Rose (Beach Brides Book 9) Read online

  He recalled the promise he made to consider reaching out to the girl. In fact, he’d typed her half a dozen messages, but something held him back from ever sending them.

  Frustrated, with himself and his mother, he rolled the letter back into the bottle and set it on a high shelf in the storage closet. Weeks then months went by and Tanner forgot about it, until he cleaned out the closet. The moment he held the bottle in his hands, the same strange, disquieting urge to connect with the person who wrote the letter settled over him.

  Determined to rid himself of the bottle and the disturbing pull the letter seemed to hold on him, he set it in a box he planned to take to a donation center.

  Every day for a week he walked past that box sitting in his hallway. And every time he stopped and turned back to the box, fingers itching to touch the letter again.

  Unable to stand it any longer, he loaded the donation boxes and drove to the nearest collection center. He saved the box with the bottle for last. Then, just as he handed the box to the volunteer at the collection center, the oddest sense of urgency swept over him. He snatched the bottle from the box and tossed it on his passenger seat.

  When he got home, he took the letter from the bottle and laid it on his desk, next to his laptop. He used two soup cans to hold the edges of the letter down so it wouldn’t curl back into a scroll.

  For a long time, he studied the elegant, flowing script on the piece of parchment. What kind of modern day woman used parchment paper to write letters? Or knew calligraphy, for that matter?

  He read the letter so many times that he could recite it by heart. This is certifiably insane he thought as he opened his email account and composed a brief message to the woman who seemed to live in a world far different from his own.

  Dear Mystery Girl,

  This is probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done, and I don’t even have any loony friends egging me on, but here goes:

  I am in possession of a letter you wrote two years ago and tucked inside a bottle. I have no idea if I’m the man of your dreams, but I do try to help old ladies at the store. No kids or dogs have ever tried to bite me. And I just donated a pickup load of boxes to a thrift store that helps the local women’s shelter.

  Although I’m not adverse to commitments or relationships, I have yet to give my heart away. To date, I haven’t met anyone I trusted with its safekeeping.

  Your lovely, simple life sounds nice. If you’d like to tell me more about it, please reply to this email.

  Sincerely,

  T

  As soon as Tanner sent the message, he wished he’d deleted it and gone to bed. He tossed and turned for hours that night, wondering if the girl would reply and worrying she would.

  The next morning, he checked his messages, disappointed not to see one from her.

  After two days passed with no word, he decided she’d probably married or moved on with her life from the moment when she’d written her heartfelt letter two summers ago.

  The evening of the third day he came home from work, kicked back with a meaty pizza, and opened his email to find a message from One Vintage Rose in his inbox.

  His emotions wavered between eager anticipation and dread as his finger hovered above his keyboard. He could delete the message, pretend he never received it, and forget about the mystery woman who tormented his thoughts. Or, he could read it and see if her response satisfied his curiosity.

  With a quick click, he opened her message and read it slowly, savoring each word.

  To the man who calls himself T,

  Thank you for your message. I’ve often wondered what happened to the bottle I tossed into the ocean and am relieved the whereabouts are no longer in question.

  I’m glad no kids or dogs have ever tried to bite you. Hopefully, the same may be said for old women.

  Tanner grinned and continued reading.

  You asked about my life. It hasn’t changed from two years ago. I live in a Seaside town along the rugged Oregon coast. I can’t remember not living here, so I guess you could say I’m a lifelong resident.

  I own my own shop, One Vintage Rose, and have for several years. Each day I wake up blessed to do something I enjoy so much in a place that brings me abundant joy. Right now, two of my best customers, Lucille and Zetta, are here, sipping hot tea and helping themselves to a second round of blueberry scones despite the heat beating down outside today.

  What else would you like to know? I have no siblings or parents. An indifferent cat named Tumnus owns me. He comes to the shop with me and rules with an imperial paw from his basket behind the counter.

