Gypsy Love: A Gypsy Beach Novel (3 page)

If she couldn’t manage to piece together a romance novel there, it was hopeless. Every idea she came up with to salvage her fledgling career required a good deal of money. If only her aunts weren’t being such bitches about her father’s will. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples as if she could somehow massage a new novel into her psyche.

What’s the point anyway? I won’t be able to sell another manuscript until this disaster is settled, and maybe not ever.
It would probably be more productive to work on her résu
mé
. She was a barista in college and worked at the campus bookstore, but that was the extent of her job experience.

Writing was all she’d ever wanted to do, and it was the only thing that made her feel like she was earning her place on the Earth. Stories used to brim copiously from her brain without ceasing. Now, she could almost see the ghostly words on the blank paper. She just couldn’t seem to make them appear. They stayed out of reach.

“That look almost always means trouble.” Ryan chuckled as he drew Sienna into his arms.

“Ryan! Did you see how John was looking at Ms. Copeland? And trust me, she was all but drooling over him. This is so exciting!”

Shaking his head, Ryan sighed. He hated to burst her bubble. “Baby, John’s always been pretty adamant that he’d never fall for anyone. He always puts the brakes on quickly. He’s seen a lot of marriages end explosively.”

“I know.” Sienna climbed into bed and gave him a very sexy smirk. “But there is Gypsy magic in this shoreline, Ryan McNamara.”

“I am well aware of that, Sienna Rose. I do hear it when the little children laugh, and I see it when the moonlight dances on the water, just like Nana used to tell us, but what are you up to?”

“Well, I was just thinking maybe we could work a little Gypsy magic of our own.”

The next morning, John scrubbed his hands over his face. Damn, he needed to shave. Adding that to his get-to-it-later list, he forced his body to move. He popped the crick out of his neck and jaw and then attempted to stretch the kinks out of his spine.

The mornings were the one thing he hated about staying at The Inn with Ryan and Sienna. He wasn’t much on getting dressed in anything more than a pair of boxer-briefs before he’d downed at least two cups of coffee. It was a ritual. He read the paper, inwardly mocked his business associates and college friends’ ridiculous social media updates, consumed enough caffeine to convince himself to face the day, and hung out until he was just late enough to piss off one of the firm partners, but not late enough for them to say anything.

Staying at the Inn meant getting dressed and being cordial before coffee. It also meant eating breakfast with strangers and making small talk, two things he generally despised. But asking for his coffee and breakfast to be sent to his room would not only be rude, it meant way more work for Sienna. He wasn’t doing that, so he shrugged into an old UGA t-shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans.

Remembering that Arley was likely to be having breakfast with them brought a smile to his face. He dragged a brush through his thick hair, grabbed his toothbrush, and headed to the bathroom in the hallway.

Arley huffed and yanked the band out of her hair for the third time. She told herself it was absolutely idiotic to care about what she looked like that morning just because John would be at breakfast. Clearly a glutton for punishment, she sighed and tried to pull her strawberry blonde waves up into something resembling a loose, sexy bun. All she succeeded in accomplishing was an odd knot of hair on top of her head with frizzy hairs that stuck out every direction, making it appear that she’d stuck her finger in the electrical socket. Ripping the ponytail holder back out of her impossible hair, she sighed and proceeded to brush her teeth and get on with her life, such as it was. She’d never been much for primping and preening. That was Savannah’s gig. Arley never cared what she looked like. She used to be happy just being herself.

When John entered the kitchen, he clenched his jaw in an effort to halt his eye roll. Ryan had Sienna backed up to the kitchen counter. His tongue appeared to be attempting to bathe her tonsils, and his right hand was lovingly caressing her midsection.

Fucking hell.
He tried to stop the information his brain immediately calculated. Assuming that was another one of Ryan’s kids he was gently loving in Sienna’s uterus, instead of Alexa’s, the only thing John could think was how much a second child would cost Ryan in child support and alimony when this coupling ended as well. They weren’t married yet, but he’d still have to pay for the kid.

Shaking himself and allowing the guilt to barrage him, he turned and headed into the sitting room. He was only 28 years old. How the hell was he already this jaded? It just seemed like such an impossibility. Did Ryan really believe that he’d be just as in love with Sienna Cooper when he was 90 as he thought he was now? How do you live with one person for your entire life?

