A lead on love

Sabrina Ryan is a successful reporter—until a mistake sends her back to her hometown. But when she takes a job at the local paper, she finds an unexpected perk: an interview with the town’s oh-so-sexy mayor, Noah Barnes. He’s hot, he’s charming and suddenly her days are looking up.

But even as things heat up between them, Noah seems hesitant. Okay, so Sabrina has a reputation for slanting her articles to get what she wants. That doesn’t mean she’s using him, does it? As Sabrina starts to earn Noah’s trust—and glimpses the man behind the mayoral role—she finds it’ll take more than words to win his heart.

When he turned to go, Sabrina caught his forearm

Her fingers felt warm through the material of his dress shirt. “Will you think about the interview?”

Her face was open and seemingly sincere. But Noah knew how easy it was to fake emotions for the camera or, in this case, the potential interviewee. “Yes.” He let her hand remain on his arm a moment longer then nodded. “Have a nice day, Sabrina.”

“You, too, Mr. Mayor.”

“It’s Noah.” He didn’t know why he said it. If she wanted to call him by his title, as so many in town did, he shouldn’t care. Didn’t care. He attempted to cover his verbal hiccup. “Most people call me Noah.”

“I’m not most people.”

She was standing only a couple of inches away. The breeze caught her hair, tugged the strands toward him. They whispered across his cheek, just as soft as they looked. Noah exhaled slowly. “I’ve noticed.”

Dear Reader,

The summer I turned thirteen, I attended a family reunion in a small town. Up to this point, I’d never experienced small-town life: a hotel that had a grand total of four rooms, a single thoroughfare aptly named Main Street, and residents who not only knew each other by name, but were versed in all the tiny details of each other’s lives. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to grow up in that kind of close-knit community and what might make a person leave or stay.

Noah Barnes never considered living anywhere but the small town he calls home, while Sabrina Ryan hoped never to return. But when their lives connect, they start to see that maybe home isn’t a place, but a person.

I loved writing This Just In… and hope you enjoy it. If you’re curious about the music I played and the actors I pictured while writing the book, visit my website, www.jennifermckenzie.com.

Happy reading,

Jennifer McKenzie

This Just In…

Jennifer McKenzie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jennifer McKenzie lives in Vancouver, Canada, where she enjoys being able to ski and surf in the same day—not that she ever does either of those things. After years of working as a communications professional and spending her days writing for everyone else, she traded in the world of watercoolers, cubicles and high heels to write for herself and wear pajamas all day. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, eating chocolate, trying to talk herself into working off said chocolate on the treadmill or spending time with her husband.

MILLS & BOON

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For my dear friend Jenn who always cheers me on, offers support when I need it and laughs at my jokes. Just for you, the P-word is nowhere to be found in this book.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

EXTRACT

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

SABRINA RYAN HAD NEVER planned to return home.

Not that Wheaton, British Columbia, the small town where she’d grown up—population: 4500, number of ATVs: 600, movie theater: 1—was home anymore. Not for the past nine years, at least. So finding herself there, for more than just a quick weekend visit, was a real kick in the teeth.

“What can I get you?” she asked the teenager at the front counter of her parents’ coffeehouse. Yes, that’s right. After living on her own and making her way in the world as a Vancouver newspaper columnist, becoming semi-well-known for her celebrity interviews in the process, she’d been reduced to working as a barista. In Wheaton.

She got irritated just thinking about it.

The teenager requested a latte and Sabrina set to work steaming the milk. At least he didn’t try to strike up a conversation, ask her what had brought her back and try to share all of his own life’s little details with her. Not like the previous ten people she’d served. And the ten people before them. And the ten people before them. And, really, everyone who’d made their way into the cozy coffee shop in the two weeks since her return.

So different than Vancouver, where a person could lose herself in the masses. Where a sudden appearance after years away brought no more than a single raised eyebrow, if anyone noticed at all. Sabrina sighed and watched as the milk began to froth. But anonymity was an anathema to small-town residents. Something she’d cheerfully forgotten in her years away because she hadn’t planned to come back. Ever.

She turned her attention to pulling the espresso shot, ignoring the pinch of her high-heeled boots around her right pinky toe. Considering she was going to be on her feet for the next seven hours, heels might not have been the most sensible choice, but it was bad enough that she’d had to leave her fabulous city life, amazing job and cultured friends behind. She wasn’t giving up her style, as well.

She rolled the milk to create a smooth, glossy surface and then poured it into the coffee with a couple of added wrist flicks and shakes to create a perfectly presented leaf. A latte that any Vancouverite would be proud to sip. Or take a photo of to share online.

Sabrina handed over the beverage, smiling through the pain in her foot and reminding herself that her visit was only that. A visit. A way station in her journey of life. Just as soon as she was able, she’d be on her way back to the city and Wheaton would be nothing more than a speck in her rearview mirror.

She made three more lattes, two espressos, eight plain black coffees and one hot chocolate in the next thirty minutes. She was asked about her return seven times during the same period, but though her answer remained the same—“Why am I back? My newspaper wants me to write a book about the celebrity interviews I’ve done over the years”—her smile began to feel strained. She might not have visited Wheaton since she was eighteen, but it still felt wrong lying to people. Even her parents didn’t know the real reason for her return. It was simply too embarrassing to admit she’d been fired. Too embarrassing to admit that she’d blown through her savings in less than six months and, with no cash to pay for food or rent or any other necessity, had been forced back here.

Sabrina inhaled slowly and concentrated on masking the shame with a cheerful smile. As far as she was concerned, no one would ever know. One day soon, she was sure her former boss and editor would greet her regular phone check-in with the news that she’d been forgiven her little gaffe and was needed back at the office immediately.

So far, no one had questioned her story. Not even Trish Mason, the editor of the Wheaton Digest, who’d agreed to hire her on part-time while she was in town. It felt like the first bit of good luck she’d had in ages.

Well, it had felt that way until Trish handed over her first assignment: interview the two candidates running for mayor this November.

The assignment itself wasn’t the problem. Although it was only May and the election wouldn’t take place until the third week in November, the fact that there was an actual race had caused big interest in Wheaton. Sabrina had already scheduled an interview with the challenger, Pete Peters, who’d been only too happy to agree to a sit-down interview, photo session and whatever else would get him into the local paper.

But the incumbent was a slippery sort. She’d tried calling and had even popped into his office last Friday to try to talk to him in person, but so far Noah Barnes had evaded her.

And Sabrina knew why.

Too bad for him, she wasn’t so easily dissuaded. Even though writing articles on a pair of small-town politicians angling for the mayor title was far below her usual celebrity subject matter and though the paper had a circulation in the thousands as opposed to over a million, she’d write to the best of her ability. Not just because the editor of the paper was a close family friend, but to prove to herself that she was still an excellent reporter.

Excellent enough to recognize the mayor when he walked into the coffee shop with the jangle of an overhead bell.

Noah Barnes. This time, she didn’t have to fake her smile.

Sabrina eyed him as he joined the line, noting his broad shoulders and golden hair. She remembered him from when she’d lived here before, but as she was four years younger they hadn’t run in the same circles. He was a good-looking man, as handsome as many of the actors she’d interviewed and taller. In his charcoal pants and green golf shirt, he looked like the kind of guy who spent his downtime rescuing cats from trees and mowing his elderly neighbor’s lawn. From what she’d been able to uncover about him, that guess probably wasn’t too far off.

As well as being the town’s current mayor, Noah owned a successful car dealership, which currently employed twenty residents. He sponsored the local hockey team, chaired the town’s annual festival and could be called upon in any sort of emergency.

He was also the brother of her ex-boyfriend.

“Mr. Mayor,” she said when he finally reached the counter. “Just the man I’ve been looking for.” She felt the curious gazes turn their way, heard the low hum of conversation hush as everyone strained to hear, and she planned to use it to her advantage. The practically perfect mayor wouldn’t turn her down with all his constituents listening, right?

“Good morning.” His tone was friendly as he placed his order. One double shot espresso, a box of coffee to go and an assortment of fresh pastries.

She keyed the items into the register. “Could I have a moment of your time?” She was so sure that he’d nod and smile, she was already planning what she would say to convince him that a little bit of family drama shouldn’t take precedence over his mayoral campaign.

Instead, Noah offered a polite frown. “I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a rush this morning, but call my assistant and she’ll book you in.”

Sabrina blinked at him. She’d called his assistant three times last week and each time she’d been shot down with the excuse that the mayor was away from the office or in a meeting and unable to be disturbed. She’d believed her the first two times, but by the third it was beginning to look more than a little circumspect. Still, it wouldn’t do to accuse him of such behavior in front of everyone. Sabrina might not have been around in a long time, but she remembered small-town loyalties and they would all lie with the mayor. She forced a civil nod. “I’ll do that. But maybe you could give me a moment now? While you wait for your order.”

His smiled tightened, but he seemed to realize there was no gracious way to deny her request. “All right then.”

She launched into her spiel. How the interview would be an opportunity to lay some groundwork for his future campaign. How his opponent had already agreed. How it might look to potential voters if he chose not to participate. She poured a small glass of sparkling water and handed it to him as she finished.

He looked down at water. “What’s this?”

“To cleanse the palate.” Her favorite coffeehouse in Vancouver always served one with the espresso and she thought she’d bring the practice to Wheaton. But it was probably too sophisticated. “You don’t have to drink it.”

His fingers wrapped around the glass. “No, it’s a nice touch.”

A flicker of pleasure tickled the base of her neck. So maybe not everyone in town was a lost cause. “What do you think? Can I schedule your interview for later this week?”

“Call my assistant.” A reiteration that Sabrina understood completely: thanks, but no thanks.

She kept her smile in place. Mr. Mayor might think he’d successfully brushed her off, but then he didn’t know her very well. She finished his order and then pulled off the green apron that doubled as a uniform and asked her coworker to handle the few people remaining in line.

Most customers had left, on their way to work or school, and there wouldn’t be another rush until the teenagers got out of class. No reason she couldn’t take a few minutes to pursue her assignment. She came around the side of the counter to where Noah stood. “I’ll give you a hand out.”

His blue eyes were cool. “I’ve got it.”

“It’s no problem.” She scooped up the box of pastries before he could. “I’m due for a break anyway.”

She waited until he picked up the coffee and then led him to the door.

* * *

NOAH WATCHED AS Sabrina Ryan picked her way through the crowd that still lingered in the coffee shop. He hadn’t seen her in close to fifteen years. Back then he’d been a senior and she a lowly freshman. He had a vague recollection of a pretty but young girl. Far too young for his seventeen-year-old sensibilities with his hockey scholarship to attend university in Michigan already in place.

He sure as hell knew she hadn’t looked like this. All huge green eyes, flowing dark hair and pouty mouth. He tamped down the flash of interest that sparked. She wasn’t to be trusted. Not only had she told his family’s story to the world when it was no one’s business but theirs, she’d also been Kyle’s high school girlfriend. Totally, completely, 100 percent off-limits. No matter how gorgeous she was.

