A Timeless Romance Anthology: Spring Vacation Collection (28 page)

Gemma scrambled for a pen to write down the locations on a Post-it. Two places to check were better than none. She thanked Drew’s mom and hung up. Gemma doubted he’d be as close as the Marina; they could practically walk there from the beach house. She finished getting ready, pulling on one of her new sundresses she’d bought—it was a little cold to wear in the morning, but Gemma decided she’d be warm enough from nerves.

She left a note for Liz then slipped out of the beach house. First she drove to the marina. No cars were in the parking lot except a van with the Dana Point Marina logo on it. So she turned around and headed north up the PCH. Traffic was minimal on a Sunday morning, and Gemma drove slowly, looking for the turn off to Ruby Park. About half a dozen cars were parked in front, but they could be there for anything—joggers, dog walkers; she’d even seen morning weddings on the beach. Although a wedding would mean a lot more cars.

When she saw Drew’s black SUV, she braked.  Gemma parked a few slots down and climbed out of her car. She walked slowly over to the SUV, just to be sure. The corner of the window had a Killer Dana Surf Shop sticker. Gemma’s heart pounded. Drew was either in the park or on the coast right next to it. Judging by the number of cars, he was probably working, which meant they wouldn’t be alone.

Hesitating, Gemma tried to talk herself out of approaching Drew. Maybe she could watch from afar, and if he happened to see her and acknowledge her, then they could talk. At least she could apologize if nothing else.

Her phone buzzed, and she checked the text message. Her breath caught. It was from Drew.

Are you going back to Randy?

Gemma waited a heartbeat before replying.
No.
Should she say something else? Finally, she pressed send.

She stared at the screen, waiting for his reply.

K.

K? That was it? K... what? But at least he’d texted her; he’d responded. That was a big deal. Gemma started breathing again.
Maybe I should go back to the beach house and wait. See if he shows up later
. But waiting without knowing would practically kill her.

She walked around the SUV and headed toward the sound of waves. At the end of the path, she stopped where she could see down the coast. A couple was walking with a dog along the surf. Farther down, a lone man sat in the sand, a camera in his hands.

Gemma’s heart stilled. Drew. He wasn’t working on a shoot.
And he just texted me, which means he’s thinking about me.

She shivered and folded her bare arms then started walking toward him. She wasn’t sure exactly when he saw her, but one moment he was staring out at the ocean, and the next he was standing, facing her, his camera slung over his shoulder, his hands in his pockets.

He didn’t move as she approached, as if he was waiting for her to make the journey. For
her
to walk to
him
. Which should be the case, Gemma realized, her breathing growing erratic. It was her turn to choose him.

When she was close enough to see the hazel of his eyes, she unfolded her arms and stopped a couple of feet away from him. Neither of them spoke. Gemma gazed at him, remembering every moment of the night before, and the way he’d kissed her.

His gaze soaked her in, and fresh goose bumps broke out on her skin. The side of his mouth twitched, and she took the final two steps and threw her arms around his neck. Drew pulled her tightly against him and lifted her off her heels. He slowly spun her in a circle. She closed her eyes, feeling the solid strength of his arms holding her up and the warm bareness of his neck against her face.

When he set her down, his hands remained at her hips. “How did you find me?”

“I called your mom.” Gemma tried to keep her voice normal, even though she felt like his touch would melt her.

His eyebrows lifted. “My mom?”

“She told me a couple of places to look.”

Drew laughed.

Gemma smiled, watching him, her heart pounding. She did not expect his easy acceptance of her return, but then again, maybe she should have. This was what made him Drew. And she loved him for it.

I love him.

“I am so sorry,” she said.

Drew’s smile faded, and his eyes searched hers. “I’m sorry you had to deal with him again.” He touched her shoulder, and then his fingers trailed along her neck.

She slid her hands over his chest, stopping at his heart. Its beat seemed to pulse through her skin, then along her arm until it connected her heart to his. “I was scared you wouldn’t ever talk to me again.”

Drew lowered his chin and closed his eyes. “I needed to separate myself from what I saw—to think about things—about us.” He opened his eyes. “I had to decide if I was going to fight for you or let you go again.”

Again?
“What do you mean?”

He searched her eyes, hesitating. “You were why we broke up.”

“
Me
?” Gemma said. “How?”

“Valentina guessed how I felt about you, even before I was willing to admit it.” He was quiet for a moment. The intensity of his gaze made her sundress feel like a wool coat. “Valentina knew that I was in love with you.”

Gemma stared at him.

His hands cradled her face, and he lowered his head to hers then kissed her slowly as if he had all the time in the world. Her body melted against his, held up only by the strength of his arms.

When he broke away to breathe, he said, “I’ve been in love with you for ten years, Gemma, maybe longer.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he started kissing her again. How could she not have known? How could she not have seen it? Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of how blind she’d been, of how much time they’d wasted.

She pulled away from him, catching her breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His smile was sad. “We were such great friends. I didn’t think I could have it both ways. But when you kissed me last night, it gave me hope.”

She ran her fingers along his jawline. “I don’t know who’s more dense—me or you.” She lifted herself on her toes and kissed him softly. “Because I have a confession to make. I’m in love with you too.”

His hands tightened around her back as he pulled her close. “So will you go out with me then? Or are you mad at me?”

She laughed. “You won’t be able to get rid of me, no matter who’s mad at who.”

“I can’t imagine anything better,” he whispered against her ear. He kissed her earlobe then moved down her neck. “I think our first real date should begin now. Let’s go get breakfast.”

“All right,” Gemma said, reluctantly releasing her hold on him.

He grabbed her hand, threading their fingers together. He held up his camera and snapped a picture of their intertwined hands. “That’s what I call picture perfect.”