John watched Arley make the same path he had. She’d halted at the kitchen door, covered her mouth to hide what he was certain would be an adorable giggle, and then headed to the sitting room.

“I’m sure once they’re all done with … that,” he gestured back towards the kitchen, “we’ll have breakfast.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” She offered him another one of those tempting grins. Damn, but her lips looked like candy, and he wanted a bite. “I think it’s sweet.”

John nodded. She would. She wrote romance, after all. It may have been sweet, but more times than not, it turned sour far too quickly.

As if the universe was helping him prove his point to himself, spats of an irritation huffed from the staircase. “I’m not going to Europe, Donna, until I’ve seen all of the great US of A. What’s Europe got that we haven’t? Too damn much liberalism, if you ask me.”

Arley and John shared an automatic eye roll. Arley’s beautiful lips pursed in antipathy. John nodded his unspoken agreement.

“I want to see the Sistine Chapel, Kent. The kids are out of college now. I don’t think traveling is out of the question.”

“We came here!”

Their argument was cut short when they entered the sitting room and realized that they had an audience.

Having heard the contention, Ryan and Sienna quickly got breakfast on the table and everyone settled in.

“Where’s my girl?” John had wanted to spend some time with Evie that day.

“She’s in preschool, man. Sienna’s gonna pick her up after lunch. I’m finishing up a job in Wilmington today, but you could go with her if you want. Evie would love that.”

“You sure you don’t mind me going with you, Sienna?” He still wasn’t certain what to make of Ryan’s teenage love-turned fiancée ten years later. He didn’t really know her.

“Not at all, and Evie will be thrilled.”

John added several pancakes and bacon to his plate. One thing was for certain, Sienna sure as hell could cook.

“You go to UGA, son?” Kent, the other half of the disputing duo, gestured his head to John’s t-shirt.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Our youngest, Wendy, just graduated from there. So far as I can see, she didn’t do much useful while she was there. Did you leave with a degree you can actually use?”

Arley offered him a sympathetic smile that quickened his heartbeat.

“I left with two, actually.”

“John’s a Double Dawg from the law school. He graduated top of the department.” Ryan quickly came to his defense.

“What’s a Double Dawg?” Intrigue lit Arley’s beautiful, sage green eyes.

John smiled automatically. “Uh, just means my undergrad and my law degree are both from Georgia.”

“See, that, Donna, Wendy should have gone into law, then she could finally move out.”

Donna awarded her husband a withering glare. She turned to Arley. “And what do you do, dear?”

Now extremely interested in the conversation, since it was no longer directed towards him, John watched the exchange closely.

“Oh, uh, I’m an author.”

Her head fell as if she expected to be rebuked. John fought not to reach over and take her hand. At one point she’d published 10 novels. That was nothing to be ashamed of, but she was apologetic as if it weren’t a valid career or she weren’t a valid human being. Her self-doubt was visibly crippling.

“An author! Isn’t that interesting. I’ve just finished all of Clara Clancy’s Mennonite Mysteries. Do you know her?”

Arley seemed to force her head to raise.

John’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth and forcefully keeping his hands on his silverware.

“No, ma’am. I don’t.”

“Oh.” Donna sighed.

Apparently knowing or not knowing Clara Clancy was the yardstick by which Arley’s career was going to be judged.

“Well, what do
you
write?”

The pain and fear that formed in Arley’s eyes made her appear to be the offering in a human sacrifice. John feebly offered her a smile. His heart ached.

“I’m a romance writer.” The words were barely audible.

“Oh, you write
those
kinds of books. Your mother must be so proud.” Donna drew herself up into a monument of pious indignation then seemed to forcibly soften her scowl. “But I’m sure you won’t always have to write that. You’re still so young. Something else will come along. My church book group is hosting a responsibility in literature summit. There’s too much smut in those trash novels you all write. I’m thinking of sending an email to Clara Clancy to see if she’d like to be our guest speaker. Maybe you could attend and meet her. She could offer you some help.”

Sienna was shooting Ryan pleading gazes that begged him to help, but the lawyer in John came out swinging.