Still, Noah appreciated the changes she’d made to the general uniform at the coffee shop. Most employees wore a plain white golf shirt with black pants and running shoes. But Sabrina’s white button-down shirt was tight and accentuated her curves. Her jeans were even tighter and he eyed them approvingly.

He followed behind her, easily handling the box of coffee and his own espresso. Noah really didn’t need the help out to his car, but forcing her to hand over the box of pastries was likely to cause a scene. Instead, he reached out to push the front door open for her and caught a whiff of her perfume. Something spicy and sweet mixed with the heady aroma of coffee.

The flash tried to sputter to life again. He drowned it with a large inhalation of clear, crisp air, and turned toward the back lot where his car was parked. “So what’s this about?” He kept his voice controlled and polite. Sabrina did not.

“Let’s cut to the chase. You’re putting me off.”

“Pardon?” He turned the full force of his feigned politeness on her. The look his mother called his mayoral face, used to convey sincerity, express concern and occasionally to put people off.

“The interview. You’re sidestepping my request. And I know why.”

Noah lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. He led her to a practical black sedan near the entrance and pressed his fob to unlock the doors.

“It’s because of the article I wrote about Kyle.”

At the mention of his younger half brother, Noah felt his facade slip but only for a moment. He regrouped and opened the back door on the driver’s side. “I think it’s a reasonable concern.”

Sabrina sighed. “Not really. It was almost a decade ago.”

Almost a decade since she’d announced to the town and the province that his baby brother had not only wrecked his back and his future NHL career, but that he’d gotten his teenage girlfriend knocked up. It wasn’t so easy to forget. “I don’t think you’re the best fit. Now if someone else were to do the interview, we wouldn’t have a problem.” Because he could trust the paper’s other reporter not to skewer him publicly.

“Is this payback?” She refused to hand over the box of pastries when he reached for them, placing them behind her back. “Because it seems a little petty.”

No, petty was lambasting your former boyfriend and your best friend in public, but Noah didn’t mention that. “Then let’s just say I think there’s too much history. A reporter should be unbiased.”

Sabrina narrowed her eyes at him. Even so, he couldn’t help noticing the way her shirt was stretched across her chest.

“May I have the pastries?” So he could get out of here before he took another peek at her cleavage.

“No, you may not.” She took a step back, like she thought Noah was going to tackle her for them.

He wouldn’t, but he also wouldn’t make the same mistake his brother had: trusting Sabrina Ryan. Sure, Kyle and Marissa were happily married with four kids, but Sabrina’s words had followed them. He still heard the rare comment from someone about how Kyle had “done the right thing.” He didn’t intend to let her write anything that might follow him the same way.

She tilted her head to look at him. Her long dark ponytail spilled across the bright white of her shirt. Noah wondered if the strands would feel as smooth as her skin looked. Probably. He told himself he wasn’t really interested, that he was merely indulging in idle speculation.

“What can I do to convince you it’s a good idea?”

Nothing. There was no convincing to be done here. This was a simple question and response, and his response would be the same every time: no. “I really need to run.” Noah held out his hand for the pastries. He had a staff meeting at the dealership and they’d be eagerly awaiting his arrival and the sweets.

“Then let’s set a time and you can be on your way.”

“Not today.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Look, I’m not planning to write some hard-hitting exposé. Just a couple of softball pieces on the mayoral candidates.”

Noah would have liked to believe her. “Is that what you told Kyle and Marissa?”

She jerked back. “Ouch.”

Perhaps, but it was a fair question. He waited for her response.

Her ponytail swished as she shook her head. “That was different.”

“Different how?”

“It just was.” He thought he glimpsed regret on Sabrina’s face, but then it was gone and she was back to watching him with those big green eyes. “Look, this is my first assignment for the paper. If you say no, Trish won’t give me another one. I’ll have to go back to pushing caffeine on the masses.”

He glanced at the shop behind them. No one had worked up the nerve to follow them outside, but Noah knew it would only be a matter of time. Small towns. Where people thought they had a right to know everyone else’s business.

“Please.” Sabrina’s voice drew him back. “It’s important.”

Noah looked at the downward tilt to her eyes. She really did think it was important. Either that or she was a hell of an actress. He inhaled another lungful of cold air. Her point that it might look bad for him if only Pete’s interview ran was valid. But wouldn’t it be worse if she wrote a less than flattering portrayal of him?

Yes. Unequivocally and undeniably.

She appeared to think his silence meant he was considering her offer. Her face brightened. “I promise not to tell any of your deep dark secrets.”

Which only reminded him again of how she’d already done that to his family. Fool him once, shame on her. Fool him twice...

“I don’t have any deep dark secrets.” There were no secret babies, no hidden marriages, no arrests or youthful indiscretions. Just that his birth mother had died when he was an infant. That he and his father had moved to Wheaton when he was four and his dad had married Ellen. That when his dad had died a year later in a freak car accident, Ellen, with a brand-new baby to care for, had adopted Noah. Which everyone in town already knew.

“Really? Doesn’t every politician need a deep dark secret or two?”

“Not this one.” He kept his voice steady. Even as a teenager when most kids were out too late, stealing from their parents’ liquor cabinets or just testing boundaries, Noah had been a model son. He got good grades, worked hard to earn a hockey scholarship to a Michigan university and never stayed out past his curfew. And he hadn’t been that way only for his mother. He’d seen it as his chance to show the whole town that although he hadn’t been born within town limits, he was one of them.

“Okay, but if you did—” Sabrina’s eyes caught his and held “—I wouldn’t write about it. I wouldn’t write anything that could be considered inappropriate.”

He’d like to believe her, like to give her the benefit of the doubt, but he couldn’t. Not when there was so much at stake. An article that she might look at as something to entertain the readers could derail his political career. And then who would he be?

Noah placed a hand on her arm, the one still holding his pastries hostage and tugged until they were between them. “I’ll think about it,” he told her as he plucked the box from her grip.

She let the box go without a fight, but when he turned to leave, she caught his forearm. Her fingers felt warm through the material of his dress shirt. “Will you?”

Her face was open and seemingly sincere. But Noah knew how easy it was to fake emotions for the camera or, in this case, the potential interviewee. “Yes.” He let her hand remain on his arm a moment longer then nodded. “Have a nice day, Sabrina.”

“You, too, Mr. Mayor.”

“It’s Noah.” He didn’t know why he said it. If she wanted to call him by his title, as so many in town did, he shouldn’t care. Didn’t care. He attempted to cover his verbal hiccup. “Most people call me Noah.”

“I’m not most people.”

She was standing only a couple of inches from him. The breeze caught her hair, tugged the strands toward him. They whispered across his cheek, just as soft as they looked. Noah exhaled slowly. “I’ve noticed.”

CHAPTER TWO

NOAH CLIMBED OUT of his car in the driveway that led to the attractive blue house with its white front door and beds of flowers lining the pathway up to the porch. The house wasn’t his.

“Uncle Noah!” His only niece, Daisy, raced out the front door and into his arms. He switched the bag he was holding to his other arm and scooped her up, then swung her around until she shrieked.

He’d needed some family time after this morning’s run-in with Sabrina. Not that anything bad had happened or would happen, but it had unsettled him. He carried Daisy up the stairs and back into the house.

“Mommy, Mommy. Uncle Noah’s here.” Daisy wriggled to be let down.

Noah sent her off with a pat and made his way to the kitchen where he could smell whatever Marissa was cooking for dinner. The scent made his mouth water and reminded him that other than the half scone he’d managed at the morning meeting, he’d had nothing but coffee today.

“Uncle Noah’s here,” Daisy said again before darting out the kitchen door and into the backyard. The door slammed shut behind her.

Marissa sighed and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Noah.” She came forward to give him a peck on the cheek. “To what do we owe the surprise?”

“Just thought I’d drop in.” His stomach grumbled, giving him away.

She laughed and pulled down another plate. “Put this on the table.”

He did, feeling guilty now that he’d barged in on them. He spent a lot of time at Kyle and Marissa’s house, but sometimes he worried that he was an intrusion on their life. “I brought dessert.” He offered the cardboard box containing cupcakes that he’d bought at the bakery before heading over.

“You didn’t have to do that.” But she looked pleased and accepted the gift. “Kyle’s out back with the kids.”

Noah could hear them all in the backyard. Five-year-old Daisy screeching at the top of her lungs and eight-year-old Paul trying to talk over her. He glanced out and saw Scotty, who’d just turned two, running with them, his little legs pumping to keep up. Kyle stood at the edge of the patio keeping an eye on his brood while the baby, Timmy, slept on his shoulder.

Noah opened the back door and stepped out. Daisy spotted him and let loose another loud cry of happiness before hurtling toward him, hell-bent on hugging him or taking him out at the knees. He picked her up before she could do any real damage. He rarely had trouble with the old knee injury he’d sustained in college hockey, but a determined five-year-old moving at full speed wasn’t a risk he wanted to take.

Kyle grinned when he saw him. “Heard you were here.”

“I wonder who from.” Noah jiggled Daisy until she laughed and then plopped her back down on the grass and moved to stand beside his brother. They were almost the same height and coloring and looked more alike than most siblings.

They watched as the kids tore around the grass. Paul dribbling a soccer ball, sending a gentle pass Daisy’s way. She missed the ball, but cheerfully ran after it, Scotty trailing behind her.

“I talked to Sabrina Ryan today.” Noah broached the subject casually. Though his brother worked at the dealership and Noah could have pulled him aside at any time during the day, it hadn’t felt appropriate. This was a personal matter and should be treated as such. “She wants to interview me.”

“Really?” Kyle turned an interested face toward him. No sign of any discontent or distrust, but then Kyle was like that, friendly and forgiving, like an overgrown puppy. “What for?”

“She’s interviewing the candidates for mayor.”

“Nice.” Kyle clapped him on the shoulder. “When?”

“I didn’t say yes.” Noah ran a hand through his hair and looked to his brother’s face for clues, but found only idle curiosity. “What happened when she interviewed you?”

Although Noah had read the article, they’d never discussed the details. Noah hadn’t wanted to press and Kyle hadn’t seem interested in analyzing it.

“Nothing as exciting as you think.” Kyle shifted Timmy to his other arm. “She called and asked if I’d be willing to talk to her. She said she was trying to make an impression on her boss at the paper. Something about trying to get promoted from intern to a paid position. Apparently, my failure to return to training camp was of interest. So she came out and I told her that I wasn’t going back to camp, but was staying in Wheaton with Marissa.” He patted his infant son’s back.

“Did she know about you two before she got here?”

“Ah, no.” Kyle winced and looked away. “We should have told her before she arrived. It’s not like Sabrina and I were still together. We’d broken up months earlier, but I don’t know. It felt weird. Telling my ex that I was marrying her best friend.”

