Married One Night

“I’m intrigued, and also slightly confused.” Adrian licked her lips. “What you’re saying is...this Tom Hiddleston-esque, sexy, intelligent man-hunk walks into the tavern and has decided to stay next door for three weeks so that he can, basically, try and woo you into staying married to him. Correct?”

Olivia nodded, thinking it through carefully. “In a nutshell. Yes.”

“And you, Olivia Lewis, who has no problem letting men woo her is freaking out because...”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “He and I are married.”

Adrian shrugged. “In my experience, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But, hey, some people like it. Look at Briar and Cole. Look at your parents.”

Olivia made a thoughtful noise as she gnawed on her thumbnail. Her parents’ partnership, which had spanned three decades and the hell-raising teenage version of herself, was a lot to live up to. From an early age she’d known that it was the ultimate ideal—the kind of love she’d once ridiculously envisioned for herself.

As a young adult, however, she’d learned the hard way that that kind of love and bond didn’t come easily. Nor did it happen for everyone. And she was sure it never would for her. “So you’re saying...” Olivia took a deep, steadying breath “...I should just let it ride?”

Adrian lifted her shoulders. “Why not? He’ll definitely be gone by the end of the three weeks?”

“He says so. And he said he’d file for separation himself, take care of the legal fees, everything—as long as I give him these three weeks.”

Tired, Adrian gave Olivia a telling look. “Then what’s the harm?”

Olivia narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Usually, I can count on you for cynicism. What the hell?”

Adrian lifted a shoulder. “It’s midnight. I’ve been up since 5:00 a.m. Penny and I threw together over a hundred arrangements at the shop today. My bed’s calling me. That’s all. Talk to me tomorrow after coffee if you want practical advice.”

Olivia sighed. “Right.” She rose. “Sorry to barge in so late.”

Adrian stood. “For curiosity’s sake, what’s the name of this British man-hunk who intends to sweep you off your feet?”

“No sweeping,” Olivia said pointedly. “There will be no sweeping. And his name is Gerald Leighton, for what it’s worth.”

Adrian blinked in surprise. “Gerald Leighton? The writer, Gerald Leighton?”

“That’s his name,” Olivia said. “I don’t know what he does for a living. I don’t know anything about him.”

“Hang on.” Adrian disappeared into the hall where she kept books on built-in shelves. She strolled back in with a dog-eared paperback, turned it over and opened the back cover for Olivia to see the black-and-white picture on the inside. “Is this him?”

Olivia gawped at Gerald’s face for what had to be the third time that night. “Oh, my God. What’s he doing there?”

“Liv.” Adrian closed the book, firming her lips together as her eyes lit up and she clutched the worn paperback to her chest. “Your husband is Gerald Leighton.”

“So?”

“Gerald Leighton,” Adrian said again, a bit louder this time. “The fantasy writer. He’s an international bestseller. He’s won all kinds of awards in the genre, not to mention for writing in general. He writes the Rex Flynn series.”

“Who?”

“Rex Flynn.” Adrian made an impatient noise. “Come on, don’t you read?”

“Not really,” Olivia admitted. “Just the occasional romance novel, heavy on the smut. Short ones—I don’t have time for anything else.”

Adrian raked a hand through the red cap of her hair. “Oy. Okay, Rex Flynn is this amazing hero who has this weird but really awesome time-traveling ability that just gets him into trouble at first but eventually becomes useful for rescuing people, spying and, of course, saving the world. But the best part about it is the love story. In book one, Rex accidentally travels to the fifteenth-century Highlands where he meets the love of his life, Janet MacMillian, and so starts this epic love story that continues throughout the rest of the series.”

“You read love stories?” Olivia asked doubtfully. “Since when?”

“I started out reading the series because Dad suggested it for the history and time-travel elements. But it’s more than all that. There’s intrigue and action and magic and ancient history and love and even a little bit of smut.... Oh, it’s just perfection! He is the best writer. And he’s, like, a multimillionaire.”

“No, he’s not,” Olivia said automatically.

“No, really. He’s an actual multimillionaire. He gets seven-figure advances and he does these book signings where people line up for city blocks just to meet him. They’re talking even about doing a Rex Flynn movie. Liv, this is a big deal. He, Gerald Leighton, is a big deal.”

“Calm down,” Olivia ordered. She put her hands on her head and shook it in denial. “I can’t process this right now. I just can’t. You’re right. We’ll talk more in the morning. Postcoffee.”

