This Time Around Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  A Summer Detour 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

  Epilogue

  Pining for You Dedication

  Chapter 1: Theo

  Chapter 2: Skye

  Chapter 3: Theo

  Chapter 4: Skye

  Chapter 5: Theo

  Chapter 6: Skye

  Chapter 7: Theo

  Chapter 8: Skye

  Chapter 9: Theo

  Chapter 10: Skye

  Chapter 11: Theo

  Chapter 12: Skye

  Chapter 13: Theo

  Chapter 14: Skye

  Chapter 15: Skye

  Chapter 16: Theo

  Epilogue

  He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Other Books by the Authors

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Allie Adams shoved the last red rose into the gaping vase and eyed the massive arrangement of blood and thorns with a scowl. The fragrance of flowers permeated the back of Blooms and Buds, reminding her of funerals, Georgia summers, and broken hearts.

  “See, lookie there.” Charlotte Jackson’s grin lit up her rich brown face as she swept in from the storefront. “And I didn’t even have to do triage this time. Or bring you a paper bag.”

  “I didn’t hyperventilate.” Allie blotted her pricked finger, the blood a bright spot against her pale skin. “I just . . . got a little woozy. And how did a flower with spikes become the international symbol for love anyway?”

  Charlotte lifted a perfectly arched brow. “You tell me. And what happened this time? I told you to wear gloves, girl.”

  “I forgot. I was a little distracted.”

  “By the other five arrangements that need to be done in . . .” She checked her watch as she joined Allie at the worktable. “Half an hour?”

  “Hey, don’t blame me. I’m just the summer help.” Allie’s real job—teacher’s assistant for a local elementary school—gave her summers off. She arranged the fern fronds and baby’s breath to best set off the two dozen roses. Some poor guy needed forgiveness in a bad way.

  “It’s just this trip . . . ,” Allie continued. “I’m kind of dreading it.”

  “Your grandparents’ anniversary party? I thought your family was close. Unlike mine.” Charlotte smirked as she gathered a bunch of hydrangeas and went to work on an arrangement. “No wonder my parents wanted me to be a psychologist—probably hoped I’d come back and fix them. As if.”

  Allie was looking forward to seeing her family this weekend—it wasn’t that. Despite the fact that she had moved to Atlanta seven years ago, her parents and big sister remained in close contact. Her grandparents were wonderful—their Pennsylvanian farmhouse spacious and cozy.

  “We are close. We just . . . It’s hard to explain.”

  The bell on the shop’s door jingled.

  “To be continued.” Charlotte set down a stem of snapdragons and went to wait on the customer.

  Allie’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She brushed off her hands and checked the screen. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

  “I just finished packing.” A zipping sound accentuated the words. “But I wanted to call and remind you about your flight tomorrow. Have you packed?”

  Allie rolled her eyes. It was a wonder she managed to brush her teeth without a reminder. “I didn’t forget.” Not that she’d started packing. Hadn’t done her laundry yet either, but there was still plenty of time.

  “Well, you remember that one time . . .”

  “I was eighteen, Mom, and I just forgot about the time change.”

  “You missed Olivia’s college graduation.”

  Allie sighed, then it dawned on her that her mother was just now packing. “Wait, I thought you were supposed to leave for Gram and Gramps’s yesterday. Dad said he was going to restain their deck before the party.”

  “We were. But there was a delay with the Chevy. Your grandparents aren’t happy—we had to make up some excuse. But they’ll forget that soon enough when they see Dad’s old girl pulling into the drive. They’ll be so surprised.”

  For all these years the ’57 Chevy had been atrophying on the property her parents had inherited from her grandparents. The restoration was her parents’ surprise for their fiftieth anniversary. It had been in the works for months.

  “But what about the deck? Gramps said they wouldn’t host the party unless the deck was refinished.”

  “Well, he insists he can do it himself.”

  “He’s in no shape for that.” He’d recently had a knee replacement, and it was too hot for him to be working outdoors.

  “I’m not happy about it either, but what else can we do? We can’t leave the car here, and your grandma has tried talking him out of it, but you know Gramps.”

  Allie wished there was something she could do. But she knew nothing about refinishing decks.

  A sudden thought occurred. “When will the car be finished?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Your dad and I will pick it up and be on our way. At this rate we’ll probably arrive after you.”

  “Wait, Mom. What if I picked up the car and drove it to Pennsylvania?” She’d have to cancel her flights, but that was okay. On Sunday she could ride back to Copper Creek with her parents, collect her car, and drive back home.

  She realized her mom hadn’t responded. Heat prickled beneath her arms. “Mom, did you hear me?”

  “Oh, honey . . . that’s just . . . too much to ask. We’ll be fine.”

  “But Gramps could hurt himself, and Dad can still get there in time to help if you leave today.”

  “But—the Chevy is . . . it’s a big responsibility, honey. Driving through the mountains all by yourself. It’s just not a good idea. I don’t want to put that on you. Thank you, though. So sweet of you to offer.”

  What her mother meant was, she didn’t trust Allie with the precious vehicle. Allie’s shoulders hunched in, warmth bleeding into her face. No doubt if Olivia didn’t have a husband and three kids in tow, the assignment would’ve been passed to her without a blink of an eye.

  “Mom, I can do it. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

  “Honey . . . you’ve had a lot of speeding tickets.”