Noah thought it was weirder that Kyle hadn’t foreseen how things might turn out, but that was all in the past. And despite the fact that Sabrina had blasted his family publicly, Noah felt a pang of sympathy for what must have felt like a betrayal. It was no excuse for splashing their personal business all over the Vancouver Tribune, but it helped Noah understand why she might have done it. “Do you think she’s still mad at you?”

“Sabrina?” Kyle frowned as though the thought had never crossed his mind. “I don’t think so.” He looked up. “You should do the interview.”

“I’m thinking about it.” But every time he started to lean one way, a new thought crept in, made him reconsider.

Marissa cleared her throat behind them. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Sabrina didn’t need to throw us under the bus to do her job.” Her blue eyes were frosty. “I’m not saying she’ll do the same to you, Noah, but you should keep it in mind.”

He was, which was why he’d yet to commit.

Marissa looked tired as she waved the kids in. “I just want you to really think about it before you agree. I don’t know what she told you about her reasons for the article, but I can assure you, she’s got an angle.”

“Marissa.” Kyle looked pained. “It was a long time ago.”

She nodded and looked at Noah. “Just be careful around her. Now, can you two handle the kids and their hand-washing?” She took Timmy from Kyle and walked back inside.

Noah was left with his thoughts and a dirty niece and a couple of dirty nephews to wash up.

* * *

SABRINA PULLED INTO her parents’ driveway smelling of coffee grounds, sugar and the milky tea Mrs. Thompson had spilled on her table and then on Sabrina when she’d arrived with a cloth to wipe up the mess.

The spill had been an obvious ploy to ask Sabrina what she thought of their town’s venerable mayor. Apparently, everyone thought their little meeting outside had some romantic overtones and no one had believed her when she’d told them it was a business discussion. Finally, just to shut Mrs. Thompson up, Sabrina had told her that the mayor had a nice butt. Which she’d noticed when he’d bent over to put the coffee in his car.

Only she’d forgotten how quickly a statement like that would spread and she’d spent the rest of the day fielding questions about what other parts of Noah’s body met her approval. Mrs. Thompson had been texting away before Sabrina had even finished wiping up the spill. No doubt the entire town had heard about her appreciation for Mr. Mayor’s butt by now.

And yes, there was her mother coming out the front door with her hands on her hips. “Did you tell Linda Thompson that the mayor has a nice rear?” She asked as soon as Sabrina hopped out of the SUV she’d borrowed from her parents while she was here.

Sabrina found it worked best to deal with these kinds of things directly and succinctly. Some of her former interviewees would have done well to practice that. “Have you taken a good look at it?” She locked the door behind her and tossed the keys into her purse. “Spectacular.”

“Really, Sabrina.”

“Yes, really.” Her feet hurt, her clothes stank, and the last thing she wanted was to have a long and involved discussion about Mr. Mayor’s finer features with her mother. Her heels clacked against the cement driveway, drowning out the sounds of nature. The whine of mosquitoes, bird calls, the rustle of wind through the trees. Sabrina missed the sounds of the urban jungle. Honking cabs, the whoosh of the electric bus, the constant chatter of people on their phones.

Her mother sighed and followed her into the house. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Fine.” Sabrina unzipped her boots and dropped them in a tangle by the front door, grateful to feel the blood rushing back into her toes. She wriggled them a few times to speed the process. All she wanted to do was get clean in a nice, hot bath.

Her mother had other ideas. “Anything interesting happen?”

Besides the fact that it was now a known fact she’d checked out the town’s mayor? “Not really.” Sabrina rolled her neck, letting the ache ease from her shoulders. She was used to sitting in front of a computer all day; standing on her feet, reaching and pulling on the coffee machines worked a whole different set of muscles and she felt the burn. She knew her mother had missed her and just wanted to bond, but she just wasn’t up for it. Not smelling like old tea and dried sugar. “Can we talk later? I need to change.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Her mother stepped forward to give her a quick hug, but stopped short, her nose wrinkling. “What is that smell?”

“Mrs. Thompson’s tea.” She headed up the stairs, already untucking her shirt. The blood was rushing back into her feet now and the throb worsened with each step. She winced. Apparently, heels weren’t meant to be worn for standing eight hours straight.

Sabrina stripped off her dirty clothes and dropped them in the hamper of her old bedroom. Nothing had changed since she’d left nine years earlier. The same white wainscoting and camel-colored walls. The same white bedspread and bright blue accent chair. The same green topiary on the oak nightstand. She’d even found her old red cowboy boots in the closet.

Of course she’d tried them on. Just to see if they still fit. They did. That was the great thing about shoes. Almost a decade later and they still fit the same way. Her old prom dress? Not so much.

Clad in only her underwear, she pulled her ratty old terry-cloth robe out of the closet. Her chic black silk one with gold embroidery hung beside it, but Sabrina was chilled. Summer temperatures had yet to arrive in Wheaton and her coastal blood was no longer used to the cooler days and nights. She wrapped the old robe tightly around her. It still fit, too. Though nothing else in town did.

Sabrina sank down to the end of her bed and fished her cell phone out of her purse. Time for her weekly call to the Vancouver newspaper. Though she had little hope that this time would be different, that her editor would tell her everything was fixed and that she was to haul her ass back to the city immediately, she called anyway.

Really, the whole thing was ridiculous. She’d written a short article on Jackson James, son of a wealthy developer. She hadn’t wanted to. Although she did interview local celebrities, she didn’t think Jackson qualified, but Jackson’s father was an advertiser—a big advertiser—and her editor had insisted.

Only Big Daddy hadn’t liked it when her article painted his son in a less than golden light. Please, his son was a wannabe playboy with rocks between his ears and Big Daddy’s insistence otherwise was an embarrassment. The whole thing should have just blown over, like other articles she’d written, showcasing her subject in an unflattering light, interest died down quickly and everyone got on with their lives. Except that wasn’t good enough for Big Daddy.

He believed that she’d sullied the family’s good name with innuendos and half truths and he wanted her to pay with her job. Since the paper wanted to keep him happy, a compromise was reached. His dollars were in and she was out.

Sabrina pushed the disappointment away. Just a few more months and either the paper would see the light or Big Daddy would finally ease up. They had to.

The phone rang a couple of times before her editor’s voice mail picked up. She left a message. The same message she always did. Just checking in. Let me know when things change. Call my cell phone.

Her stomach hurt. The first couple of months after her firing, her editor had been quick to take her calls. But lately, she was lucky to get a return phone call. And when she did, the information was always the same. A terse response that there was nothing new to report. She was beginning to worry there never would be.

She pulled her robe around her more tightly. If she didn’t get her job back, then what? Stay here? Shilling coffee and covering small-town politics for the rest of her life? Her parents would be thrilled, but she would not. She was meant for more than this.

She’d only been away for fourteen days and already she craved the late-night clubs, restaurants on every corner, and constant change and movement. People in the city tried new things, new looks, new music.

Residents in Wheaton seemed to have been caught in a time warp. But not the same one. There was no overarching style that permeated the town, so it didn’t look like a throwback to any specific era. Instead, people remained trapped in whatever look had been current at the time of their high school graduation. Sabrina was pretty sure she saw an old classmate wearing the same Ugg boots she’d worn all through high school. Her own mother was still known to rock the big pageant hair of the ’80s for special events. Mrs. Thompson had been wearing the same baby-blue sweater set she’d worn when she was Sabrina’s third-grade teacher.

Sabrina pushed herself off the bed and padded down the hall to the guest washroom that had been hers when she was growing up. Not much had changed in Wheaton since she’d been gone and not much had changed in the bathroom, either, including the potpourri her mother favored. She considered throwing it away, but the dried petals would no doubt flutter all over the tile and then she’d be on her hands and knees picking them up one by one.

Instead, she turned on the faucet, adjusted the temperature until she was happy and let the tub fill up. When the water neared the top she twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head, slipped off her robe and underwear, and slid beneath the surface, a sigh sliding out from her lips. This might be the one thing she’d missed. In the city, her apartment bathrooms had either a shower alone or an old tub that even she, at five feet four and a half inches, couldn’t fit in comfortably.

Sabrina stretched, letting the water sluice over her and feeling her muscles unkink. She still needed to figure out how to convince Noah Barnes that she only wanted to interview him, not make a federal case. But apparently the Barnes family was still holding on to old grudges.

Wasn’t there a statute of limitations on these things? It was nine years ago, for God’s sake. She shoved down the bubble of guilt that tried to rise. One more reason to get out of here. No one in Vancouver made her feel guilty or as though she’d done something wrong when all she’d done was report the truth.

The whole thing had started out so innocently. Sabrina had been taking journalism classes at the University of British Columbia and trying to find a way to finagle an internship at the Vancouver Tribune, the city’s broadsheet. But a university freshman with a few articles written for her local hometown paper the previous year was hardly the kind of student they were looking to groom.

Until Kyle, an early-round draft pick in the NHL’s draft, had injured his back at practice and herniated a disc. He’d been sent for surgery and then permitted to go home for recuperation and physiotherapy. Except Kyle had never come back.

Normally, an early-round player who crapped out before ever playing a game at the pro level wouldn’t do more than cause a brief mention on one of the morning talk shows. But Kyle had been drafted to Vancouver and he was a B.C. boy, so fans were interested. And Sabrina knew she could get the inside scoop.

Though she and Kyle hadn’t kept in touch after their breakup, she knew he’d agree to her interview and he had, willingly. No arm-twisting required. She’d flown home, expecting to find that Kyle, who’d been a naturally gifted athlete if a somewhat lackadaisical player, had simply decided he wasn’t interested in the work necessary to rehab his back to professional-sport caliber. Or he’d been one of the unlucky ones for whom the surgery didn’t mean full recovery.

She’d never expected that he was staying in Wheaton for Marissa. Or that her best friend was already pregnant with his baby. Her best friend and her ex-boyfriend. Together.

Sabrina hadn’t cared that Kyle had moved on. They’d never been anything serious. But Marissa? Her best friend since they’d met in ballet class as three-year-olds? The one who’d come to visit her for a few days over the holidays before they’d flown home together to spend Christmas with their families in Wheaton? That had stabbed.

So she’d let all her feelings seep onto the page. Snotty and snarky and cutting. How sad that Kyle had given up a promising career. What a shame the whole situation was. She’d never explicitly stated that Marissa was expecting, but anyone with half a brain could read between the lines.

She’d meant to hurt and she’d been successful. By the time her mad wore off and she wondered if she’d taken things too far, the choice had no longer been in her hands. The editor at the paper loved it, ran it as the cover article in the sports section and Sabrina was hired on part-time.

Sabrina shook the old memory off. That was the past and she couldn’t change things now. And right now, she just wanted to enjoy her soak.

She wet a washcloth and laid it across her eyes, sinking down until the water touched her chin. Her eyes shut and her mind quieted. It felt good.

Sabrina was sure she’d only just closed her eyes when a knock startled them open. She pulled the washcloth off, blinking away the wetness on her eyelashes. “Yes?”