“Liv,” Adrian said, snagging Olivia’s arm as she opened the front door. “Can I meet him? Do you think it would be okay if I met him. I mean, meet him again...when I’m not drunk? Maybe he could sign a couple of my hardbacks or something?”

Olivia took one good look at Adrian’s animated expression and shook her head. “For Christ’s sake, Adrian. Get a hold of yourself.” She walked out of the cottage, back into the rain.

If the man had Adrian Carlton of all people beaming sunshine and rainbows, Gerald Leighton was going to be far more trouble than Olivia had initially thought.

* * *

THE BREAKFAST OLIVIA’S cousin, Briar Browning Savitt, served for guests and family at Hanna’s Inn was not to be missed.

Olivia walked around the tavern and the adjourning shops facing South Mobile Street. She crossed the gravel parking lot to the proud white three-story bed-and-breakfast that had been owned by the Brownings for decades. She saw her cousin’s small sedan, the four-by-four owned by Briar’s husband, Cole, who used the brawny vehicle to haul landscaping materials and such, Adrian’s ten-year-old SUV and what looked to be a luxury sportster Olivia could only guess was Gerald Leighton’s rental car.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who had shown up for Briar’s cinnamon rolls. Frowning at the blue skies scant on clouds today, Olivia mused that if not for the wet and battered leaves littering the ground and the tangled state of her cousin’s climbing roses and jasmine bushes, one might never have known that the coast had had a very near miss with a Category 3 hurricane. And despite the fact that it was late October, the brush with El Niño had left the Eastern Shore warm enough for it to be mid-May.

Nobody could ever be prepared for Gulf Coast weather. It changed on a dime, rain or shine. In summer, residents suffered through weeks of dry, dusty drought followed by a month-and-a-half straight of coastal flooding. Halloween was on the horizon and Olivia was wearing flip-flops.

She smiled. The unpredictability of the weather was one thing most people around these parts tolerated. Olivia, a creature of unpredictability herself, thrived in it.

She bounded up the steps to the inn’s glass-front entry doors. The bells jangled as she opened them and the smell of cinnamon and home struck her.

Olivia followed the voices coming from the back of the house. She made her way down the hall, past the fancy dining room full of antiques and the living room with its plush, half-moon sofa and flat-screen television. Here brilliant streams of sunlight beamed unfiltered from the connected sunroom, which overlooked Briar’s gardens. Cole’s trim, green yard tumbled down to the rocky, sandy shore and the small dock with its Adirondack chairs and chaise longues.

The bay was still choppy but had settled back for the most part. The storm had stirred it into a murky brown. Light beamed off the surface of the crests, however, and it wasn’t hard to see the gleaming spires and bottlenecked cranes of the city of Mobile beyond it.

Olivia peered through the swinging door into Briar’s kitchen. Standing at the counter, a steaming mug of coffee clenched in one hand and an infant tucked against his opposing shoulder, Cole Savitt was the first to catch her eye. He grinned a lazy morning grin and tipped his mug toward her in greeting.

She pressed a finger to her lips, slipping quietly into the room. Adrian and Kyle sat at the round nook table and Olivia could hear Briar’s voice floating from the open pantry doors. She walked to Cole and placed her hand gently on the baby’s back. “How’s our Harmony this morning?”

“I think she’s out,” the man said, dipping his head close to his daughter’s. “She kept us awake most of the night.”

Olivia got on her tiptoes to get a better view of Harmony’s face. Her eyes were closed and her cheek was adorably mushed against the broad shoulder of Cole’s black T-shirt. Olivia grazed her fingertip over the bridge of the two-month-old’s button nose and sighed. “I was hoping for a smile this morning.” Lowering herself back to the heels of her feet, Olivia asked, “Colicky again?”

“Yep,” Cole said, carefully readjusting the weight of the baby so that she settled against his chest and not his arm. “It’s winding down, though. She hasn’t had a rough night like this in a couple weeks.” His smile turned sly as his dark eyes settled on Olivia’s face again. “I just hope she didn’t disturb our latest guest.”

Olivia groaned. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Oh, come on, Liv,” Cole said, setting his coffee down so he could run a tan, calloused hand over Harmony’s back. “I recall a time, about a year and a half ago now, when you teased Briar and me mercilessly just for glancing at each other at the breakfast table. Now you’ve gone and found yourself not just a boyfriend but a bona fide bridegroom and I can’t make a comment?” He smirked and shook his head. “I don’t think so, cuz.”