It Started with a Kiss (A Sequoia Lake Novel) Read online

  As time went on the clippings grew, and little mottos for life and affirmations about enjoying the journey were added to the pile. Until her mom’s body rejected her kidney and Avery had lost her biggest ally and her closest friend.

  She also lost the will to keep clipping, keep dreaming. Some days it was even hard to keep fighting. That’s when Avery met her mom’s friends from Living for Love, a local bereavement group that helped people reclaim their life after loss. They stepped in and held her when it was rough, cried with her when it was agony, and eventually gave her a goodbye note from her mom when things became unbearable. Even in death, her mom was there for her, encouraging and challenging her, and in that moment Avery made a promise to stop waiting to get her life back and start living.

  She’d started with pasting their favorite clippings, along with photos and funny memories, into the journal to create a living memory book inspired by the strongest, most vibrant person she knew. And what started out as a way to remember her mother’s courage had turned into something bigger. A way to honor all the women she’d met through the hospital or at Living for Love.

  Women who would never get the chance to leap.

  Wiping a tear from her lash, Avery carefully thumbed through the pages that detailed and highlighted the hopes and dreams of those women. A small smile teased her lips as she flipped past the map of Disneyland showing all of the hidden Mickey ears in the park, the article about the jellybean factory in California that gave out free samples, and stopped when she found what she was looking for.

  An unopened letter from her mother. Beautifully patinaed with age, the corners worried from years of love. Avery carefully pulled it from its sleeve and turned it over, her heart catching at the faded, familiar scrawl on the back flap of the envelope:

  Life is meant to be lived loud, Avery. In the moment and without fear or apology. Don’t wait for the net to appear. Jump and let the wind rush beneath you.

  Yet there Avery was, about to crest the one-year mark with her new kidney, and she was still waiting for the net. Still waiting until she was ready to really absorb her mother’s final words. Waiting for someone to give her permission to fly, when so many couldn’t even breathe.

  Avery scanned the street again for passersby, then suppressed the urge to jump up and down to test out what the rush of wind felt like because that kind of motion in the harness would end badly, and instead she reached over the side of the truck to play with the latch on the toolbox and—

  “Look at that,” she said to herself.

  With one toggle the latch came undone, two and Avery had the lid propped open and was staring at a handy-dandy screwdriver sitting on the top, as if waiting for a stranger in need to happen by.

  She was a stranger, and she was in need, and when she happened by no one was there. So in theory, no one would know she’d borrowed the tool for a second or two.

  Palms sweating and heart racing, Avery did one last quick scan of the area, then snatched the screwdriver and quickly stuck the flat edge inside the opening of the carabiner. With a calculated twist she wedged open the two metal clasps and—

  “Shit. Shitshitshit!”

  The screwdriver launched itself up into the air only to come down and land near the storm drain. Avery scrambled to catch it before it rolled out of sight, but her short legs combined with the restrictive harness made retrieval without face-planting into the Greater Sierra sewage system impossible, leaving her standing in a harness and watching the stolen tool roll into the drain.

  She couldn’t leave without coming clean and promising to at least replace the screwdriver, but she couldn’t stay too long either because Dale headed for home around sunset. And if she didn’t catch him tonight, her adventure would have to wait until Monday.

  And Avery was tired of waiting, so with the first hints of orange peeking over the mountains, she pulled out her brightest lipstick—Fearless Red with a gloss luminous enough to flag down passing planes—which she’d bought when she’d decided to start living loud. Propping her knee on the hood of the truck, she gripped the back lip of the hood for leverage and pulled herself up.

  She perched on top of the hood on all fours, took a bold breath, and ever so carefully scrawled across the front windshield: I OWE YOU A SCREW—

  Damn it! Her lipstick, warm from the day’s heat, broke and rolled down below the wipers and out of sight. She leaned forward and slipped her fingers inside the crevice to get it, thunking her forehead against the windshield when she realized it was right out of reach.

  “Either you were going to write in your ex’s phone number or this is my lucky day.”

  Avery slowly turned her head, and what she saw sent her heart to her toes. Leaning against a lamppost, looking relaxed and incredibly dangerous in a pair of battered hiking boots, stood a mountain of hard muscles and pure testosterone. He wore low-slung cargo pants with a million and one pockets holding a million and one surprises, enough stubble to tell her it was five o’clock, and a Sequoia Lake Lodge cap.

  She reread what she’d written and felt her face flush.

  “This isn’t what it looks like,” she said, because it was so much worse. Two seconds into living loud and she was caught defacing the truck of a man she had never seen before, but she could tell by the well-worn but well-kept Gore-Tex mountaineering boots that he wasn’t a weekend warrior.

  He was apparently a Sequoia Lake Lodge member—and a serious climber. That she was stuck on the hood of his truck in a climbing harness told him that she wasn’t.

  “I figure you’re either testing out a new lip color or making a declaration, in which case you might as well save us both some time and give me your number.”

  “My dad warned me about giving my number to handsome strangers. He said they either call or they don’t, but either way you’re in for a world of hurt.”