“Dinner’s almost ready, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Sabrina climbed out of the tub, noting the water was far cooler than when she’d entered, and toweled off. Back in her room, she pulled on a pair of cute yoga pants and matching hoodie. Just because she was in the boonies was no reason to look like it.

She glanced at her cell phone as she pulled on a pair of warm socks, but she had no new messages. Tucking away the hurt that no one had called her—not her editor, not her friends, not even the mayor—she put the phone back on the nightstand. They were busy, that was all. Unlike her, they still had vibrant lives.

It was probably too much to hope for a call from the mayor’s office anyway. Even though he’d seemed to be considering her proposal, Sabrina didn’t think he was the type to make a snap decision. She resolved to call him first thing tomorrow morning. She couldn’t fix the mess back in Vancouver, but she could get her interview with Noah Barnes. Surely he could see that the interview would benefit him as much as her. And if not, she’d tell him.

Feeling marginally positive that things would soon be going her way, she headed downstairs to dinner with her parents.

CHAPTER THREE

THE MAYOR WAS being difficult. Luckily, Sabrina had worked with difficult interviewees before. The hockey player who’d cancelled three times before she’d finally shown up outside the arena after practice like a groupie and done the interview while his hair was still wet. The singer who’d appeared an hour late, hung over from the night before and answering most of her questions with requests for a cigarette. The actor who’d insisted on staying in character, accent included. All had ended in successful columns for Sabrina.

She knew how to get what she wanted. And she wanted this interview.

Since their meeting in the parking lot on Monday, she’d had two other opportunities to talk to Noah in person, both instances as she was making his espresso. On each occasion, he’d nodded politely and told her he would get back to her. The four times she’d called his office, she hadn’t even managed to get him on the phone. His assistant had acted as a gatekeeper and brushed her off with the now familiar story that he was in a meeting or out of the office.

But Sabrina was pretty sure he couldn’t avoid her if she showed up on his doorstep. Not that she was turning into some creepy stalker who would wait outside his house and pounce the minute he showed his face. No, she had more couth than that. She was moving in across the hall. Far less creepy.

She’d known her parents owned an income property, half of a pretty little duplex in town, but she hadn’t known Mr. Mayor called the other half home and, upon learning this tidbit, she’d convinced them—okay, there might have been a teensy-weensy bit of begging involved—to let her move in. Their previous tenants had moved out a couple of months earlier and the apartment had been sitting vacant. Sabrina didn’t believe in astrology or fate, but her stars? Those were aligned.

She wondered if Mr. Mayor was a briefs or boxers man. Really, it was the kind of investigative journalism that readers would want to know. Her cheeks warmed.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” Her dad interrupted her thoughts.

“Just excited to be getting my own space.” She rolled down the window. Mr. Mayor wasn’t even her type. She preferred the slightly dangerous bad boys. The ones who demanded rather than asked and kissed a woman so hard that she popped right out of her shoes.

“You haven’t even seen the inside yet.”

Although it was now Friday and she’d talked them into letting her use the apartment on Monday, she hadn’t had a chance to come out until now. The coffee shop had been busy all week as tourists began spilling into town for the start of the summer rush. Sabrina had worked two double shifts already and in the few hours she’d had off, she’d been at the newspaper office getting to know the staff and preparing for her interview with Pete.

But she didn’t need to see the inside to know the apartment was going to be perfect. Already, she could picture curling up in a cozy corner with a book, setting up her computer somewhere other than her bedroom and lingering over a cup of coffee on her mornings off without interruption.

At her parents’ house, she sat at the same dining chair that had been hers since she was old enough to scramble up on it, slept in the same twin bed that she’d graduated to after toddlerhood and had to share the remote for the TV.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her parents. She did. A lot. But she’d lived on her own for the past nine years—except that one period when she’d had a roommate who spent the entire six months on the couch leaving crumbs on the cushions and smoking a bong. Never again. Sabrina was used to having privacy, playing the music she liked and watching various iterations of Real Housewives without having to justify herself to anyone.

Her father smiled as they cruised through town. Probably because he and her mother were now certain that Sabrina would be staying in Wheaton long-term. She’d heard them talk about it through the wall in her bedroom last night. Apparently, her fib about writing that book hadn’t fooled them. But there was another more important reason to get out and into her own place. The discussion about her future hadn’t been the only thing she’d heard from her parents’ room last night.

Logically, Sabrina knew they were still young and vibrant and sexually active, but she really didn’t need proof of that fact. Ever. Again.

“Here we are.” Her father pulled into a long driveway and parked in front of the house. “Ready?”

Ready? Sabrina was already out of the car and heading up the stairs that led to the long wraparound porch and front door. She hadn’t seen the place in over a decade but it was just as cute as she remembered. From the front it appeared to be a single dwelling with three steps that led to the blue front door.

Matching sets of French doors, one on either side of the main door, opened to the porch, as well. In its original state, the house had been built for one family and the doors led to a pair of sitting rooms and could be opened to catch the summer breeze. Now they provided porch access for each apartment occupant without needing to go through the entry and front door.

They were missing the artful iron vines she was used to seeing on large glass doors and windows in the city, but then security wasn’t such a concern here. Sabrina had been shocked to find her parents still didn’t lock their doors. And not just during the day when they happened to be at home. All the time, day, night, in or out.

Petty crime—or non-petty crime—wasn’t something she needed to worry about in Wheaton. No one was going to snatch her purse off her shoulder or kick in her window to steal her valuables.

Someone had planted shrubs along the sides of the house and in front of the porch. Probably her mother. They were well-tended, with small white flowers starting to bud.

There wasn’t any outdoor furniture, but Sabrina figured she could borrow some from her parents. She’d already requisitioned a coffee table and the floor lamp with a pink shade and ’20s fringe from her mom’s sewing room. What were a couple of outdoor lounge chairs, a small table, maybe some oversized pots of brightly colored flowers added to her tally?

Sabrina had loved her tubs of blooms on her balcony in Yaletown. Well, loved them until the tenant below her complained that they were making a mess on his balcony. One measly bud had fluttered onto his ugly wicker chair, but he’d acted like she’d purposely defaced his property. Her boot heels clacked a little louder. Please, her flower had done more to improve his decor than a mountain of furniture. Which she’d told her landlord, but he’d merely pointed to the clause in the contract that stated she needed permission to put anything on her balcony and she hadn’t bothered to get it.

But there weren’t any balconies here and Sabrina doubted Mr. Mayor would get crabby about flowers. People in Wheaton were friendlier, more agreeable. He would understand that her decor improved his space, as well. Assuming he even noticed.

She tried to peek through his curtain-free French doors while she waited for her dad to finish fiddling with the car and join her, but the glare from the sun prevented her from seeing much. She squinted, but couldn’t make out anything more than a couple of blobby shapes.

There was always the possibility that they’d become friends and he’d actually invite her inside. So far, her old friends had made themselves scarce. She hadn’t even seen Marissa or Kyle. Not that she’d expected to.

Her dad finally finished whatever he was doing and unlocked the front door. The entry was plain but neat. An overhead chandelier, original to the house, sparkled under the afternoon sun. Wood floors were polished to a golden gleam. A well-used Turkish-style rug lay in the center of the room beneath a round oak table that had a bowl of potpourri on it.

Sabrina wrinkled her nose. “Potpourri, Dad? This isn’t the ’80s.” Which was exactly what she’d told her mother when she’d spotted it in the guest bathroom.

He shrugged. “Your mother said it would smell nice.”

Yes, if people wanted their homes to smell like an old lady’s underwear drawer. Sabrina made a mental note to take the bowl and all the dried flowers with her when they left.

Her father walked past the offending decor without a glance and stuck his key into the interior door on the left. Men. Sabrina lingered, noting the cheerful welcome mat in front of the mayor’s door. There was a small nail beneath the peephole. Probably to hang a wreath at Christmas.

“Sabrina?” her father called.

She sent one last look at the door, not that it told her anything, and headed to what would become her new home. She imagined plain white walls, simple wood floors polished to the same gloss as the entry and maybe some architectural features found in older homes that gave them such character. Crystal doorknobs, paneled doors and thick crown molding.

What she found would have caused her mouth to fall open in a gasp of horror had she not trained herself out of the habit years ago when one of her university friends told her it made her look like a rube.

“What do you think?” Her dad was practically rubbing his hands together.

Sabrina wondered if they were seeing the same thing because what she saw was that the bowl of potpourri wasn’t the only thing left from the ’80s. The walls of the duplex were pastel stripes. Yes. Pastel. Stripes. In four colors. Lilac and mint and blush and sunshine shown off in all their glory because there wasn’t any furniture to distract from it.

She prayed it wasn’t wallpaper. Oh, God. She did not relish stripping thirty-year-old paper from the walls. She’d done that in an apartment once. The paper had practically fused to the drywall and it had taken her days of hard labor, one of those scoring tools, fabric softener and finally the rental of a steamer to get it off.

There was one lonely rug that the previous tenant had left behind. A fringed circle of lemon yellow—and not the cute and sexy fringe like her lamp. No, this was the thick yarn type. She didn’t bother to disguise her shudder.

But the wood floors appeared to be in good shape and the fireplace was nice. A simple, traditional wood frame that just needed a fresh coat of white paint to bring it back to life. The kitchen was all right, too, if she avoided looking at the walls, which had been sponge painted.

The appliances were standard white, but clean and carried no leftover odors. She’d once moved into a place where the previous tenant hadn’t bothered cleaning out anything ever. After scrubbing the fridge and scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing some more, Sabrina had insisted her landlord replace it. He’d been irritated and pissy. Apparently, he’d hoped she’d just grow used to the stench. The counters were a neutral beige. Nothing to get excited about but most definitely livable. The pink ruffled curtains, not so much. They would be coming down first thing.

“It needs some upgrades,” she said.

“Now, Sabrina. Don’t go getting any ideas about granite and marble and stainless-steel appliances. I’m already covering the costs of shipping your furniture from Vancouver. Why did you ever put it in storage? Waste of money when we can store it for you in our basement.”

“Because I’m going back.” She’d already explained this, but her father chose not to hear it.

He waved off her statement as he’d done the previous two times she’d told him. “Or you could stay.”

“Now you sound like Mom.” Sabrina sloughed off the idea without another thought because she wasn’t staying any longer than necessary. But until that day arrived, getting the apartment into the new millennium would be a good project for her. Something to fill the long evening hours when Wheaton shut down for the night. Her current obsession of checking email, text and social networking sites was not working for her. At all.

“Don’t you want to come back home?” her dad asked. For the hundredth time, she considered telling him the truth. That she wasn’t back to write a book about her experiences interviewing celebrities, filling the pages with all the tidbits that hadn’t fit into her articles. That she’d been fired and that it wasn’t looking like she’d ever get her job back.

