Hold Me Now: Hope Harbor

  Hold Me Now

  Hope Harbor

  Ann B Harrison

  Contents

  Hold Me Now

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Hold Me Now

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Copyright 2019 Ann B Harrison

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s wild imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Ann B Harrison is the internationally best-selling author of thirtyfive plus romance novels including her fabulous Watson Brothers Romance stories published by Tule Publishing Group.

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  Chapter 1

  The cool breeze caught Hilary French’s hair and whipped it around her face as she looked over the bow of the Hope Island Ferry, her stomach rolling in time with the waves. She didn’t get seasick normally, but her frayed nerves threatened to overpower her determination to hold down her breakfast. So much was riding on this meeting that she felt sick imagining the possible outcomes.

  Would he see her? Would he be interested in what she had to offer, or would she come across as a creepy stalker, who couldn’t take a hint? Could she convince him she had his best interests at heart? She had her doubts, but after months of trying to pin down Arlo Hope, owner of Hope Island Shellfish Farm, she’d decided to take matters into her own hands and confront him in person. He could only turn her away, right? Not that she hoped for that kind of outcome, but so far, her efforts to make contact with him hadn’t elicited a response. Not the normal reaction she got from growers.

  He’d refused to return her calls for a start. Talking to his answering machine was fruitless. Emails weren’t returned either, and her perfectionist tendencies were kicking in big time, giving her the jitters. The more he ignored her, the more she had to make contact, to pitch her business because it could only make his better.

  Hilary had tried other ways to make contact too. The local information center wasn’t exactly helpful, as far as she was concerned. They gave her directions to the farm when she called, warning her to phone ahead first, and threw in the link to his less-than-stellar website, which she already had, but that was that. Call first. She’d tried for months. How many people would’ve given up on that idea and looked elsewhere for oysters? Not her. Not now she was trying hard to keep up with the affirmations she’d decided would keep her on track.

  Hilary didn’t give up, not anymore—or so she told herself. Some days it was easier to believe than others, but still, she did her best to move forward. Even if her efforts fell flat.

  She’d printed out her favorite affirmation, framed it, and hung it above her office desk, placed one in her bathroom above the mirror so she’d see it every morning, and even stuck one on the refrigerator door. She repeated it to herself whenever she remembered, just in case the message hadn’t sunk in earlier.

  Maybe it was overkill but after hitting rock bottom last year, it seemed the ideal thought to cling to. She needed to be reminded on a daily basis, that was obvious. Sometimes hourly. So far it was working for her. She’d come a long way. At least she’d stopped crying over her loss.

  Having the restaurant sold out from under her had almost killed her, financially and emotionally. Now, after what seemed like an eternity of hiding her shame and trying to figure out her life, find a new dream to fight for, and get it on track, she was on her way back. The only way is up, baby! She almost burst into song but settled for a sedate wiggle of her hips instead.

  The elusive Arlo Hope was going to get pulled into the ranks of the famous and feted if she had anything to do with it. His shellfish farm and what she was prepared to do for him was part of that dream, and Hilary would take him there kicking and screaming if necessary. The culinary world deserved to sample his plump, juicy oysters and have the same reaction she’d had.

  That first sample had blown her mind. It had been toward the end of the season, when Emily had dragged her out to a tiny coastal café. The salt of the sea had caught the back of her throat, sending her taste buds into overdrive. Hilary had closed her eyes, savoring the tang of fresh waves and salty air, followed by a strangely pleasant aftertaste. A moan of pleasure had escaped her lips.

  “Told you, didn’t I?” Smug words from her best friend Emily as she’d leaned on her elbows, watching every move Hilary made. “These are the best I’ve ever tasted and you know how much I love my oysters.”

  “I don’t believe it. They’re fantastic.” Hilary had looked down at her plate, trying to find anything that could detract from this perfect dish. The shells were clean; the bed of ice they sat in, frosty; the color of the flesh, creamy and soft. The oysters themselves had lain before her waiting to be devoured in all their plump glory. The wedges of lemon had been tipped at the right angle to the cocktail sauce on the plate to satisfy her penchant for symmetry, but as always, it was the pure, clean taste that had won her over.

  “This is what you’ve been looking for—something unique and exciting to take your business to the next level. Not that you’re doing that badly, but you’re not doing any better than anyone else either.” Emily had gazed at her over the edge of her glass of wine. “You have to get this grower on board.”

  “You’re right. I’ve been thinking the same thing, wondering how I can improve and make people take me seriously.”