“Actually, Romance is the largest selling genre in the literary world today. It also combines more intricate plots and subplots, and has more subgenres, than any other form of fiction. For all of the scorn thrown their way, Romance authors dominate the industry and are generally insanely intelligent, imaginative, and insightful. Human relationships have to be the most difficult thing to capture effectively and they manage to do it repeatedly. The genre is brimming with talent, and let’s not forget that most of us wouldn’t have a clue where to begin in writing and completing a novel.” He narrowed his eyes, ready for a retort.

Arley’s mouth hung open in shock, as did Ryan’s. Sienna was beaming at John. She nodded. “Arley Copeland! I knew I’d heard of you! A couple of years ago, I read your
Heights of Love
series. It was amazing! I couldn’t put them down.”

“Thanks.” Arley attempted a smile, but the motion seemed to haunt her eyes. “And thank you for breakfast. It was delicious. I think I’m just going to go …” she searched around the Inn for an escape. “For a walk.” Her eyes landed on the decking that led to the beach. She gathered her plate and empty coffee mug and headed back to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to do that.” Sienna attempted to help.

“I don’t mind. Would it be okay if I got a little more coffee?”

“Of course.” The ladies sped towards the kitchen while Ryan and John made excuses to end breakfast early, as well.

Arley shuddered as the early morning sea breeze whipped around her face. She might as well just have announced that she was a prostitute that moonlighted as a porn star, and nothing galled her as much as someone calling her work
trash
. How dare she?

Who cares what Kent and Donna think anyway?
She tried to find her normal fiery spite, but it was lacking as of late.

When John and Ryan made it to the kitchen balancing plates and mugs, Sienna was pacing furiously.

“Ryan! Those people are horrible. They really hurt her feelings.” She was vacillating somewhere between marching back into the dining room and telling off Donna and Kent and bursting into tears. The fire in her eyes was quickly evaporating any incoming tears, however.

“I know, baby. I’m sure she gets that a lot. I’ll apologize for them.”

John was fairly certain that Ryan wrapped her up in his arms to keep her from spontaneously combusting.

“This is why Nana threw boots at people.” She huffed.

They both laughed, but John’s eyes were trained on Arley as she disappeared further down the coastline.

“I’m gonna leave the boot throwing to you two, but put some muscle into it for me.” He huffed as he fixed himself another cup of coffee and then followed the path Arley had traversed. He allowed himself one moment to admire her sexy little ass swaying as she made her way down the beach. The loose sundress she was wearing teased at her curves, making his mouth water in anticipation.

“Mind if I join you? The sheer amount of hot air in there was making it hard to breathe.”

Startled, Arley spun back when she heard his voice. He gave her what he hoped was a simultaneously kind and sexy smile.

“Oh, uh, sure, I guess. Thank you for saying that. You don’t have to. I’m used to it.”

With three quick steps, he moved beside her and matched her pace.

The sun was warming the shoreline and the tides were rolling out. It looked to be a beautiful day.

“Yeah, well, censorship and self-righteous indignation tend to piss me off. There’s a hell of a lot more truth in fiction and lies in non-fiction than people like her want to admit.”

“Thank you. I really do appreciate what you said. At least she didn’t laugh. That’s the worst.” She sighed and glanced behind her as if expecting another incoming assault. The backs of their hands brushed as they walked. The electricity ignited his determination.

“Yeah, well, believe me, I get the disdain over your career. Lawyers are usually heartless, cold-blooded, leeches on society, right up until the point you need one.”

To his delight, she slowed and turned to stare into his eyes. “I never really thought of that. I probably even thought that about lawyers at some point.” She admitted begrudgingly.

John chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not offended.”

“Wanna sit? Coffee is always better seated.” He gestured to a pair of wooden lounge chairs under a massive umbrella a little further down the beach. Ryan got up early to set them up for the patrons of the Inn.

“Okay.” She was wary, as if he might be a big, bad wolf in disguise. Something inside of him was determined to make her trust him. They settled in the chairs and stared out at the picturesque sea.

“So, you’re from Birmingham. Do you Roll Tide or War Eagle?” Giving her some place to start that he assumed would be familiar, he tried to initiate a decent conversation.

She did grin up at him. His jaw flexed. Damn, those eyes and those lips were going to be his undoing. “Neither, really. I know that’s weird, but I went to Samford. I guess I’m a Bulldog, too.” Her eyes lit and a mischievous smirk formed on her face. “But when I was a little girl, Daddy would always let me watch Alabama stomp Georgia with him when they played.”