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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2021 by Ann Marie Walker

  Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks

  Cover illustration by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the publisher.

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For all those brave enough to try again

  Chapter 1

  Paige Parker did not need a man.

  She’d just told her assistant as much, but that didn’t stop him from swiping through the photos he’d prescreened for her on some app that promised to find a date for even the loneliest of spinsters. Okay, maybe they didn’t word it exactly like that. But the home page featured a slightly overweight woman, typing on her computer while a cat sat perched on her lap. If Paige hadn’t known better, she’d have thought they snuck into her apartment to take the photo. Even the woman’s hair color was the same shade of auburn as hers. Of course, she would never have seen the site if it weren’t for her assistant, let alone opened an account. One of the hazards of having an employee with access to your driver’s license and credit card who also happened to be your meddling, though well-intentioned, best friend.

  Speak of the devil…

  He said nothing in reply to her proclamation. Instead, he merely pursed his lips into a frown.

  “Present company excluded,” she added. And it was true. If there was anything or anyone Paige couldn’t live without, it was Samuel Lee, her assistant since the first day she’d opened Chaos Control. Although she hated to admit it, her dream of running a successful life-organization company would never have been possible without his hard work and dedication. If only he would stop trying to apply those same skills to resuscitating her long-dead social life.

  Sammy sat a little taller in his chair.

  “While I appreciate the exception, what if you wanted a man with more to offer than an uncanny ability to anticipate your every need? What if you wanted a little S-E-X?” He cocked his head to one side so dramatically, his jet-black hair would have fallen across his forehead had it not been gelled to perfection. “Come to think of it, that talent would be quite handy in the bedroom. But don’t be getting any ideas.” He waved his hand in the air as if to wipe the thought from her head. “This handsome exception plays for the other team.” He tapped a few images, then swiped right. “Which leaves Mr. Rochester as the only other long-term relationship in your life, and last time I checked, dating your cat is frowned upon in most states.”

  “Thanks for clarifying.” Paige rolled her eyes even though she knew he wouldn’t see. He was far too busy humming over the next batch of men who had appeared on the screen.

  “Well?” he said without looking up.

  “I can have meaningless sex without being in a relationship. Men do it all the time.” Except she wasn’t. And she hadn’t. Not for a long time.

  He laughed a little too hard for her liking. “Right. And how’s that working out for you?”

  She straightened. “Fine.”

  “Fine?” Sammy knew the long hours she put in at the office, which didn’t leave much time for life’s more, um, carnal pleasures. Not unless she wanted a quickie at midnight, and to be honest, most nights she just wanted her fuzzy slippers and a glass of wine. Still, she didn’t need him to shine a light on it.

  Paige picked a nonexistent piece of lint off the sleeve of her ivory silk blouse. “Yes. Fine.”

  “What if you want more than fine? What if instead of a glass of wine and a tub of ice cream, you wanted a big O?”

  She felt a warm flush creep across her cheeks. What in the world was wrong with her? It wasn’t like she was a teenager. She was thirty flipping years old, and her assistant had made her blush just referencing an orgasm.

  He grew serious, and all at once she knew what was coming.

  “What if you wanted a family?”

  “I don’t,” she said matter-of-factly. Why was it that people assumed every woman in her thirties was pining for kids? Was it so hard to believe that someone was happy with her work and her friends? Not that she had time for many of those, come to think of it. But she had her career and Mr. Rochester, and he was always happy to see her. Well, mostly. In fact, usually only if he was hungry, but still.

  “Hypothetically, what if you did? Those eggs aren’t getting any younger, you know.”

  She frowned. Lack of desire to trade in her pencil skirts for mom jeans aside, no woman liked to be reminded of her ticking clock. Ever since her birthday, it had rolled around in her brain like a grenade with the pin pulled out. Even if she felt no urge to use her ovaries, the thought of them shriveling up into prunes wasn’t a pleasant one. There was still plenty of time to change her mind, and if she was suddenly hit with an inexplicable change of heart, she didn’t need a man to procreate. Well, she did, but not in the way Sammy was implying. “Hypothetically,” she said, leveling the full weight of her I’m-a-badass-businesswoman stare at him, “I could go to a sperm bank.”

  He raised one brow. “Uptight much?”

