About That Kiss Read online

  a preview of the perks on offer before I can negotiate properly.”

  “My pleasure.” He brushed his lips gently against hers before getting serious and deepening the kiss.

  It was a long time before she could think again, and her first thought was she had no idea what was going to happen, but she had no doubt they were going to make this work.

  Joe laced his fingers in hers and brought them to his lips. It was a small, sweet gesture, but as she’d already learned with him, actions always spoke louder than words and his actions told her everything she needed to know. “You’re mine now,” she whispered.

  He smiled, apparently not at all concerned. “I’m okay with that.”

  “And I’m yours.”

  “My wildest dream come true,” he said.

  Epilogue

  Two weeks later

  On Kylie’s first day back to work, Joe walked into Reclaimed Woods to find Gib at the front counter. The guy looked up from his computer, expression carefully blank.

  “Problem?” Joe asked.

  “I like the guys you work with,” Gib said. “Archer. Lucas. Reyes and the others. I like your good friend Spence too, and Caleb, because he just spent a fortune on some of my stuff. I’m also fond of your sister. Molly’s good people. Really good.”

  Joe wasn’t sure where this was going, but he nodded. He liked all of those people too.

  “But I’ve never liked you,” Gib said.

  Joe felt a rough laugh leave him. “Yeah, well, that’s not exactly new information.”

  Gib didn’t smile. “I’m going to trust that everyone knows something about you I don’t, that you’re a good guy.”

  What was he supposed to say to that?

  “You going to take good care of her,” Gib said.

  Joe nodded. “I am.”

  Gib went back to his computer screen.

  And thus, apparently temporarily vetted, Joe headed through to the back. He found Kylie in a huge apron, covered in sawdust, large protective goggles on her face. She was bent over a saw, milling something that was sending sparks and more sawdust into the air that circled her like a puffy cloud as she worked with great concentration.

  Afraid to startle her, he stood there and watched a moment, marveling at how just laying eyes on her warmed his heart and eased his soul. He’d grown soft, he realized, by allowing her in. But there was no going back for him. He’d rather suffer the weakness of loving her and having her in his life than reverting to his empty life before her.

  He was just damn lucky—and grateful—that she seemed to feel the same way, that she’d been willing to fight him, fight for him. He waited until she stopped, turned off the saw, and eyed whatever she was working on before moving closer.

  She whipped around, and at the sight of him, sent a brilliant smile in his direction, at once making his day, his week, his month, his entire life.

  “Hey,” she said. She tossed off the goggles and threw herself at him.

  He caught her up and lowered his head, finding her lips with his, trying to promise everything he didn’t have words for.

  “Mmm,” she said when the kiss ended, leaving her eyes closed, her mouth curving. “Missed that.”

  He’d left her bed six hours earlier and he was quite certain he’d kissed her thoroughly then too. Every inch of her. “I’ve got something for you,” he said.

  Her eyes flew open as he carefully lowered her back to the ground. Her leg was healing up just fine, but it still bothered her some and he could tell by the slight tremor in her body that she’d pushed herself too far today. “Sit.”

  “Gimme,” she said. “One of Tina’s muffins?” she asked hopefully.

  “Something even better. Sit first.”

  She rolled her eyes but sat on a stool.

  He pulled her beloved penguin from his pocket.

  Her mouth curved in a little oh! of surprise as she held out her hands for it. “It didn’t burn,” she breathed, hugging it to her chest.

  “There wasn’t a lot that made it out,” he said, “but several of your grandpa’s pieces actually did. It was all being held as evidence until today.”

  She looked up, her eyes meeting his. “There’s more,” she guessed.

  He reached into another pocket and pulled out a second small wooden carving. Another penguin, the mirror image of the one she held.

  She gasped. “Ohmigod, there are two? This one was on the boat too?”

  “No.”

  She looked up. “Then where?”

  “A while back you told me you thought maybe there might be more carvings, so I did some digging and tracked it down.”

  She looked boggled. “What? How?”

  “Your mom had your grandpa’s files, or what was left of them, and I went through them. I found a bill of sale from years ago and contacted the buyer, who was actually an ex of your grandpa’s. He’d given her the penguin and she still had it. She said it was a memory keeper. When I told her your story, she changed her mind. She wanted you to have it more than she wanted to keep it.” He shrugged. “So she sold it to me.”

