interior of the trailer. He clomped up the steps and disappeared inside.
Coffee dripped down the inside of Bee’s bra. Trying to gather her wits, she followed him into the trailer as he turned from the sink at the kitchenette and handed her a damp towel. She dabbed ineffectually at the stains, which spread like a Rorschach inkblot across her jacket and skirt. The Ooo-La-La Roast had even spilled onto her new shoes.
No matter what she did, there was no hope. Her outfit, which she had saved just to wear today, was ruined. Tears suddenly sprang to her eyes.
The man across from her swore softly and strode to the other end of the trailer, which contained a large bed, a sofa, the kitchenette, and a built-in table with bench seats. Though compact and efficient, the effect was ruined because clothes were scattered everywhere. An empty pizza box sat on the sofa, the table was a mess of computer equipment and papers, and stacks of books lay in haphazard, uncategorized piles.
He rummaged in a half-open drawer and tossed her an oversized gray T-shirt and a blue denim shirt. “You can change into those for now.”
“I don’t need…” Bee hiccupped back a sob, somewhat appalled by the fact that she’d let down her guard in front of a stranger—and one associated with the TV production, no less.
“No need to cry over spilt coffee,” he said gruffly.
“I know, it’s just that this is a brand-new outfit, and I…well, never mind.” She lifted her head and took a breath, pulling up her deep-seated self-control to regain her composure.
“Go change,” he said.
“Really, I’m fine.”
He sighed, as if she were being bothersome on purpose, and pointed at the bathroom. Since she was getting more clammy and uncomfortable by the second, and he did owe her one, she grabbed the clothes and stalked into the bathroom. It was no neater than the rest of the trailer, with damp bath towels falling off the racks and a counter cluttered with male-oriented toiletries like heavy-duty razors and shaving soap.
Bee took off her jacket and blouse, dabbed at her damp skin, and pulled the T-shirt over her head. A little shock of awareness went down her spine as she caught a whiff; the shirt held the scent of something clean and masculine like oranges and spice. Not to mention, the cotton was as soft as a cloud—as if it had been washed countless times—and enveloped her in a voluminous mass of warmth.
She shook her head to dislodge the delightful sensation. It had just been a long time since she’d been this intimately close to a man’s clothing…or an actual living, breathing man, for that matter. She was getting distracted.
Time to move on. Nothing this morning had been going as she’d intended, but Bee knew how to pivot and adjust. And she still had a busy day ahead of her, good-smelling shirt or not.
She hitched the denim shirt over her arms and left the bathroom, feeling more than a little foolish in the getup.
He was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, and vestiges of the scowl still darkening his features.
Her heart knocked against her ribs. Now that she was a bit more composed, she could actually take in his formidable physique and striking, if messy, good looks. His features were strong and sharp—thick-lashed eyes offset by angular cheekbones, black eyebrows, and a beautifully well-shaped mouth. The sun streamed through the window, threading his wavy dark hair with strands of gold and casting his face into dramatic planes of shadows and light.
A sudden familiarity struck her. Where had she seen him before? And why couldn’t she place a man who was suddenly making her all fluttery inside?
Of course, he was clearly a slob and probably had holes in his underwear, but she gave him a solid A on the Hot Grouch curve. Maybe even an A+ given the way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and over his impressive biceps, and his worn jeans hugged his long legs, and his chest looked as if it were sculpted from iron and steel, and his—
Bee cleared her throat and held up her crumpled, stained clothes. “Do you have a bag I can put these in?”
He reached under the counter and handed her a plastic Target bag. She dumped her clothes in and nodded. “Thank you for your time. I accept your apology.”
“I didn’t apologize.”
She lifted her chin. “You should have. Who flings open a door in a high-traffic area without checking to see if someone is walking past?”
“Who walks right in front of a door that could open at any second?” he countered.