  “I just don’t need to be harassed into a dating life I neither want nor need.” It wasn’t like she didn’t know what she was missing. She’d had all that and more. Hell, three years ago she’d even had a ring and a wedding date. But then she came home early one night to find her boss/best friend
riding her betrothed like a bronco at the state fair. It was one of those moments in life where you can either wither up and die or come out swinging. Paige chose the latter. She tossed him out, quit her job, opened her own company, and never looked back. Problem was, she never slowed down either.

  “What you need is a vacation. Someplace where you can let your hair down out of that supertight bun and cut loose a little.”

  Cutting loose was not in Paige’s vocabulary. Order and control were the keys to happiness. They were the principles that had guided her through life and the ones that led her to becoming a certified organization professional.

  “You do realize my entire existence is about the opposite?” She glanced around her immaculate office. From the bleached oak floors to the white, midcentury-modern sofa to the glossy white filing cabinets lining the wall beneath rows of glass shelves, everything was clean lines and clean space. Not that she didn’t enjoy color and texture. Colorful blown glass dotted the shelves, and strategically placed throw pillows in various hues of red flanked both ends of the couch. But the overall look was simple. She had certainly worked with clients who preferred things a bit more shabby chic, but when it came to her own personal taste, the expression “Less is more” fit her to a T. Less clutter, less hoarding, less crap.

  She reached for the mug of tea sitting on a coaster atop her desk. Like the rest of her furniture, the desk was minimalist in design, comprised only of a single piece of beveled-edge glass supported by polished chrome legs. Some might say it was impractical, but it suited her just fine. Drawers served as a means to stash items that really didn’t need to be that accessible. Her desk was a place for action items, not to stockpile Post-it notes and paper clips.

  “Oh!” Sammy’s exuberance should have served as a warning, but to be honest, nothing could have prepared Paige for what came out of his mouth next. “I once read this book where a woman went to a secret sex island.”

  Paige sputtered and coughed. “You’re joking?” she said as she wiped tea from her chin. But even as she asked the question, she knew he wasn’t. The glimmer in his eyes told her he absolutely had read a book about some erotic version of Fantasy Island, and what’s more, he’d loved every minute of it.

  “Total anonymity for three days.” The tone of his voice was half that of someone revealing a dark secret and half of someone hatching a fabulous plan. “Anything goes.” His fingers flew across the tablet screen. “I wonder if a place like that actually exists.”

  “Let me save you some time. No way.”

  His shoulders sagged. “How about Vegas then? It’s a bit of a cliché—what happens there stays there and all that—but desperate times call for mediocre measures.”

  “You’ve lost your mind.” Paige rounded the desk and tugged his shirtsleeve. “Now get out of my office so one of us can actually get some work done.”

  His sad-puppy eyes nearly broke through her resolve, but Paige held her ground, hitting him with a compliment she knew would ease the pain of being thrown out. “Nice scarf, by the way.”

  “Isn’t it fabulous? I got it in France last year.” His wide grin faded. “I know what you’re up to, and don’t think for a minute that you can distract me with flattery,” he said as she herded him toward the door. “I’m not letting this go. You need a vacation, Boss Lady. I’ve worked for you for nearly three years, and you’ve never taken one. Time to take off those Jimmy Choos and walk barefoot in the sand.”

  Paige scowled at him as she shut the door, but her confident strut slowed with each step, and by the time she’d made it back to her desk, she could do nothing but collapse into a chair that was designed for anything but lounging. Sammy was right. She needed a vacation. The days and nights had started to blur together to the point that she was seriously considering an investment in day-of-the-week underpants if for no other reason than to keep track of her personal hygiene.

  But there was work to be done: new clients to meet with, existing clients to satisfy, and an entire file of new promotional ideas that had been on the back burner so long they were no doubt starting to congeal. Not that it mattered much. Business was good. Really good. So good, in fact, that she really didn’t need to spend much time on marketing. Word of mouth was taking care of that just fine. Of course, that was only going to continue if she stopped thinking about vacations on sandy beaches where she’d have time to actually read a whole book and not just the Goodreads summary.

  She shook her head to clear it of the thoughts that, thanks to her assistant, had begun taking root, and booted up her laptop. But when she launched the browser, a headline caught her eye that completely distracted her from the hunt for the perfect shoe cubes.