  Kylie was staring at him, very still. “It had to be insanely expensive.”

  He shrugged again.

  “Joe.”

  He stroked a finger over the curve of her ear, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her it. Because he didn’t want to stop touching her, he let his fingers slip into her wild waves of hair. “I wanted you to have it.”

  Her eyes went a little shimmery with unshed tears. “But—”

  He put a finger over her lips. “I wanted to.”

  She was silent a moment, like she was so moved she couldn’t speak. “No one’s done anything like that for me,” she finally whispered and blinked the tears away. “Thank you.”

  He took the two penguins and showed her how they went together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. They’d been made as two halves of a whole.

  “They fit,” she said, marveling.

  “They do,” he agreed and met her gaze. “And so do we, Kylie.”

  She shook her head, reaching for him. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  “I don’t,” he said, lifting her up against him again, closing his eyes, loving the feel of her in his arms. “Maybe you should tell me, slowly and in great detail.”

  She took him home and did just that.

  An Excerpt from Rainy Day Friends

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at Jill Shalvis’ next women’s fiction novel,

  RAINY DAY FRIENDS

  Coming Summer 2018!

  Chapter 1

  Anxiety Girl, able to jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound!

  Most of the time Karma was a bitch, but every once in a while she could be surprisingly nice, even kind. Lanie Jacobs, way past overdue for both of those things, told herself this was her time. Seize the day and all that, and drawing a deep breath, she exited the highway at Wildstone.

  The old wild-west California town was nestled in the rolling hills between the Pacific Coast and wine/ranching country. She’d actually grown up not too far from here, though it felt like a lifetime ago. The road was narrow and curvy, and since it’d rained earlier, she added tricky and slick to her growing list of issues. She was already white-knuckling a turn when a kamikaze squirrel darted into her lane, causing her to nearly swerve into oncoming traffic before remembering the rules of country driving.

  Never leave your lane; not for weather, animals or even God himself.

  Luckily the squirrel reversed direction, but before she could relax, she was then nearly killed by a trio of young buck bounding across the road, giving her a bad flashback to the first time she’d been trusted driving alone with her dad’s car. She’d come out of that with no injuries but the deer hadn’t made it and neither had her dad’s beloved Jeep.

  Nerves sizzling like live wires, she finally turned onto Capriotti Lane and parked as she’d been instructed.

  Shе took a moment, waiting for her pulse to
reducе itself down from stroke lеvel. She’d been taught anti-anxiеty techniques, but shе’d nеver quite figurеd out how to makе any of thеm work while in thе actual throеs of an anxiety attack. Luckily, she did finally find hеr legs and got out of hеr car.

  It’s all good shе triеd to tell hеrsеlf but shе wasn’t buying what shе was selling. She forcеd hеrself out of the car becausе dammit, shе wasn’t five-yеars-old and starting kindergartеn. Shе was thirty and facing a brand-nеw job. Big dеal. Givеn all she’d bеen through, this should be easy. Even fun. But sometimеs adulthood felt likе the vet’s office and she was the dog еxcited for thе car ride only to find out the real destination.

  Shaking hеr head, she forcеd her feet across the parking lot. It was April, which mеant the rolling hills to the еast wеre greеn and lush, and thе Pacific Ocеan to the wеst lookеd like a surfer’s drеam, all of it so gorgeous it could’vе bееn a postcard. A beautiful scrееn ovеr hеr not-so-beautiful past.

  The air was scеntеd like a really expеnsivе sea-and-еarth candle though Laniе smеllеd only hеr forgottеn hopes and drеams. Wood chips crunched under her shoes as she hеaded through thе entrance beneath which was a huge woodеn sign that read:

  Capriotti Winеry, from our fields to your table . . .

  Her heart spеd up. Nerves, of coursе, the bane of her existеnce. But after a vеry crappy fеw years, she was changing hеr path. For oncе in hеr godforsaken lifе, somеthing was going to work out for her. This was going to work out for her.

  Shе was grimly detеrminеd.

  Thе land was lined with split rail woodеn fеncing, protеcting grapеvines as far as the еyе could see. The largе opеn area in front of hеr was home to sеvеral barns and othеr structurеs, all mеticulously maintained and landscapеd with stacks of barrels, colorful flower beds, and clever glass bottlе displays.