  “Exactly. Everyone sells oysters but I’ve never had something this good before. You should try to make them exclusive to your company. Can you imagine the buzz you could create online with your blog? Whip the culinary world into a frenzy. Imagine it, the ‘open to the public’ days, the in-depth interviews you could do.”

  “Yes. Brilliant idea, Emily.” She’d high fived her girlfriend across the table. “I don’t have any credibility with the movers and shakers of Seattle. I need that.”

  Now, she was on a mission to engage with this grower and get him onboard. Too bad the one taste she’d had couldn’t be repeated any time soon. It had been the last shipment for the season, much to her disappointment. Still, thinking back to that impromptu lunch gave her nothing but good feels.

  Hilary needed this producer on board. She just had to find him.

  The loudspeaker on the ferry crackled to life, bringing her back to the present.

  “Docking in five minutes, folks.” Hilary could make out the wharf as the ferry turned into the inlet of Hope Island. Her gaze followed the shape of the small tourist island ar
ound the sweep of the headland before coming back to focus on the dock. A line of traffic waited to board for the return trip to Seattle, a truck and a few cars plus travelers on foot.

  Excitement built on the ferry as mothers with strollers hurried to their cars, and toddlers clapped their hands, excited to dig on the beach once they were off the water. A man studied his phone, oblivious to the impatient gestures from his partner to get into their car, which made Hilary smile. Away from the city, life took on a more relaxed vibe—for her, at least.

  Hilary stood watching the island come into view for a moment longer, her heartbeat rising in anticipation. She’d given herself two days on the island. Two days to find the elusive shellfish farmer, to show him what she could do for him, and to get him signed up before she headed back home to start blogging about her findings and picking up new supply orders for the upcoming season.

  Mentally, Hilary ticked off the boxes. She had her laptop, blank contracts in her briefcase if she couldn’t access a printer, and the latest Foodie magazine to show him her business and how it was working in case he needed more persuading. Not that she could see that being the case considering her success, but best to be prepared. Some people thought they were doing well enough and didn’t need her services. How wrong they were.

  In addition to her favorite pajamas and basic underwear, she had a change of clothes to tide her over until she got back to the mainland and one little black dress she’d thrown in her bag, just in case she got lucky and found a restaurant worth blogging about. She never knew when she might come across a hidden gem.

  The ferry shuddered as it ground to a halt and bumped into the wharf. The hydraulics moaned and creaked as the ferry captain lowered the ramp and the cars spewed off like ants following a trail of maple syrup. Hilary stood on the upper deck watching the eager visitors depart the boat until half the vehicles were gone and then moved toward her own vehicle. One of the first on the ferry—and therefore the last off—she was in no rush to make a move.

  When her tires hit the road of Hope Island, a sense of calm fell over her. Tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding eased as if she were on a holiday instead of a mission to discover the company behind the best oysters she’d ever tasted, and Hilary eased back in her seat. She followed the directions one of the staff on the ferry gave her to the bed & breakfast she’d booked: Head through town, up the main road, around the headland to where the stunning old gray and white Victorian home was located.

  Hilary spied the house perched on the hill overlooking the harbor. The two-and-a-half-story Victorian sat bathed in morning sun, its front doors open wide to the fresh new day. The manicured gardens beckoned her to grab a book and a hat and relax away the rush of her normal life. Maybe tomorrow that would be possible once she’d achieved what she’d come to do.

  A young man swept the veranda, pausing as she pulled up and parked outside. He glanced her way, a smile lighting his face.

  “Hello.” He leaned the broom against the post and skipped down the stairs to greet her as she walked up the path. “I’m Matt, owner of this place. And you would be Hilary French?” His dark eyes raked over her from head to toe.

  “That’d be me.”

  “Welcome.” He reached out and took her suitcase. “Come on in. I’ve given you the Rose Room at the front so you can wake up to the view. It’s something special with the sun rising over the water early in the morning.”

  “I can imagine it is.” Hilary followed him up the steps and stopped at the front door to turn and take in the stunning blue of the harbor. “So pretty and, despite the influx of tourists today, quite peaceful.”

  Matt laughed and ran a hand over his thick but neatly trimmed beard. “Some days it’s crazy down there, but hey, some days it’s so quiet I can hear myself think. Not always a good thing.” He laughed and she warmed to him. He had just the right personality for a B&B, she decided.

  “I guess that must be nice sometimes though. It looks like an awesome place to live. If it were me, I’d get sick of being overrun with tourists. Something about island life makes me think solitude.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Guests are my bread and butter. Couldn’t be without them, but come winter, it’s nice when things quiet down. Gives me a chance to catch up with myself.”