  Couples Have Valentine’s Day, Single People Have SAD

  The unfortunate acronym was like her own personal catnip, eliciting a curiosity that was a mixture of defensive amusement, and before she knew it, Paige had read the entire article. In the end she’d learned this: Singles Appreciation Day began as a protest to a holiday many saw as nothing more than a nod to consumerism, raking in money for jewelry stores, candymakers, and greeting-card companies, while also serving as an affront to those who were alone, whether out of choice or circumstance. The article went on to say that millions of people have begun celebrating February 15th instead, opting for shopping sprees, spa days, and even solo getaways.

  The author also noted that the number of divorced or never-married adults in the United States now exceeded those in wedlock. Paige would have taken a moment to ponder that last bit of information—not to mention how the word lock came to be synonymous with eternal love—if it weren’t for an ad promising to find her “the perfect Singles Day vacation destination” if she answered a mere three-question survey.

  For the most part, Paige hated the targeted marketing that popped up whenever she was online, but she had to admit, this one intrigued her. And while she doubted a rental site would know what she needed more than she did, her curiosity about what questions they would ask outweighed her disdain for falling prey to clickbait. Besides, if she was going to take a vacation, emphasis on if, what better holiday to celebrate than Singles Day, which—she glanced at the date displayed on her desk phone—was only a week away.

  She tapped the “Find your dream vacation now” button, which took her to the three-question survey. The first one nearly had her closing out the tab.

  What is your astrological sign?

  Paige never understood how the date of someone’s birth was supposed to offer insight into their personality. She knew plenty of people who shared birthdays and yet couldn’t be more different if they tried. And while she did have many of the characteristics of a Capricorn—practical, stable, loyal—her ex-fiancé had been born under the same earth sign and was none of the above, especially when it came to loyalty.

  Still, in for a penny, in for pound, she thought, clicking the picture of the sea goat. She took a sip of her tea as the next question loaded.

  Which Disney character do you most identify with?

  Paige groaned, already wondering if this meant all quiz results led to Orlando, when she suddenly realized that all of the options were female. And more than that, all of them were princesses. And not even the complete set! She scrolled through the choices in search of the fierce, gender-defying Mulan, but when she couldn’t find her on the list, had to settle for the Little Mermaid. At least she and Ariel both had red hair and loved the ocean, which was a lot more than she had in common with Snow White or Cinderella.

  The final question was the most difficult to answer.

  What annoys you the most?

  The options were varied and yet, in Paige’s opinion, each and every one deserved a click: waiting in line, slow internet, screaming children, crowds, group texts, traffic. She’d finally decided on traffic when she reached another conclusion as well: she was way too uptight. Sammy’s words from not ten minutes before played through
her head just as her “dream destination” loaded.

  “The Copper Lantern Inn” was printed in intricate scroll across the top of the screen with a quote from a magazine she’d never heard of that described it as having “one of the best beaches on the Outer Banks.”

  She snorted quietly to herself. Must have been quite the algorithm, she thought, sending her to North Carolina in the middle of February. Not exactly prime beach weather. Then again, with her alabaster skin, she wasn’t really much of a sun worshipper. Plus, the beaches would be quite empty this time of year. No crowds, no kids kicking sand or screaming because they didn’t want to come out of the water to have more sunscreen applied. Maybe it would be the ideal place for her because, aside from chilly temperatures, the place looked absolutely perfect.

  Cedar shingles covered what could only be described as a cross between a Victorian home and a European castle. The lawn in the front looked like something out of an old black-and-white TV show, impeccably manicured right down to the freshly painted white picket fence. But it was the photo of the rear of the house that took Paige’s breath away. Rocking chairs faced tall seagrass that swelled and dipped atop dunes that stretched along white-capped waves for as far as the eye could see.

  For a moment, she imagined herself wrapped up in a cashmere blanket, reading a book that had nothing to do with maximizing floor space and everything to do with escapism romance. Not that she believed in those types of happy endings, not anymore at least. But there was something about getting lost in a fictional world where love conquered all—and where the girl always came first—that she still found appealing if not a little comforting.

  A barefoot paradise awaits you at the Copper Lantern Inn, a quaint, castle-like beach home fit for a queen. Featuring three unique guest rooms, a common room, and a porch overlooking a mile of secluded beach, the Inn offers one of the best views on Aurelia Island while still being only a short bike ride from town.

  Normally, the mention of self-powered transportation would have given Paige a moment’s pause, but she was far too focused on the name of the island to give much thought to the coordination it would take to maneuver a bicycle after a dinner that would undoubtedly be accompanied by a bottle of chardonnay.