  “Handsome stranger, huh?” He pushed off the lamppost and approached the truck, his hand extended. She ignored it under the pretense of looking for her lipstick. “Easy fix. Name’s Ty.”

  Just that. Ty. With a shrug. As though Mountain Man was too badass for anything more than a couple letters thrown together—and big enough to get away with it.

  In her experience, big, badass men who pretended to be bulletproof were the first to take cover the second that whole “through sickness and in health part” came into play. Unfortunately, big, badass men who dropped five hundred bucks on a pair of hiking boots also tended to drop serious cash on adrenaline-pumping excursions—most likely at Sequoia Lake Lodge. Which meant she needed to appear somewhat neighborly.

  And normal.

  Eyes making direct and unwavering contact, she said, “I’m Avery. Avery Adams.”

  “Well, Avery Adams, if you aren’t making an offer, then my guess is you mistook the hood of my truck for a mountain.” He chuckled, and she found herself smiling back.

  He had a great chuckle—warm, deep, and a little tired. While living loud might not require permission, she decided that in this case it did require an apology.

  “It’s not an offer, just my way of saying sorry,” she clarified, giving her most apologetic look, which was completely wasted on him since he was too busy staring at her ass to notice.

  “And just what does one need to do to receive that kind of apology?” When she went back to looking for the lipstick, he added, “You know, so I can be prepared.”

  “Underestimate me,” she said, then smiled over her shoulder. “Or keep staring at my ass.”

  Mountain Man grinned. Slow and sexy and completely annoying. “I was staring at your harness. It’s really wedged up there. Looks painful.”

  Avery was well aware that she was sporting the biggest wedgie known to man, and yes it was not a comfortable experience, but she’d rather die than admit that to him. The man looked competent, capable, and like the kind of guy who could spot weakness a mountain away. And this wasn’t her finest moment. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” He stepped even closer,
turning his ball cap around to get a closer look and—holy cannoli—Mountain Man was seriously sexy. Rugged sexy with a strong jaw, soft whisky eyes, which were currently sparking in her direction, and a confidence that said he was prepared and ready.

  For anything.

  And why that made her stomach flutter she had no idea. Avery was on a self-imposed, flutter-free solo adventure at the moment. No fluttering allowed, sexy stranger or not.

  “Yes, just part of my job.”

  “As what?” His eyes were back on her harness. “A window washer?”

  Shrugging off the little voice reminding her she was on the hood of a truck in a pair of strappy sandals, pressed capris, and a safety harness, she said, “As an adventure coordinator.”

  She had to give him credit—he didn’t laugh. But he wanted to, she could tell. Why was it so hard for people to understand that she was perfect for this job?

  Sure, she might have been hesitant at first too, but after settling in she realized that she had all of the skills required to be awesome at her job. She just needed time to gain her bearings, and then she would be proficient. And as Avery had learned over the years, with proficiency came respect. And confidence.

  Something she needed a shot of right then. Fully embracing her new mantra, Leap like you aren’t afraid, she said, “So as you can imagine, this is nothing I can’t handle.”

  Flat on her belly, she held on to the lip once again, annoyed that she was going to have to scoot to the end since her legs were too short to reach the ground. Something he seemed to notice because before she’d even reached the grille, one big hand closed around her waist, the other on the back of the harness, and suddenly she was airborne.

  “Put me down,” she ordered, her legs flailing as she tried to twist herself to face him. It didn’t work. “What part of ‘I got this’ did you not understand?”

  “The part where you got it.” He placed her on the ground, and she spun to look at him and felt her heart stutter. The man was bigger than she’d originally thought, so tall in fact that she had to take a step back just to glare up at him. He was grinning, the big jerk.

  “Yes, well, I would have had it.” At least she hoped that she would have, but she wasn’t entirely sure. That little flight had her a bit off-kilter.

  That he was staring at her made it even worse, so she channeled her inner awesomeness, the same way Lilian had taught her to do when facing down unexpected outcomes, and stared back, not noticing how well he filled out his fitted tee or how her belly quivered when he smiled. Hard to do when her body revved every time he so much as breathed.

  “Interesting,” he finally said. “Your eyes are dilated and you’re breathing hard. Admit it, you like me.”

  “Not possible.” Only it was. Go figure, the first time she had a reaction to a man in three years, and it had to be a lodge guest. Which meant that it was time for her to leave. “Just thinking about your tool.”

  He grinned even bigger at her statement, his eyes twinkling with humor. Avery felt her cheeks heat. “Ah, then you’re thinking about how to apologize again. Even better. Does this mean I’m on your IOU list?”

  She rolled her eyes, not amused.

  “No?” He studied her for a long minute, then leaned in and whispered, “How about now?”

  Both of those big hands, strong enough to break granite, wrapped around the front of her safety harness—bringing his fingers right within grazing range of her nipples, and they noticed—then tugged her close. So close she could feel the afternoon heat roll off his skin. He smelled like fresh mountain air, pine trees, and sex—not the kind of sex that could be penciled in between meetings, but the kind that lasted for days on end with only body heat for sustenance.

  And if that thought wasn’t enough to get her moving, then the reminder that she’d lost her best shot at happily ever after when Carson decided his love only covered the “in health” part of the deal did.