  “I believe it.” She hovered near the door, her gaze flickering to the polished brass name plate. Hope House. “Can I check in now? I really want to hit the road and get down to business.”

  He grimaced. “Sorry. I get lost in my own imagination sometimes. Come on in.”

  He led the way inside and Hilary followed. The interior of the house was just as gorgeous as the outside. They stepped into a large open sitting area with comfortable armchairs and small side tables dotted around, making up warm, intimate areas. A dining room with a long polished oak table sat to one side of the curved staircase, which split in two directions and made her itch to discover where it went. Bay windows showcased the gorgeous view of the harbor and Hilary took a second to absorb it from a different angle. The old oak tree that hung over one side of the front lawn framed the garden set against ocean as an inviting backdrop. If Hilary was a painter, she’d be in heaven right now. The cool colors relaxed and calmed her otherwise overactive mind. With some effort, she tore herself from the window and took in her surroundings.

  Someone had a wonderful eye for decorating. Tasteful antiques mixed with modern décor the encouraged her to relax and unwind. The mass of houseplants added to the soothing effect, as did the strategically placed candles filling the air with their delicate perfume. It would make anyone feel at home. She glimpsed a portion of a large open kitchen to the rear of the house, an oversized island taking pride of place in the middle of the room

  In the sitting room, polished wooden floors scattered with rugs made her want to sit by the fire and snuggle down and let her overactive mind unwind. But she could do that later after she signed her new client—if she could find him.

  “So, you told me when you booked the room you’d be here on business. Care to tell me who with? Not that it’s any business of mine, mind you, but I probably know them and can point you in the right direction if you need any help. This is a small island.”

  “Born and bred here, right?” She smiled. Just what she needed, someone who knew everyone. Plus he looked like the friendly, helpful type.

  “Does it show?” He made a face and she laughed. He was very cute. The ready smile, groomed beard, sparkling eyes, and hair that curled over his collar was very metro chic and suited him. Pity it didn’t make her heart go pitter patter, but the only love for her right now was her new venture and food. Always food.

  He opened a book on the small hall table, handed her a pen, and indicated she should sign in.

  “Kind of, yes.” She signed the book and turned back to him. “I’m here to see the owners of Hope Island Shellfish Farm.”

  His smile slipped and his eyes became wary. “Why?”

  Caution made her choose her words carefully. “Because I have something to offer them that I don’t think they can refuse. You know who it is, right?” Why did it suddenly feel as though her job had gotten harder?

  “Maybe.” He picked up her suitcase and led the way up the stairs. “Follow me.” At the landing, he took a sharp right and walked into the front room where he waited for her to catch up.

  Hilary stepped in and dropped her briefcase on the chair by the window. She turned around to look at her host, determined not to let his cooling attitude affect her. “Why won’t you tell me about the person I want to see? I’m not here to cause trouble, I promise. I have something to offer them that most people can only dream about.” She may as well pump her business up.

  He stood staring at her, a frown on his face. It would seem she had some convincing to do here, but she couldn’t see why he was so obviously negative toward her. Hilary gave Matt what she hoped was a winning smile.

  “Look, there’s nothing nefarious about me. I can
give you references if it helps. Or, go online and check me out if you want to. Maybe you’ve heard of me already? I used to be the head chef for Scooped in Seattle, not that that’s any recommendation at this stage.” Why had she even mentioned that? It was part of her embarrassing past she wanted to forget about. The guilt of losing her restaurant still chewed at her and when she was stressed, her words got jumbled and she made a mess of things. But no point dwelling on it. She had to cover up that mess and keep talking if she was going to convince him of her stellar intentions. “I’m a food blogger and my business is putting suppliers in contact with restaurants that they might never get a chance to supply on their own. Because of my past experience, I have an in with a lot of the city’s top chefs. It’s a very exclusive club.”

  “Nope. Sorry.” He folded his arms, his moustache twitching as he pressed his lips into a straight line.

  “Please don’t make me beg.” She could always go down to the information office and hope they would share the address with her, but if Matt knew the people concerned, it would be so much easier to get a foot in the door. “But I will if I have to.”

  “He doesn’t like people.”

  What? Who the heck didn’t like people? They made the world go round. Made everyone feel as though they belonged. Stopped them from being the single biggest loser on the planet when love deserted them along with the fame and fortune.

  She should know. She’d been hit with both.

  She lowered her voice, hoping to convince him of her sincerity. “I’m not people though. I’m one person who doesn’t bite. I can even be charming when I want to.”