Once again, she swallowed the words and smiled. “It doesn’t feel like home anymore, Dad. It’s been a long time since I lived here and I love the city.” With its late-night burger joints, extensive shoe stores and Opera Guy, a local gentleman who strolled around the neighborhood singing opera at the top of his lungs, Vancouver was the place she longed for. “But I promise to come and visit more, okay?”

When she saw the downturn of her father’s lips, guilt snuck into her cheerful attitude. It had just been easier for her parents to come to her. First because she worked at the paper through the holidays. Low person in the chain of command. Then it had just become habit.

“Oh, come on.” Sabrina elbowed him lightly. “Cheer up. I’m here now. You’ve got me doing slave labor at the coffee shop.” Even with what she hoped would be an increased workload at the local paper, she’d continue to work most mornings at the coffee shop. “And I’m going to fix up this place for free.”

“Does this mean it’s not going to cost me anything?” The edges of his eyes crinkled.

“My labor is free,” she clarified. “Which we all know is the majority of cost. I’m giving you a deal.”

She could see the finished project in her mind. A pale pink on the walls, like the inside of a rose, to play up the reds and pinks in the large throw rug she had. Maybe she could search out an old wrought iron chandelier to hang over the coffee table. Antiques shops would just be opening for the summer season and would not yet be picked over. Her parents had a grandfather clock in their entryway that was too large for the space, but it would be perfect against the wall in here. Pillows on her oatmeal-colored couch, throws on her ivory chairs, flowers in crystal vases on the end table. She had a small series of sculptures that would look fabulous on the fireplace mantel.

Sabrina was still thinking about it as they exited the suite. Until she saw the monstrosity of a potpourri bowl and hurried over to dispose of it. An act of compassion, really, putting the hideous thing out of its misery.

She was sweeping some of the dried blooms that had fallen onto the table back into the bowl when the front door opened. Her senses went on high alert. If she was at the table and she could still hear her father locking up the apartment, then the front door could only be opened by one person.

“Mr. Mayor.” Sabrina put down the bowl. And felt her insides wobble when she turned and got a look at him.

Gone was the nerdy golf shirt and dress pants combo, exchanged for a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt that did wonderful things for the muscles in his arms. In his more casual attire and without that polished veneer, Noah didn’t look like the same man. She felt something warm unfurl in her. Her fingers itched, wanting to touch.

“Hello.” Noah glanced from her to her father, a line of confusion between his eyes. “Just checking up on the place?”

“Hi, Noah.” Her father turned from the door and handed the keys to Sabrina. “You won’t have this old place to yourself much longer. Sabrina is moving in.”

“Moving in?” Noah’s eyes darted back to her.

“Pretty soon you’ll be inundated with loud music and singing. Hope you have earplugs.”

“Dad.” Sabrina rolled her eyes as she stuffed the keys into her pocket and focused on Noah. “I’m not that loud,” she told him.

“You can be,” her dad said. “I’ll be outside.” He pulled the door closed with a click and silence filled the space.

Sabrina smiled. “Hello, neighbor.”

Noah rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes flicked over her. Were her eyes deceiving her or was he checking her out? She twirled a lock of hair around her finger before letting it slip and trail down her cleavage. Yes, she was a shameless hussy. She saw his gaze drop down, following that lock of hair, before shooting back up to her face and giving her a guilty glance. Yes, that’s right, her eyes were up there.

He cleared his throat. “Neighbors. Welcome then.” He put on his fake politician smile. Sabrina was well-versed in that smile. Every celebrity, pseudo or otherwise, had their own version of it. Some were bright, others mysterious, but they all indicated the same thing: an unwillingness to share a person’s real self. She hated that smile.

“Thanks, and for the record, I sing in key. No earplugs required.”

Noah’s smile warmed, edging toward reality. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She felt a flicker of heat waft through her. “Please do.” Or just hold her. Wait, what? Now she was having dirty fantasies about the mayor? Shameless, shameless hussy. No upstanding citizen would do such a thing. Luckily she was neither a citizen of Wheaton or particularly upstanding. “Well, I should be going. My dad’s waiting.” She picked up the bowl of dried flowers.

“Sabrina.” She looked into his eyes, so soft and blue like the blanket she used to carry around as a toddler and that her mother still had stored in a box somewhere. Good ol’ wubbie. “When are you moving in?”

“Tomorrow.” Just as soon as her furniture arrived. She’d considered sleeping on the floor of the apartment just to avoid accidentally overhearing her parents’ bedsprings again, but common sense won out. She had an iPod. And earbuds. “Why? You want to help?

She didn’t expect him to say yes. No doubt he had better things to do than help her move. Particularly as he didn’t even seem to like her enough to give her that interview. Yet.

“Sure.”

Sabrina blinked. “Seriously?” She couldn’t even get him on the phone and now he was willing to spend hours with her?

His smile widened. “Seriously.”

She wasn’t one to question her good fortune a second time. “Then I’d love to have your help.”

And love to watch him work. All sweaty and hot. Bare arms. Carrying her bed. Her throat felt dry. She clutched the bowl in her hands more tightly and wished for a glass of water. Really any liquid would do. A drop of sweat running down Noah’s chest. Perhaps there was a way she could convince him to go shirtless and then snap a few pictures. For the paper, of course, not personal use.

Really, she’d be doing it for the readers.

CHAPTER FOUR

NOAH WASN’T SURE what had made him agree to help Sabrina move. Neighborly assistance? Manners? Something else? Her pretty green eyes?

Maybe because it’s what was expected of him, what he expected of himself. When people in Wheaton needed help, he stepped in. Even when he shouldn’t.

He sighed. Wasn’t that always the way, though? He had deadlines to meet, budget concerns to deal with, council meetings to attend, new staff to train, but he still made time for whatever someone else needed. Some days it meant leaving the house before seven and not returning until ten. Other days it meant skipping meals and breaks. Driving all over town to attend to whatever had cropped up this time.

Usually, he enjoyed doing it. Giving something back to the town and the people. They hadn’t had to accept him, but they had. Opened their arms and their hearts and allowed him to come of age in a place that was safe and loving. Noah had only left them once in his life and even then only long enough to get his business degree.

There had never been any question in his mind about leaving permanently. And upon his return, he’d thrown himself into town life. Eight years later, he still didn’t regret it. Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind a weekend or two to himself. An afternoon to sit by the lake with his fishing pole and no one else. An evening where he turned off his cell phone and wasn’t interrupted. But that wasn’t his life.

Noah poured a cup of coffee and seated himself in front of his computer to do some work before the movers showed up. Sabrina had left him a message that she’d be by around ten to prepare for the movers and until then Noah had plenty of things to keep him busy and not think about what it might mean to have the attractive reporter living across the hall from him.

He started by examining the sales numbers for his two car dealerships, sent an email to the talent booked for this year’s Northern Lights festival and then reviewed the council minutes that were to be posted online on Monday.

He’d just emailed his assistant to approve the minutes when he heard the crunch of wheels turning into the driveway. A moment later, a knock sounded at the door and he rose to answer.

Noah didn’t expect his pulse to hammer when he opened the door. Although he’d seen her multiple times now—five, if he included this one—his attraction to Sabrina still caught him off guard. He wasn’t used to having feelings that snuck up on him or hit him over the head or did anything but stay in the neat little box he’d designed for them.

Bad enough that he wasn’t sure if he could trust Sabrina to interview him. But when he added this spark of attraction, things became tricky. She’d dated his younger brother and though that had been over for years and Kyle was long since happily married, it still created an awkwardness. She’d been with his brother. She had a broken friendship with his sister-in-law. Two of the people closest in the world to him.

“Hi.” She pushed a cup of coffee into his hands.

“Good morning.” Probably best that he just stick to being her neighbor. Help her move her furniture and boxes in and then excuse himself and get back to his own life.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” Sabrina’s eyes were bright and her hair, tugged back into a high ponytail, swirled around her shoulders as she spoke. Summer had arrived suddenly, going from jeans to cut-offs weather practically overnight, and the thin tank top she wore beneath a pink hoodie and a tiny pair of shorts left little to his imagination. His fingers bit into the sides of the coffee. “It all happened sort of fast. Anyway, I’m grateful.”

“No problem.” Noah took a sip from the steaming takeaway cup. Espresso. Double shot. His favorite. The fact that she remembered and had gone to the trouble to pick it up this morning when she was likely juggling a number of other things touched him. Some residents didn’t even remember that he liked coffee, offering tea or another beverage when he was at their homes cleaning gutters, shoveling snow or mowing the lawn.

She turned and headed across the entry to unlock the door to her place. Noah found himself watching the wiggle of her hips as she went. It wasn’t as though he planned to, but the shorts were vibrant red and demanded attention. Who was he to deny them their right? He sipped his coffee and enjoyed the moment.

Soon enough he’d be back to himself, mayor, employer, helper, but for a moment he was simply a guy enjoying a woman walking in front of him.

Sabrina pushed the door open and glanced back at him. “Come on in. Enjoy the dated decor.”

Noah pushed himself away from the door frame, closing the door behind him and followed her inside. She wasn’t lying about the apartment’s styling, but he’d already known that. The former tenants, an elderly couple, had often requested his help for small jobs: changing light bulbs, unclogging drains, dusting the corners of the ceiling. So he was well-versed in the pastel shades that they’d seemed to enjoy.

Sabrina stood with her hands on her hips. “Hideous, isn’t it. I’ll have to do something about it and quick. This stuff will give me nightmares.” She picked at the edge of a piece of wallpaper that had come loose. “How long do you think it will take me to get this off?”

“I have no idea.”

“Hours, probably.” She sighed. “Guess you wouldn’t want to help with this, too, would you?”

Noah pressed his lips together just in case his tongue got the idea to agree against his better judgment.

When she looked over her shoulder at him, she laughed. “I was only kidding. You’re already doing more than enough.”

The breath caught in his chest loosened. Sabrina hadn’t gotten upset or given him a look that said he’d disappointed her. His shoulders relaxed. Soon they were chatting about furniture placement and which items would go in which rooms. He was practically enjoying himself. “When is the truck arriving?”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the front door. “Any minute. Actually, I’ve got some boxes I brought over from my parents’ place in the car. Maybe we should grab those now. Get them out of the way.”

Noah followed her outside to the SUV parked beside the detached garage. She popped the back, exposing a stack of labeled and taped boxes. When she reached forward, her shorts pulled tight. He allowed himself to enjoy the view.

The rumble of a large engine drew his attention from the pretty sight. A box truck pulled into the driveway, followed by a gray sedan that he knew to be her parents’ because he’d sold it to them.

“Fantastic.” She shut the door, leaving the boxes inside and grinned up at him. “Sure you don’t want to back out? You’ve still got time.”

But suddenly, the idea of spending the day working alongside Sabrina sounded much more appealing than hanging out at the lake alone. Even with his fishing pole. “I’m happy to be here.” And he was.

Even four hours later, once she’d directed him to put the couch in four different places and the sweat was running down his back, Noah was still enjoying himself.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You said it was perfect by the window.”