  As I mentioned in my original letter, I do enjoy good chocolate (the darker, the better). I thoroughly despise text messages full of abbreviations as well as notes written in haste and without care. It is my humble opinion everyone should handwrite at least one greeting a month. It’s good for the soul. I also believe more people should listen to music. Not the kind that sounds like crunching metal and screeching beasts, but real music with lyrics you can hear and understand.

  If I could choose any period in which to live, you’d have to venture back to the early 1900s to find me. Everything seemed so… I don’t know… lovely and classic and dignified then.

  Enough about me. If I haven’t frightened you away with this message, please feel free to share more about you and your life.

  With kindest regards,

  R

  It took Tanner all of a minute to do an online search and discover an antique store called One Vintage Rose located in the coastal town of Seaside, Oregon.

  He scrolled through the shop’s website, hoping to find a photo of the owner, but none existed. What he did discover, though, was a woman named Bette Lawson started the store more than fifty years ago. Tanner wondered if his mystery woman was related to her or knew her.

  What did R stand for? Was it possible her name was Rose?

  Questions pelted his mind as he extended his search, trying to discover the identity of his mystery girl.

  Rather than ask her outright and risk scaring her away, he sent her a few paragraphs, sharing a vague overview of his job and that he lived in Colorado.

  Two days and four messages later, she signed off with Affectionately, Rose.

  It was then Tanner knew he had to meet this woman. Even if she turned out to be not his type at all, he needed to see her in person. Why he felt such a compelling urge to do so was far beyond his ability to say, but there it was, all the same.

  Thankfully, his parents were in Europe, enjoying their recent retirement. The last person he’d tell about his plans was his mother. If she knew he intended to finally meet “the bottle girl” as she referred to Rose, she would have flown home and accompanied him.

  Tanner laughed at the thought of showing up at Rose’s shop, his mother in tow. That would certainly create an unforgettable first impression.

  No, Tanner had to do this on his own. He used every day of vacation leave he had coming from his job at the park and scheduled a month off work.

  If he really wanted to get to know this girl, it wasn’t going to happen in a week. He wanted to give himself time to decide what it was about her that enchanted him so, especially when he hadn’t even seen so much as a single photograph of her.

  Without telling her of his plans, he rented the yurt, flew into Portland, and drove to the coast.

  It was easy enough to find the place he’d call home for the next four weeks. Tanner could have stayed in a hotel, but he liked the privacy of this five-acre lot, hidden back in the woods. It was a short hike across the highway to the beach, and only a mile into town, or so the person who owned the yurt assured him when he made his arrangements.

  Now, as he looked around the nicely furnished room, Tanner was glad he’d chosen to stay at the yurt. Leather couches, a big screen TV, a king-sized bed, and a full-sized kitchen would be more than adequate to meet his needs for the next month. There was a desk where he could do some work, if he chose. A tall counter with two bar s
tools divided the kitchen area from the rest of the yurt. The bathroom even had a sunken tub with a separate shower. Yep, he could definitely make himself at home here.

  After unpacking his suitcase and the groceries he’d picked up in town, he went out and fired up the grill.

  While he cooked a thick steak and a foil-wrapped packet of thinly sliced potatoes, he contemplated the best way to meet Rose. When he’d driven into town for groceries, he made it a point to locate her shop.

  She’d told him in one of the many messages they’d exchanged during the last month that it was located downtown, close to Seaside’s Prom. The promenade was a concrete boardwalk that stretched for more than a mile along the beach with a famous automobile turnaround that marked the official end of the Lewis and Clark Trail.

  Tanner took a moment to admire the bronze statue of Meriwether Lewis, William Clark, and Seaman the dog at the center of the turnaround.

  He parked his car a block away and got out. Just as Rose said, her shop stood out from the other businesses. Located in a two-story yellow Victorian house bedecked with enough gingerbread trim to make it look like something from a storybook, a sign hanging from the wrap-around porch featured her store’s name, One Vintage Rose, with a single pink rose beneath the words.