  He’d not only hesitated when she’d explained her kidney was slowly killing her, but he’d walked out when she’d needed him most.

  Turned out the only dead weight Avery lost in the surgery was Carson, and even though it had been a rough time in her life, she was a stronger person for it. Now she was pain-free, Carson-free, and ready to move forward.

  In theory, she was making progress. Her feet were moving in the forward direction. Only Ty’s hands were still on her harness and—oh my God—he was staring at her lips. Like a wild bear settling on his prey, and she was pretty sure he was either going to throw her over his shoulder and take her back to his cave or kiss her. Either way she couldn’t seem to get traction. Unless she counted shuffling closer.

  Page six in the living memory journal she’d been assembling flashed in her head, reminding her of her late friend Bella’s wish to kiss a stranger on a rain-slickened street, and her belly heated. Avery hadn’t kissed anyone since Carson, let alone a stranger, but Lake Street was slick with an early-spring frost, and this stranger looked as if he was about to kiss her.

  His grin went full watt, and her breath caught as he closed the last shred of distance and whispered, “You’re welcome, Avery Adams.”

  Avery felt the pressure in her chest release on one big whoosh as the harness slid down her legs, the straps clanking against the concrete. She was free. “How did you do that?”

  “Extremely talented fingers,” was all he said, but her body tingled all the same. “Now, how about we celebrate your newfound freedom with a drink?”

  “I’d really like that, but tonight I have to live loud.”

  “This is your lucky night then, because it doesn’t get any louder than a Flaming Pig’s Ass, the house specialty.” He gestured with his head to the building behind him. With walls made of logs, copper-rimmed windows, and a massive door with antlers, it looked like a giant hunting lodge. A hand-carved sign declared that you were entering BACKWOODS BREWHOUSE territory. “Closest to death you can come and not wind up in the ER.” His voice lowered to a soft gravel. “And if that isn’t enough for you, Widow Maker’s always looking for a new victim.”

  The historic brewery, once the local watering hole for miners during the gold rush, was as famous for its extensive beer selection as it was for its mascot. Weighing in at more than a half ton of steel and mechanical hide, Widow Maker was the toughest ride this side of the Rockies. In fact, making it a mere eight seconds was so rare that anyone who rode him past the buzzer was crowned a backwoods king.

  “Does the title come with an actual crown?” she asked.

  “You make it eight seconds and I will make you a crown.” He looked her up and down—so slowly that her toes curled into her barely-broken-in hiking boots—then smiled. “Although I didn’t take you for the princess type.”

  She smiled back. “I’m not.”

  But Caroline Peters was.

  Being a princess for a day was at the top of that little girl’s wish list—right under beating leukemia and going to Disneyland. Avery had met Caroline at a hospital in Reno, when Avery was undergoing final treatments in preparation for her transplant. Caroline was sweet, determined, and desperately wanted to have a Cinderella moment—something Avery could relate to.

  Gaining that title by riding a mechanical bull would only make Caroline smile bigger. And anything that made that little girl smile was worth potential bruises and humiliation.

  “But who knows, maybe after a stiff drink and watching you craft a crown out of paper napkins and beer coasters I might change my mind,” she said, her heart racing at the idea of doing something spontaneous and social. Not to mention paying it forward for a five-year-old leukemia patient whose friends had stopped visiting when her beautiful red curls went away.

  “Great. You can treat me to the first round since I saved your—” His eyes dropped to her backside, and he smiled. Before he could finish, she threw the harness over her shoulder and took her first real step into living loud.

  CHAPTER 3

  Tyson Donovan had come into to
wn looking for something to distract him from the fact that instead of being twelve thousand feet up the side of the Andes in Peru and a safe five thousand miles from his past, he was back in Sequoia Lake for the unforeseeable future.

  He’d found his distraction all right. She was sexy, a bit sassy, and surprisingly unpredictable for a woman who looked like a kindergarten teacher. A combination that usually spelled trouble. And trouble was something Ty had spent his youth perfecting and the last fifteen years trying to prevent.

  Yet, instead of heading for home, he found himself following her into the bar.

  It was the curls, he decided. They were blonde, wild, and pulled into a sexy little ponytail that his fingers itched to unravel. And damn, she smelled good. So damn good he wanted to lean in and take another sniff. He also wanted to know what it would take to get her to come through on that promise she’d scribbled on his truck.

  She studied the menu like it was a matter of national security, then wrinkled her nose at him as if he’d stepped in dog shit and trailed it in behind her. Obviously not a beer drinker.

  “The wine list is on the back,” he said, leaning past her to flip the menu over, his chest pressing into her back.

  Avery Adams, adventure coordinator, looked up at him through those blue eyes of hers as though she’d forgotten he was there. Then she frowned, obviously irritated by his presence. Not the normal reaction he elicited from women.

  “Never trust a menu that offers two wines, red and white,” she said, closing the menu.

  “Smart woman. Personal recommendations are a much safer bet.” He leaned in even closer, making sure to invade her space even more. “The Flaming Pig’s Ass Porter is the house special. Confidence in a glass.”