“I was wrong.” She shrugged. “Plus, I like seeing your muscles in action.” She winked.

A low heat swirled through him. Noah was pretty sure she was flirting with him. Had been for a while now. Ever since the movers had finished up and she’d sent her parents on their way about an hour ago. He moved the couch to her chosen location. “Good?”

Sabrina came around from behind the kitchen counter where she’d been unpacking utensils and cocked her head. “Yes. I think that’s the spot.”

“You realize that was the first spot.”

“I didn’t know that was the right spot until I saw the couch in other places.” She smiled up at him. “So thank you for hauling it around.” She went back to the kitchen, which opened onto the main room. “So tell me, Mr. Mayor. If you weren’t allowing me to appreciate the fine labor of your muscles, what would you be doing today?”

Noah lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow. The day had warmed up, the sun now beating through her open windows. He could hear the hum of a nearby mower, the scent of freshly cut grass tickling his nose. What would he be doing? Working on the computer, babysitting his niece or nephews, heading into the office, answering requests from residents. “I’m not sure.”

“Really?” She unwrapped a large plastic spoon and added it to the canister that seemed to be full of them already. “No hot date?”

“No.” He rarely dated. Didn’t have time for it. Which was a sad statement on his life. “Why? Are you asking me out?”

She blinked and her mouth opened slightly. Then she laughed. “Mr. Mayor, look at you flirting with me.”

Noah’s cheeks burned. He didn’t flirt. It wasn’t appropriate for a man in his position. He knew that. And yet, his guard had slipped around her. He needed to watch out for that. “Sorry.”

“Why would you apologize?” Sabrina plunked another spoon in the canister. “You’re a handsome guy. You must have lots of women wanting to go out with you.”

He studied her, unsure if this was more of her casual banter or if she was fishing for information to put in her article. If he answered wrong, she could use his words against him, twist them to make him look like some sort of sex pervert, which he might become if she wore those red shorts very often. So he didn’t answer at all, simply picked up a box labeled Bathroom and carried it in there.

When Noah came back out, he felt more in control. “How long will you be living here?”

“Not forever. Just until I write my book. Then it’s back to the city.” She sounded a bit sad, like she wasn’t sure that was where she wanted to be.

Noah could relate, but he didn’t ask for details. That would be inviting personal questions about his own life. “So I’ve just moved your couch four times for fun?”

“No, that was all part of my plan to see you flex your muscles.” The sad tilt to her eyes lifted. “Actually, I just need my own space while I’m here. My parents let me have the apartment because they want me to move back permanently.”

“Seems like a lot of work to move in all your things if you’re just turning around and leaving.” He didn’t understand why anyone would bother. Was there something more that she wasn’t sharing?

“Okay, that’s not the only reason.” Sabrina put down yet another plastic spoon. “I also moved in because I found out you lived across the hall.”

Noah’s chest suddenly felt heavy like someone had laid a wet blanket over it. He sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

“No, don’t get like that.” She stepped around the counter and over to him. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I just hoped that if we were neighbors and you got to know me better, you might see that I’m not so bad.”

“And give you the interview.”

“Well, yeah.” She stopped in front of him. She’d pulled the hoodie off some time ago and the skinny tank top showed off her curves. “I know you’re worried because of what happened with Kyle, but this isn’t the same type of interview.” She reached a hand out and laid it on his arm.

A spark fizzed through him.

“I haven’t always made the best decisions when it comes to my columns. If you read them, you’ll see that I wasn’t always nice.”

And this was supposed to convince him to say yes? “I think you need to work on your pitch.” But he didn’t step back or shake off her touch.

“Probably, but I’m being honest with you. Your interview and the article I write aren’t going to be like that. It’s not what the readers of this town want. It’s not what I want.”

“So you and your readers want something else in Vancouver?”

The side of her mouth lifted in an effort to smile, but ended up looking sad. “Yes. They did and I did. But this is something else.” She took her hand off his arm to run it through her hair. Noah missed the contact. “You don’t need to decide this second. I’m interviewing Pete on Tuesday and his article will run in next weekend’s paper. Wait. Read it and then make your decision.”

“So you’re not going to push me now?” He felt off-balance. Now was the perfect time for her to push. They’d been having a good time, working as a team. Sabrina had done an excellent job of forging a bond to convince him to trust her. Only she wasn’t capitalizing on it. He studied her more closely. Was that part of her plan?

“If you want to say yes right now, I won’t turn you down.” Her eyes stared into his. Such a bright and cheerful green, like grass in summer. “But no, I’m not going to push. You’re helping me move. Really, you’ve suffered enough.”

Noah laughed and the weight in his lungs eased. She seemed genuine and she’d given him the freedom to confirm her sincerity by waiting for Pete’s article to run first. He couldn’t expect more. “All right then. What else do we need to move?”

“I’m so glad you asked.”

His muscles ached when they were done, but it was a good ache. The kind that spoke of a job well-done and a rest well earned.

Sabrina flopped onto the couch. “I’m beat. What do you want on your pizza?”

“Pizza?” He looked longingly at the couch, but didn’t sit. His mother had taught him too well for that. His shirt stuck to his back and his shorts looked like he’d been swimming in them. He wasn’t about to sit on her nice couch and drip sweat all over it.

“And beer. Isn’t that the standard gift for helping someone move?”

“You don’t have to feed me.”

“Of course I do. You helped me move. You don’t think I know the rules of payment for moving?” She patted the couch beside her. “Sit down. You’ve worked your butt off.”

The little shorts rode even higher as she reached over to pull her cell phone from the pocket of her hoodie, which had been left on the floor. Noah swallowed. “I should shower.” A long, cold one.

She grinned up at him. “Mr. Mayor, are you flirting again?”

“No. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Too bad.” She stood up and Noah watched the shorts shift as she moved. He shook his head to clear it of the image of Sabrina in the shower.

She was teasing him, toying with him. The careless flirting probably meant nothing to her.

“Why don’t we sit outside then? It’s cooler.” She walked over to the French doors that had been left open to catch any breeze that might come through. The day had been still, but the temperature was a few degrees cooler outside.

Noah followed her out and lowered himself to the porch step where there was no worry about leaving a sweat outline behind. He leaned his elbows back and inhaled the cool air. Just as good as a shower. Well, not if the shower included Sabrina. He shoved the thought away. Clearly she’d been joking.

He heard the fall of her steps as she headed back inside and let his eyes close. It would be nice to have a neighbor again, to know there was another warm body in the house. He’d never asked his previous neighbors for anything, but he’d liked knowing they were around. He’d like knowing Sabrina was around, too. Watching TV, singing in the kitchen, standing in the shower. A long, hot shower with soap and scrubbing that would leave her skin pink all over.

Noah jumped when cold glass pressed against the back of his neck.

Sabrina laughed and handed the bottle to him. Condensation dripped down the sides, cooling his fingers and some of his distracted thoughts. Imagining his reporter naked in the shower was nothing like imagining the audience in their underwear when he was about to give a speech. Not even close. He shifted and took a long pull from the bottle. It didn’t lower his body temperature.

“I ordered the pizza. They said forty-five minutes.” She sat down on the step beside him, her thigh brushing his. Her skin was soft, silky-looking. His fingers wanted to touch. Noah curled them around the bottle instead.

“So tell me what you’d normally do for fun on a Saturday night.” She stretched her legs out in front of her. Her skin brushed his again, stirring his nerve endings.

He called on his mayoral face, but he was having trouble bringing it to the surface. Really, he just wanted to look at her. “Sometimes there’s an event where I need to make an appearance. But often I have work from the week I need to catch up on.”

Sabrina nodded and sipped her beer. He watched the smooth glide of her neck as she swallowed. The pulse point just below her ear that thrummed a steady rhythm. “Those are things you do for other people. What about you?”

Concern spiked through him. “I thought we weren’t doing an interview.”

She remained reclined in her loose pose. “We’re not. I’m just curious about you.”

He swallowed. This was not good. He still wasn’t sure about her. She seemed sincere, but how well did he know her? And now, sitting on the porch like a couple, her spicy-sweet scent mingling with the grassy smell from the neighbor’s lawn. He looked away. Dinner. Together. And beer. When he was already filled with confusing push-me-pull-you thoughts. This was not a good idea. He cleared his throat. “I just remembered, I can’t stay.”

Her mouth opened and then closed. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Noah set the beer down, barely touched. Fantasies of her naked in his bed rolled through his mind, followed by the worry that this sparking attraction would make him do something he’d regret. No, he definitely couldn’t stay. Not tonight. Not when his mind was in a whirl. “I promised Kyle and Marissa I’d babysit.” He hadn’t, but they were always happy for the extra hands.

Sabrina nodded, but he couldn’t tell if she believed him. “You do that a lot, don’t you? Babysit.”

He felt something icy and irritable slide down his spine. “They’re family.” Why shouldn’t he babysit? He loved his family. He loved helping them.

She sat up and put a hand on his arm. “I think it’s great.” Her eyes bored into him, reading him. “You do a lot for other people.”

“No, I don’t.” Noah hated it when people talked about him like that. He didn’t want them to notice, just to know that they could count on him to be there. “Anyone would do the same.”

“No, Noah. They wouldn’t.” Her hand was warm, comforting.

He reminded himself that he didn’t know who she was, what she wanted. He pushed himself into a standing position. “Right. Well. Thanks for the beer.”

Sabrina lifted her bottle to him in a toast. “Anytime. We’ll rain check dinner.”

Noah knew he should correct her. Tell her that dinner wasn’t necessary, that he hadn’t agreed to help her for any reason other than it had seemed like a good idea at the time. But he didn’t.

And he beat it out of there before desire could overwhelm common sense.

But he didn’t feel any better once he arrived on Kyle and Marissa’s doorstep.

“Hey, bro.” Kyle welcomed him in with a slap on the shoulder. “What brings you here?”

“Kyle?” Marissa came into the entry. “Noah, hi. We weren’t expecting you.”

He could hear the rumble of kids. “I should have called first. Sorry.” He hadn’t brought anything with him. Hadn’t even taken that much-needed shower. Just climbed into his car and driven straight over.

“It’s not a problem.” Kyle turned to the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

“Yes, that’d be great.”

“What were you doing?” Marissa plucked at his shirt, which was still stuck to his skin as they turned to follow Kyle. “You look like you’ve been chopping wood.”

Close enough. “I was helping someone move.”

Kyle pulled a pair of bottles out of the fridge. “Who? You should have called me. I could have helped.”

But Marissa, always more astute than her husband, didn’t wait for his answer. “Sabrina, right?” She shook her head when he didn’t respond to her query. “What else did she want?”

“Nothing. She didn’t want anything.” He twisted the beer cap. No, he was the one who wanted something. Something that he couldn’t have.

“Are you sure?” Marissa asked.