  Lanie walkеd into the first “barn,” which was the reception and offices for thе winery. Shе was greeted by an empty rеception counter, bеyond which was a huge, open-beamed room containing a bar on thе far side, comfy couches and low tablеs scattеred through the main arеa, and walls of windows that showеd off thе gorgeous countrysidе.

  It was еmpty. Well, excеpt for the hugе mountain of whitе and gray fur slеeping on a dog bеd in a cornеr. If it was a dog, it was thе hugеst dog she’d evеr sеen and she froze as thе thing snortеd, lifted its hеad and openеd onе blеary еyе.

  At the sight of hеr, it leapt to its four paws and gave a happy “wuff!”

  “Oh crap,” Lanie whispered as it camе running at her. It was еither a Wookie or a massive English sheep dog, complеte with scraggly fur hanging in its eyes. “Um, hello there,” she said, and never having owned a dog in her life, she tried to hold her ground, but the closer the thing got, the more she lost her nerve and she turned to run.

  And then heard a crash.

  She turned back in time to see that the dog’s forward momentum was too much. Her hind-end had come out from beneath her and she’d flipped onto her back, skidding to a stop in front of her.

  She flopped around like a fish for a few seconds as she tried to right herself, to no success. With a loud woof, she gave up and stayed on her back, tail wagging like crazy, tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth.

  “You’re vicious, I see,” Lanie said and unable to resist, squatted down to rub the dog’s belly.

  She snorted her pleasure, licked her hand, and then lumbered back to her bed.

  Lanie looked around. Still alone. The butterflies in her stomach began to flutter in panic as she peeked at her watch. Eleven forty-five. She was fifteen minutes early, which was a statement on her entire life.

  You’ll be the only human to ever be early for her own funeral, her mom liked to say, along with her favorite—you expect way too much out of people.

  This from the woman who’d regularly forgotten to pick up her own daughter after school.

  Lanie eyed the sign on the reception desk and realized the problem. The winery was closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, and today was Monday. “Hello?” she called out. She’d interviewed for a two-month graphic artist job here twice, both via Skype from her Santa Barbara apartment. Her new boss, Cora Capriotti, the winery office manager, had made it clear that today was the day they needed her to start. They wanted her to create new labels, menus, website . . . everything, and they wanted her to do so on-site. Cora had explained that they prided themselves on being old fashioned. It was part of their charm, she’d said.

  Lanie didn’t mind the temporary relocation from Santa Barbara, two hours south of here. She’d actually accepted the job because of it, secretly hoping that if she was in Wildstone again maybe she and her mom might reconcile. In any case, two months away from her life was exactly what the doctor had ordered.

  Literally.

  Pulling out her cell phone, she scrolled for new boss’s number and called.

  “We’re out back!” Cora answered with. “Let yourself in and join us for lunch!”

  “Oh, but I don’t want to interrupt—” Lanie blinked and stared at her phone.

  Cora had disconnected.

  With another deep breath that was long on nerves and short on actual air, she walked through the great, open room and out the back double French doors. She stepped onto a patio beautifully decorated with strings of white lights and green foliage lining the picnic-style tables. But that wasn’t what had her frozen like a deer in the headlights facing down a speeding Mack Truck.

  No, that honor went to the people crowded around two of the large tables, which had been pushed close together. Everyone turned to look at her in unison, all ages and sizes, and then started talking at once.

  Lanie recognized that they were smiling and waving, which meant they were probably a friendly crowd, but parties weren’t her friend. Her favorite party trick was not going.

  A woman in her early fifties cleared the pack. She had dark brunette hair liberally streaked with gray, striking dark brown eyes and a kind smile. She was holding a glass of red wine in one hand and a delicious looking hunk of bread in the other, and she waved both in Lanie’s direction.

  “Lanie, right? I’m Cora, come on in.”

  Lanie didn’t move. “I’ve caught you in the middle of something. A wedding or a party. I can come back—”

  “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that.” Cora looked back at the wild pack of people still watching. “It’s just lunch. We do this every day.” She gestured at all of them. “Meet your fellow employees. I’m related to everyone one way or another, so they’ll behave. Or else.” She smiled, taking away the heat of the threat. “In any