  Tanner wanted to rush up the steps and go inside, but he didn’t. He forced himself to go back to his car and head to the grocery store.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough to meet Rose. The proper thing for him to do would be to tell her he was in town, give her a chance to mentally prepare to meet him, or make up an excuse why they couldn’t. But he didn’t. He didn’t want her to disappear before he had a chance to say hello.

  As he ate his dinner, he thought of what he wanted to say to her when they met. How he should introduce himself. Nerves picked away at his usually unflappable confidence until he wanted to punch something in frustration.

  Instead, he changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt, yanked on a pair of running shoes, and then stuffed his cell phone into his pocket. He jogged down the lane and across the highway to the beach. The sun began its descent as he ran past the turnaround then kept going. By the time he headed back in the direction he’d come, he’d calmed considerably.

  Although he didn’t know Rose, didn’t really know much about her, he didn’t need to go into a panic about meeting her. He liked to think they’d laid the groundwork for a solid friendship in the past weeks of emailing each other. She hadn’t offered to give him her full name or address and he hadn’t offered his either. In fact, he couldn’t recall if he’d ever signed his messages with anything other than the letter T.

  Tanner sat down on a bench as the sun dipped into the horizon, amazed by the vibrant shades of orange, gold, and pink splashing across the waves of the ocean. He’d traveled around the world with his family and seen any number of unforgettable sights. However, this sunset had to be one of the most brilliant he’d ever witnessed.

  As he rested, he again pondered the best way to approach Rose, especially when he had no idea what she looked like. He knew she had a few part-time employees, high school girls, who worked for her, so he hoped it would be easy enough to identify her when he walked into her store.

  Leaning back against the bench, Tanner released a long breath. He really should have given Rose warning he was coming. He wouldn’t appreciate it if she just showed up at his work or on his doorstep. If she did, he’d think she was some sort of pushy, desperate girl or crazy person. For all he knew, Rose could be an old, old woman, a man pretending to be a sweet young girl, or a toothless hunchback with warts all over her face.

  Amused by his runaway imagination, Tanner relaxed and let the sound of the waves calm him.

  Lost in his thoughts, he closed his eyes and dozed. When he woke, darkness had settled around him and the moon winked down from its place high in the sky. Full and luminous, the silvery, subtle light it cast was every bit as amazing as the bold beauty of the sunset.

  Glad for the pale light to guide him back to the yurt, Tanner rose to his feet and started to leave when a vision made him suck in his breath. For the briefest moment, he wondered if he was still dreaming. Or perhaps he’d been transported somewhere in time, to a moment from yesteryear.

  Not twenty feet away from him a woman in a long white dress wandered along the border of the water. The moonlight caressed her enticing curves while a slight breeze sent the light, gauzy layers of her dress tangling around her ankles and floating behind her. He could see her bare feet as she moved forward.

  Tanner blinked twice to make sure he wasn’t imagining the lovely vision before him. The woman appeared real, even if she did look like she’d walked out of the past.

  For a moment, he wondered if she was a fan of that British show set in the Edwardian era, the one his mother raved about. He couldn’t recall the name of it, but the woman certainly looked like she’d fit into that historical period.

  When she tugged pins from her hair and the long locks cascaded around her shoulders, his jaw dropped. The woman was exquisite. Ethereal. An enchantress completely unaware of her audience or her powers.

  Smitten, Tanner couldn’t move, could barely breathe as he watched her shake out her hair. Curls scattered on the breeze, swirling every direction. He smiled when she blew an unruly coil out of her eyes.

  All at once, she lifted her skirts and ran into a small wave as it rolled across the sand. Her delighted laughter stroked something inside him, deep inside him, which had never been touched. This woman, who splashed through the waves like a wayward child, beguiled him.

  The thin fabric of her dress clung to her when she moved beyond the edges of the waves and turned back up the beach. Tanner’s mouth went dry at the sight she created, yet he still couldn’t force his feet to move.