“She’s my new neighbor. That’s all.” Sabrina didn’t want anything else. He didn’t think. Well, except the interview, but she’d been perfectly up-front about that. No, he was the one with the wicked thoughts of her naked body. Damn her little tank top and littler shorts.

“Noah.” But whatever Marissa had been about to say was interrupted by his noisy niece, who burst into the room singing and dancing.

Daisy flung herself at his legs when she saw him. “Hi, Uncle Noah.” Then she launched into a story about some tights with a hole in the knee.

He picked up his niece, suddenly wildly interested in the case of the striped tights.

“Mommy threw them away.” Her tiny face was set in a picture-perfect expression of outrage. “And she won’t buy me more. Will you buy me a pair?”

“Yes,” Noah said just as Marissa said, “Absolutely not.”

Marissa plucked Daisy from Noah’s grip and set her down with a pat. “I need to talk to your uncle. Go see what your brothers are doing.”

“I don’t wanna.” Daisy crossed her arms and stamped her foot.

“Daisy.” The warning note in her mother’s voice was clear.

Daisy looked from her mother to her father, and stuck out her chin. “Uncle Noah will buy me tights. He loves me. Right, Uncle Noah?” She grabbed his leg.

“Don’t manipulate your uncle, Daisy. Go and play with your brothers.”

Daisy responded by wrapping her arms more tightly around Noah’s thigh and clinging like a monkey. “No!”

Noah sighed, used to these exchanges. He’d learned to simply stand by and let Marissa handle her daughter as things inevitably ended more quickly and with less screeching.

“Daisy, I swear.” Marissa attempted to pry her daughter’s fingers loose, but Daisy was a girl on a mission.

“No. No. You can’t make me.” She tried to wrap her legs around Noah’s shin.

Marissa tugged on her daughter’s arm. “Yes, I can.” She pried her daughter free. “Off to find your brothers or you won’t get dessert.”

Daisy seemed to consider that, then nodded. “Okay. Bye, Uncle Noah.”

So much for his three-foot savior. Marissa was now bearing down on him with a gleam in her eye that looked remarkably like the one Daisy often wore. “I can’t believe Sabrina moved in beside you. You need to be careful.”

“Why?” Noah honestly wanted to know. Was it really such a big deal? It’s not as if they were cohabitating.

Marissa’s eyebrow lifted. “People already think there’s something going on because of that talk the two of you had in the parking lot. Do you want the whole town talking about you?”

Noah’s stomach rolled. He did not want the whole town talking about him.

“This is ridiculous.” Kyle piped up with a snort. “What are they going to say? That he helped someone move? That they’re neighbors?”

The roll slowed. His brother had a point. Living next to each other wasn’t scandalous. “We’re just neighbors. I hardly know her.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the interview. I don’t think you should do it,” Marissa insisted.

Just when he was thinking that he should.

“Marissa.” Kyle draped an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

Marissa’s face was set in a hard line. She glanced at her husband. “Have you forgotten what it was like here after she wrote that article about you?”

Kyle nodded. “I remember, babe.” He wrapped his arm more tightly around her. “But that doesn’t mean it’ll be the same for Noah.”

Noah watched the tension seep out of his sister-in-law. “I know. I just worry.” She looked at him, brackets of that worry around her mouth.

He was deeply touched. “It’ll be fine. She’s not going to write anything horrible about me.” Her openness today had convinced him of that. She was telling the truth about what people in Wheaton wanted. A blistering exposé on him was not it.

“I know her better than you.” She turned her head and looked at her husband. “Better than both of you.”

“You knew her better before,” Kyle said. He ran a hand up and down Marissa’s arm. “Maybe she’s changed.”

Marissa sighed. “Maybe. But I’m going on record now that I am not in love with this idea.”

“I haven’t even said I’ll do it.” Noah told them. He would wait to see how Sabrina’s article on Pete turned out before making a final decision. “But even if I agree, it’s only one interview. I’ve handled reporters plenty of times. I know how to stay on message.”

If Sabrina asked him a question he didn’t want to answer, all he had to do was respond with a piece of information he did want to share. Simple.

And there wasn’t much that was off-limits. His life wasn’t exciting enough for that. Look how he was spending his Saturday night. Hanging out with his younger brother and family instead of drinking beer and eating pizza with his sexy new neighbor. He bashed the thought down.

Marissa frowned. “She’s not some small-town reporter who’s going to ask what your favorite pie is. She’s a professional, and she’s good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sound almost complimentary.”

“Well, I don’t mean to.” But a ghost of a smile drifted across her face.

Noah smiled, too. “It’ll be fine.” Sabrina was welcome to ask about his childhood and how that had shaped him. How being the only kid in school who didn’t have a biological parent had impressed upon him the need for community spirit, how a person could forge family bonds with anyone they loved, blood-relation or not and how giving back fulfilled him.

He wouldn’t have to share that he still felt as if he was trying to achieve “local” status, how he often felt that he didn’t fit in, that if he stopped giving back, the residents might eventually lose interest in having him.

Those were his own private demons and not for public consumption.

CHAPTER FIVE

EVEN BEFORE SHE met Pete Peters in person, Sabrina knew she wouldn’t like him. In their phone conversations, he’d called her darling twice and joked about women in the construction business as if women couldn’t swing hammers and saw wood with any hope of competency.

The interview did nothing to change her initial opinion. But as she’d told Noah, these articles weren’t about snarking on the candidates. So she wrote as polite an article as possible about Pete, leaving out his rampant chauvinism and highlighting his family instead.

She was proud of her work. Really, it had been difficult not to let her distaste of the subject creep through, but she’d done it. Since the article had run three days ago, she’d received multiple compliments on it.

In the city, Sabrina had often wondered if people read her work at all.

But she wasn’t in the city right now, she reminded herself. She looked at her newly bare walls, ignoring the pile of hideous Easter-egg-colored wallpaper piled in the corner. The walls were in decent shape, requiring only a bit of patching.

She hadn’t seen much of Noah since he’d helped her move a little over a week ago. She’d thought he might come knocking on her door this morning, or pop into the coffee shop to schedule that interview, but she hadn’t seen him at all.

Sabrina hoped he’d read the article. If not, she had an extra copy sitting on her coffee table that she could personally deliver.

She patched the nail holes and the intermittent dents in the walls. Once the putty dried, she could sand and paint. She stepped back and dusted her hands on the seat of her shorts. Might as well go get the paint now. Tuesday evening was bound to be quiet at the hardware store and she didn’t have anything better to do.

Sad, but true. In her old life she’d be on her way out for dinner and drinks on a patio, maybe heading to a club for some live music. Or having a barbecue on the beach with friends. Here? She was watching home-decorating shows and stripping wallpaper. Such a glamorous life she led.

Sabrina grabbed her purse from her bedroom and glanced at her footwear in the open closet. Her old red cowboy boots stared back at her, bright and cheerful and a memento of bygone days. She’d had some good times in those boots.

Being named Miss Northern Lights at the town’s annual festival for the second year in a row. Getting caught smoking and drinking behind one of the tents at same festival and being uncrowned. High school graduation day. Graduation night.

She remembered the day she bought them. She and Marissa had been shopping for Marissa’s sweet-sixteen party when she’d seen them sitting on top of a pedestal, practically glowing at her. Like fire. She’d snatched them up and held them to her chest, ready to do battle if necessary and looked over to find Marissa doing the same thing to a pair in cotton-candy-pink. They hadn’t stopped laughing until they’d left the store wearing the boots. They’d been the talk of the party. But then, they always were.

Sabrina still hadn’t seen Marissa. Since there were only a few thousand people who called the town home and Sabrina was confident she’d seen every one of them multiple times, she could only assume that it was a purposeful snub. She’d hoped they could say hello, maybe have a chat. A little ache worked its way into her heart. What was it her mother always said? New friends are silver but old friends are gold.

In her case, friends were nonexistent. Both new and old.

She slipped the boots on. Maybe she didn’t still have her friendships, but she still had her boots.

As expected, the hardware store was empty except for Ed, the owner, working behind the register, and her. He scowled when she brought up her paint. Probably still angry with her for that missing parking sign from a decade ago.

But what had he expected? He’d installed a special custom-made parking sign in front of his store, reserving the space for his newly restored ’Vette. He’d even gotten Marissa ticketed for parking there once, which was ridiculous and would never have happened had the sheriff not been his brother. So one night they’d crawled up the post, removed the personalized sign and hung it in Marissa’s room. Sabrina wondered if she still had it.

She paid without engaging Ed in a chat and carried her purchases out to her vehicle, cranking the radio as she drove back home and indulging in the cheerful twang of the country song spilling from the speakers. In Vancouver, she rarely listened to the songs of her youth, worried that they’d highlight her humble beginnings.

Maybe she should crank the tunes when she got home, too. Perhaps that would draw Noah out. She could casually point to the paper and ask if he’d had a chance to read her article, then book his interview on the spot. And if she were completely honest, she wouldn’t mind spending some time with him, either.

He might try to hide it behind his preppy haircut and collared shirts, but Mr. Mayor was a sexy beast. She remembered in high school all the girls, her included, thinking Kyle Barnes was the hottest guy in Wheaton and quite possibly the country. But after spending a bit of time with Noah? Kyle wasn’t even in the running.

And she was due for a little fun in her life. She turned into the driveway. A fling with the mayor sounded pretty fun indeed.

Sabrina was so busy singing and thinking about a potential fling that it took a moment to notice the mess on her formerly pristine front porch.

* * *

NOAH JUST WANTED to get home. The day had been longer and more eventful than he would have liked. He’d had to drive to his dealership in a town an hour away when the manager there had up and quit without notice. Once he’d calmed the staff down and started the process of finding a replacement, he’d gotten a call from a constituent in Wheaton who was concerned that her neighbor’s tree was hanging too far into the street and needed to be trimmed.

She’d left three more messages while he drove back to town. After assuring her that someone would take care of the problem and soothing the tree-owning neighbor, he’d zipped over to the Wheaton dealership for a few hours. His payroll guy had botched the data entry and somehow deleted everyone’s hours. Fortunately, Noah kept a backup since this wasn’t the first time it had happened. He should probably let the man go, but he had a young family and he was trying hard. Maybe he could find a different role for him, one where Noah wouldn’t have to put in extra hours of work every week.

And then he’d had to attend the weekly council meeting, where the mic had been hijacked by an overly confident Pete Peters wanting to resubmit a request for rezoning. Really, was it any wonder Noah wanted to shut his eyes and let the day end?

As he pulled down the side road that led to the house, he wondered if Sabrina would be around. He’d read her article on Pete before all hell had broken loose. Balanced and fair, it had made the man look a lot nicer than he was. Noah had waffled long enough. If Sabrina was around, he’d tell her tonight that he wanted to do the interview.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he thought of seeing her. She’d made herself at home the past week, setting out huge pots of flowers and a pair of Adirondack chairs on the porch. He often heard her singing along to the local country station at the top of her lungs. Her dad hadn’t been lying about that, but neither had she. She was always on key.