And it was. Gemma couldn’t imagine anything better than walking with Drew, hand in hand on the beach, at the beginning of a beautiful day.

Dear Reader,

Thanks for reading
Picture Perfect,
from the Aliso Creek Novella series. To read Liz & Sloane’s story, check out
Third Time’s the Charm
:

http://www.amazon.com/Third-Times-Charm-Novella-ebook/dp/B00AJRLI7S/

All of the Five will receive their own story in 2013 as part of the Aliso Creek Novella series. Thank you for reading!

About Heather B. Moore

Heather B. Moore is the author of nine historical thrillers, written under the pen name H.B. Moore (so men will buy her books). She’s the two-time recipient of the Best in State Award for Literary Arts in Fiction, and the two-time Whitney Award winner for Best Historical. Heather is also a co-author of The Newport Ladies Book Club series (2012), and the co-author with Angela Eschler of the inspirational Christian book,
Christ’s Gifts to Women
. These co-authored works are written under her real name (so women will buy them). Other women’s novels include
Heart of the Ocean
and
A Timeless Romance Anthology: Winter Collection
, as well as the romance novella
Third Time’s the Charm: An Aliso Creek Novella.

Heather owns and manages the freelance editing company Precision Editing Group, just because she isn’t busy enough. Her editing website is
www.PrecisionEditingGroup.com

Heather lives in the shadow of Mt. Timpanogos, with her husband, four children, and one pretentious cat. In her spare time, Heather sleeps.

Author website:
www.hbmoore.com

Blog:
http://mywriterslair.blogspot.com

Twitter: @HeatherBMoore

Facebook:
Fans of H.B. Moore
or
Heather Brown Moore

Other Works by Heather B. Moore

An Unfortunate Exile, a historical romance novella appearing in A Timeless Romance Anthology: Winter Collection

http://www.amazon.com/Timeless-Romance-Anthology-Collection-ebook/dp/B009JZB4RA/

Athena (The Newport Ladies Book Club series)

http://www.amazon.com/Athena-Newport-Ladies-Book-Club/dp/1608619443/

Third Time’s the Charm (An Aliso Creek Novella)

http://www.amazon.com/Athena-Newport-Ladies-Book-Club/dp/1608619443/

Heart of the Ocean

http://www.amazon.com/Heart-of-the-Ocean-ebook/dp/B00AVMIK8Q/

Daughters of Jared (as H.B. Moore)

http://www.amazon.com/Daughters-Jared-H-B-Moore/dp/160861395X/

Ammon (as H.B. Moore)

http://www.amazon.com/Ammon-H-B-Moore/dp/1608612384/

Christ’s Gifts to Women

http://www.amazon.com/Christs-Gifts-Women-Angela-Eschler/dp/1608618617/

The Science of Sentiment

By Aubrey Mace

Chapter One

It was the perfect kiss—tentative, but passionate at the same time. It was tender, yet somehow insistent. As I felt heat creeping from my neck to my hairline, I knew that something about this kiss was different. It was sweet and breathless and exciting and scary, all at the same time. The kiss by which all other kisses would be judged and found wanting.

As pleasant as it was to dwell on the past, the fact that I’d since broken up with the aforementioned kisser kind of soured the memory for me. The idea that I’d dated multiple guys since without a fraction of the spark made it even more bitter.  I sighed and forced myself to focus on the view instead. The snow-capped mountains were beautiful, but I couldn’t help being a little disappointed.

When I’d come up with the idea of driving to my grandfather’s cabin for spring break, I had a different picture in mind. I’d been there many times, and all the memories were happy ones. They were also warmer ones, from summer or fall, when the world was verdant green or even orange or red or bright yellow—not the omnipresent white and gray surrounding me now. My brain had been anticipating one thing, but the reality was quite another. To me, “spring break” implied some
spring
involved, but apparently Park City hadn’t gotten the memo.

For someone who was rational to a fault, I’d been incredibly irrational about taking this last-minute trip. I hadn’t even brought a coat. Shivers rippled through me while I waited for my gas tank to fill, so I bought some hot chocolate at the gas station. It seemed more appropriate than the tub of Country Time lemonade in my backseat. Unfortunately, 7-11 didn’t sell outerwear, and although the sky was blue, it only
looked
warm outside. I was fairly certain that the first strong breeze would send me ducking for cover under the thickest quilt I could find.

I turned off the main road, onto the gravel one that would lead me to the cabin. Even if the weather wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped for, this weekend would be just what I needed. I was tired. Life had been wearing me down lately, and I couldn’t wait to have some time alone to relax and try to recover my normally optimistic outlook. I had my sketchbook and pencils, and all I wanted was to draw and go for long walks so I could tune out for a while.

Everything looked so different from what I remembered. If I looked closely, I could spot familiar trees I knew and loved even with the stark branches they’d disguised themselves with. On my way up the mountain, some of the trees had the greenish tinge that comes with the first of the warmer weather, and at their bases, some even had waxy new green leaves. But at this altitude, the trees were still bare and dead looking.

When I reached the gravel driveway, I was startled to see a shiny blue truck parked in front of the cabin. It wasn’t a vehicle I recognized, but Gramps was famous for opening the cabin to anyone who wanted to stay there. I had my own key, but I was sure I wasn’t the only one. Now I wanted to kick myself for not checking with him to see if the place was already occupied this weekend.

I parked and left my stuff in the car. Might as well check it out first—no use hauling it all in if I wouldn’t be staying, not that there was much to haul. The gravel crunching under my feet was louder than I remembered, and the mountain air, albeit chilly, smelled deliciously of pine. I had the key in my pocket, but I didn’t want to alarm whoever was already in there, so I knocked politely. I waited.