  It was probably a good thing anyway. In his current bewitched state, he had no idea what he’d say to the captivating woman.

  He’d never felt such an immediate attraction before. Never wanted to kiss a girl as badly as he did this perfectly lovely stranger. Never believed in love at first sight, until this moment.

  When she looked up and noticed him watching, she lifted a hand in a timid greeting. Quickly, she ducked her head, as though she was embarrassed he’d caught her playfully enjoying the water and the moonlight. Once again lifting her skirts, she raced off, disappearing into the night before he could collect his wits and follow her.

  Transfixed, befuddled, and overwhelmed by the flood of sensations washing over him, Tanner walked back to the yurt. What had just happened?

  He came to town to meet Rose and in just a few hours, had fallen for a girl he had no idea how to find.

  Chapter Three

  Rose Lawson flung back the crisp, white curtains covering her bedroom window and smiled. Ribbons of golden light filtered into the room, providing a cheery start to the day. A contented sigh escaped her as she looked outside, filled with a buoyant, weightless feeling in her heart.

  “What a beautiful day,” she said, lifting her cat, Tumnus, from the end of her bed. She stroked the silver tabby’s back before setting him on the floor. The cat purred and swished his tail as he strolled out of the room, ready for his breakfast. Rose pulled a robe over her cotton nightgown and hurried downstairs to her kitchen. She fed the cat before returning upstairs and curling up on her window seat, admiring the soft colors of the sunrise. Salty air drifted in the open window on a gentle breeze. Rose took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  Last night, after she finished balancing the books for her shop, her muscles felt tight and tense. Seeking an outlet for the nervous energy that had simmered in her for the last month, she kicked off her shoes and headed outside. She wandered down to the beach and ambled along, mesmerized by the moonlight. There was just something so incredibly romantic about a full moon reflected in the waves of the ocean.

  In a moment of carefree inspiration, Rose took down the hair she’d pinned up off her neck and splashed in the water. It wasn’
t until she’d turned around and headed back toward the street that she noticed a man watching her.

  The stranger was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome. In fact, in the moonlight, he looked like he’d been carved out of marble, especially with a T-shirt outlining the muscles of his arms and chest.

  Rose had never seen him before, but then again it was prime tourist season in her hometown of Seaside. Thousands of visitors would visit town during the summer months. Thankfully, many of them stopped in her antique and gift shop, One Vintage Rose, to purchase a keepsake to take home with them.

  Her grandmother started the business decades ago. When Bette Lawson’s only child, Robert, came home one day and announced he’d wed a girl because she was expecting his baby, Bette told him they all were welcome at her home. Robert stayed just long enough to see the baby born before he enlisted in the Army. Word came back four months later he’d been killed overseas.

  A few days later, Rose’s mother, Becca, ran away, leaving a message that she was too young to be saddled with the responsibility of motherhood. Becca never returned, never called, never sent so much as a single note.

  It used to bother Rose that she was an orphan, especially when she saw her friends with their parents. But she couldn’t complain.

  Bette poured all her love and devotion into Rose. When she passed away, she left everything to Rose, including her established antique business. The sprawling Queen Anne style home offered plenty of room for the business on the ground floor while providing Rose with a lovely place to live in the second story rooms. She loved every inch of her home and wouldn’t trade it for anything.

  Yet, seeing that man last night, feeling something unexpected and electrical spark between them when their gazes met in the moonlight, made her wish for things she’d long ago given up on having for her own.

  Like a man who loved her to distraction.

  Rose had once been in love. It happened the summer she was nineteen. Her grandmother sent her on an errand and she’d bumped into Kyle on the way to her car. His family had just moved to town, so she spent that summer showing him around and losing her heart. They dated for two years and had even talked about marriage when they both finished college. One dreary January day, Rose rushed across the Oregon State University campus where they both were attending classes, and happened upon Kyle passionately kissing a girl Rose had thought was her friend.