When he turned into the driveway, he spotted her on the porch on her hands and knees scrubbing at something. He enjoyed the sight of her butt as he rolled by. He was tired, not dead.

He parked by the detached garage and left the windows open to cool the vehicle. It had been a hot day and the interior had retained a lot of the warmth. As he walked toward the house he felt a little more of the tiredness in his bones float away. There was something to be said for being greeted by a great pair of legs and a fine ass.

When Sabrina turned to greet him, Noah nearly stopped dead in his tracks. Clad in a thin white T-shirt, a pair of denim cut-offs and red cowboy boots, she was his high school fantasy come to life. Oh, hell.

“Look at this.” She gestured sharply to the porch behind her.

He dragged his eyes away from those boots. The porch was a mess. All those heavy pots she’d dragged to the perfect positions last weekend now lay in shards around her. Piles of dirt were ground into the white planks and the blooms had been crushed, judging from the footprints, by someone wearing sneakers. “What happened?” He looked from the disaster area to her.

Sabrina put her hands on her hips. “That’s what I’d like to know. I know Marissa wasn’t happy to see me back, but what did these flowers do to anyone? They’re innocent.”

All the time she’d spent sprucing up the front wasted by some kids who were bored. “You okay?” He’d heard the thread of tension in her voice, understood it. She was rattled and wound tight, as anyone would be who came home to find their home damaged.

“I’m fine.” But her smile didn’t reach her eyes. There was a dirt smudge near her hairline and another by her knee. The colorful scarf tying back her hair blew in the light breeze.

Noah surveyed the chaos as he walked up the steps to stand beside her. “Were you here when it happened?”

She shook her head. “No. I was getting paint from the hardware store.” She knelt to start cleaning again and Noah felt the tension in his body ease.

He moved to help her, pressing a knee into the step for leverage and lifting what looked like half a pot into his arms. Dirt spilled down his blue golf shirt and gray pants as he carried the pottery to the plastic garbage can she’d dragged to the porch. “When did you find things like this?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes ago.” Sabrina followed behind him and tossed a few pieces of clay pot into the bin. They made a dull thump against the thick plastic. “I’m surprised. I didn’t realize things like this happened here.”

“Teenagers.” He tried to focus on what he was saying and not on the fact that he could see the lace outline of her bra through the soft material of her T-shirt. But when he looked away, his gaze landed on those little shorts instead. As if his imagination needed any help after all that talk about the shower last weekend. “Sometimes they get bored and do stupid things.”

Sabrina smiled again and this time it reached her eyes. “These ones are plenty stupid. They left a note.” She pointed to the porch railing.

Noah walked over and saw a message gouged into the wood. Fuq.

“Charming, isn’t it?” She scooped up a bunch of blooms and dirt. Together, they dumped the last of the mess into the garbage can. Her spicy-sweet scent overpowered the aroma of fresh dirt when she stopped beside him. “You don’t think they’ll come back, do you?”

“No. I don’t.” He was surprised they’d dared to do it in the first place. Most times, any vandalism happened at a construction site left unguarded for the evening. Occasionally on the school or other public building where it would achieve maximum impact. “Are you worried?”

“Of course not.” She scoffed as though the very idea was an insult. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve spent the past nine years living in the heart of Vancouver. A couple of punk vandals are nothing.”

She was quiet for a minute. Noah watched while she swept the piles of dirt off the porch and onto the flowerbeds below with her foot.

“But I’d be happier if it hadn’t happened at all.” She sighed and kicked some more dirt. “Thanks for helping me clean up. If this had happened at my old apartment, my neighbor would have called the landlord to complain.”

“About vandalism?”

She shrugged. “He didn’t like me.”

Noah thought the man was clearly an idiot. He dusted his hands off. “No problem.” Sabrina’s smile could knock a man off his feet if her boots hadn’t already done the job. He cleared his throat. “I’ll get a broom for the rest of this.” A clearer head would be nice, too.

He focused on what he’d need to repair the gouges in the wood—some sandpaper and a coat or two of white paint—and not on the way Sabrina looked in those shorts. And boots.

But his fingers tightened around the handle of the push broom he’d pulled from the shed when he saw Sabrina bent over again. So he said the first thing that popped into his head. “You know, this might have been a message for me.”

“For you?” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “The town’s golden son? I highly doubt that.”

Noah wasn’t the town’s golden son, but this wasn’t the time to correct her. He walked up the steps. “If you’re worried about them coming back, you could get a dog.”

“A dog?” She stood up, pushing her hair back.

“Yes.” A big, slavering dog that would keep vandals and bored teenagers away. “For safety.” So that any troublemaker who showed up would get a surprise. A toothy, barky surprise. Actually, it was a pretty good idea for spur-of-the-moment thinking.

But Sabrina shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got city instincts. And you’re probably right, these guys won’t come back.” Her eyes met his. “Besides, I can’t get a dog—I’m not staying. What would I do with a dog when I left?”

Noah nodded. She was right. A dog was a foolish idea. It would be irresponsible for her to get a dog when she knew she wasn’t staying and the dog couldn’t go with her. Maybe he should get a dog. But then he wasn’t home enough to make that a reasonable option, either.

He started sweeping.

“I can do that.” She held her hand out for the broom. “Really, you’ve done more than enough.”

But Noah just kept sweeping. He could easily go inside, break this little connection they were forging. Sabrina wasn’t staying. She knew that. He knew that. The whole town knew that. And yet he didn’t leave the porch.

His eyes tracked her hands as she rubbed them on the seat of her denim shorts. He wondered if it were possible for him to institute a bylaw that banned those shorts. Or perhaps one that required Sabrina Ryan to wear them at all times. He swept harder.

She stood by the damaged railing, fingers tracing the ugly message. “Are you always like this?”

“Always like what?” Trying to pretend that his body wasn’t screaming for him to stop thinking and start acting?

“Doing things that aren’t your job.”

“I’m the mayor.”

“So?” The colorful scarf holding back her hair trailed over one shoulder and around the curve of her breast. Noah feared he might snap the broom’s wooden handle. “That doesn’t mean you’re responsible for everything that happens within town limits.”

Noah swallowed and told his body to get back to sweeping. His body told his brain that it needed a moment. Just one moment as his eyes drank in every curve of her body. “I don’t act like I’m responsible for everything.”

She cocked her head. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.” He didn’t; he just tried to help out. Not the same thing at all.

Sabrina nodded, but didn’t look like she believed him. “I know it isn’t the dinner I owe you, but how about some coffee to say thanks for helping with the dirty work?”

Noah glanced down at his pants which were streaked with dirt. He’d have to spray and presoak them before washing. He looked back at Sabrina. She shook something deep inside of him. A part of himself that he kept carefully caged. He glanced over at the sun, dipping below the horizon. A secretive time, when people acted out of character and blamed it on the night. “It’s late.”

“Right.” But her face fell and dragged his stomach with it.

“It’s late for coffee,” he heard himself say. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow. If I drink coffee now, I’ll be up all night.”

Sabrina’s face brightened and Noah felt his stomach do a slow somersault. “Something else, then?”

He should say no. He balanced the broom against the railing. They could part now and go to their respective homes feeling good about the interaction. Just a couple of neighbors. But he didn’t want to say no. “Sounds great.”

He tried not to watch her go, those boots flashing, hips wiggling, but failed. And when she came back with two water glasses and handed one to him, their fingers brushing, he felt a flash of heat that had nothing to do with the hot day crest through him.

Her throat bobbed as she took a long sip. Noah blinked and reminded himself that licking her neck would not be considered appropriate mayoral behavior. He thought about doing it anyway.

She sat down and leaned back, resting on her elbows. The movement outlined the lace bra she wore. There was a streak of dirt on her shoulder. He knew his own clothes hadn’t fared any better. But he didn’t care. His fingers pressed harder against the cold glass.

“How are Marissa and Kyle?”

Noah blinked. He was thinking about peeling her out of her clothes and she wanted to talk about his family? “They’re fine.”

She nodded. “I haven’t seen them. I guess they’re avoiding me.”

Noah swallowed some more water and tried to bring his mind around to the conversation they were having, not the one he wanted to have, which involved climbing out of their clothes. “Does that bother you?”

Sabrina swiveled to look up at him. “Yes.” Her eyes, normally so bright and cheerful, looked sad. “I’d hoped, well, it doesn’t matter what I’d hoped.” She played with the end of her scarf. “Did Marissa ever tell you that I tried to apologize?”

It took a second for the words to sink in to Noah’s heat-soaked brain. “You did?” His dear sister-in-law had never mentioned that. But then, to be fair, the topic had been a sensitive one for Marissa, who had felt more judgment over the unplanned pregnancy than Kyle.

Sabrina nodded, her fingers twirling the scarf around and around. “I called right after she had the baby, but she wouldn’t talk to me.”

Noah considered that little nugget of information. Marissa had always given him the impression that, after the interview, she’d never heard from Sabrina again.

“I sent a gift and a letter.” Sabrina smiled to herself. “I guess I thought it might prove to her that I was sorry. As if a fuzzy white stuffed animal could make up for what I wrote.”

“A toy dog,” Noah said. He knew that dog. It had been Paul’s favorite as a baby, and though the doll was now gray with age, it still held a place of honor on his bed.

Sabrina’s eyes widened. “Yes. So she did get it. I was never sure.”

Noah nodded slowly. “It was a difficult time for them.” New parents, newlyweds. A hard time for anyone.

Sabrina traced her finger along the rim of her glass. “I keep hoping I’ll see her, so I can tell her I’m sorry.” She put her glass down on the steps and turned toward him.

A tingle worked its way up his spine. The sun dropped farther, leaving them in a silent twilight. His eyes followed the curve of her cheek, the dark shadow of her lashes as she peeked up at him. No one else would be making an appearance here tonight. No one could see them from the road or the yard.

For all intents and purposes, they were alone. Completely alone.

“I still miss her.” Sabrina’s voice was low, intimate. “We were best friends. I thought we’d be friends forever. And then I wrote that snotty article.” She looked down at her lap. “There are times I wonder if I did the wrong thing. If I’m a bad person.”

The tremor in her voice dove right into Noah’s heart and stayed there. “You’re not a bad person.” He sank down on the step beside her, tangled his fingers with hers and squeezed.

“Your sister-in-law would disagree.”

“She doesn’t know everything.”

“Don’t tell her that.”

He laughed and put his glass down. He didn’t want to talk about Marissa anymore. He didn’t want to talk at all. He tugged on Sabrina’s hand, drawing her closer to him. First their shoulders touched, then their hips, then her legs pressed against the length of his. Her face tilted up, glowing in the soft evening light.

“Mr. Mayor.” Her breath tickled his lips as he bent closer. “Are you going to kiss me?”

Noah stopped. Had he read the entire situation wrong? Was she just looking for a neighborly visit where they sat on the porch and talked about the day’s problems? The tips of his ears burned and his chest tightened. “I was.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

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