  “I’ve had a total of two and none in the past five years. I’ll drive the speed limit—under the speed limit. I’ll treat the car like a baby bird.”

  She heard her dad talking in the background. Then her mom’s intense whisper—somewhat muffled, yet Allie heard every word.

  “She offered to drive the Chevy so we could head up to my parents’ today.”

  “Allie? Drive the car?”

  “What should I say?”

  “Well, I don’t know. You think of something.”

  “I can’t say yes!”

  “Are you sure? Your dad’s set on having that heatstroke, you know.”

  “It’s Allie, Bill. She couldn’t commit to a teeth-whitening strip.”

  Okay, her mom hadn’t said that last part, but it was clearly implied.

  “Oh, that’s right,” her mom muttered. “Allie, I don’t think you can drive the car. It has a—�
�

  Her dad interrupted and her mom’s reply was muffled.

  “Mom? Mom, of course I can drive the car. Can you just—?”

  Her parents were back in negotiations.

  For heaven’s sake. This was ridiculous. Allie cradled the phone on her shoulder and gathered the flowers for the next arrangement while her parents discussed whether or not their twenty-five-year-old daughter was up to the task of operating a motor vehicle.

  When were they going to see she wasn’t the impetuous girl she’d been at eighteen? Sure, she was still a little impulsive, and maybe she wasn’t quite as stable as her parents might like—certainly not settled, like Olivia.

  But she paid her bills on time (usually) and held down a job, sometimes two. (Though, okay, she switched frequently. But just because she had a short attention span didn’t mean she was irresponsible.)

  She’d been a volunteer at the zoo for four years running. She’d even kept a pet alive, going on two years now. Yes, Mary, Queen of Scots, was perhaps the most independent feline ever to roam the earth, but she still counted. All of the above showed commitment and responsibility, did it not?

  Maybe she wasn’t married with three kids and a mortgage, but she was a capable adult. She simply needed to prove it to her parents once and for all—and this was just the opportunity she’d been looking for.

  “Mom . . .” Allie cut into the ongoing whisperfest. “I can do this. I’ll take excellent care of Gramps’s car, I promise. You don’t want him having a heatstroke before his fiftieth anniversary, do you? Gram would never forgive us after she bought all those balloons.” Her grandmother had recently rambled for ten minutes about the perils of wrangling three dozen Mylar balloons into a Subaru.

  “She says she can do it.” Her mom’s muffled whisper sounded over the phone.

  “Well, your dad is raring to go on that deck.” Allie picked a long blonde hair from the flower arrangement as she strained to hear her dad’s voice. Blah, blah, blah, something about Sherwin-Williams. “. . . in the nineties tomorrow.”

  That wasn’t a no. “Mom, let me do this. For Gram and Gramps, okay? I’ll pick up the car as soon as it’s finished, and I’ll take my time coming. I’ll be pulling the car safely into their driveway before you know it.”

  Allie envisioned the moment. The older couple would spill out onto the porch, eyes wide, mouths gaping at the sight of their beloved old car, their precious granddaughter in the driver’s seat.

  “My old girl!” Gramps would say. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “Just look at her!” Gram would beam. “And Allie, you drove it all this way. Aren’t you something! You’ve always been our favorite—don’t tell Olivia.”

  The image faded at her mom’s sounds of distress, a sort of wheezing noise. Allie had first heard it at the age of seven when she’d made a beautiful mural on the living room wall with permanent markers.

  Her mother was coming around though. “I’ve got it all under control, Mom. Trust me.”

  Allie could do this. She could deliver the car safely from Georgia to Pennsylvania, and then her parents would know they could trust her. No more reminder calls. No more pathetic assignment (napkins) when she offered to bring something to holiday meals. No more being rejected as a child care option for her beloved nieces and nephew, even when it meant canceling a second honeymoon. No more Olivia this, Olivia that. Allie would prove once and for all that she was a responsible adult, worthy of their time and trust.

  “Well . . .” Her mother wheezed once more. “I suppose it . . . might be okay . . . ?”

  “Wonderful!” Allie blurted before Mom could change her mind. “I’ll cancel my flights and pick up the Chevy tomorrow morning. You two had best get on the road before Gramps ruins his new knee.”

  Chapter 2

  There she was. The grand old ’57 Chevy sat outside the big red barn of Collins Auto Repair and Restoration in Copper Creek. Allie was used to seeing the car dilapidated, overgrown by weeds and grass, and surrounded by piles of cement blocks no one ever got around to using.

  But this . . . The antique car gleamed in the early afternoon sunlight. It sported a fresh coat of cherry-red paint on the body, and the top was crisp white, as were the wingy things on the back.

  At the sight of the pristine vehicle, beads of sweat formed on the back of Allie’s neck. Maybe it was just her long, thick hair and the hot summer sun. She wiped her damp palms down the sides of her shorts. No, definitely nerves. She had to drive that car through the mountains and deliver it safely 650 miles away.

  She could do this. She’d had a driver’s license for nine years, and she’d only had one accident. Two if you counted the fender bender at the Piggly Wiggly. And, okay, three if you counted the time she’d run over a parking bumper. (Note to self: Avoid parking lots.)

  “Hey, Allie.” Brady Collins emerged from the barn’s shadow, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, a ball cap shading his face. Though they’d both attended the same high school, he’d graduated by the time she’d entered her freshman year. Several years back he’d married Hope Daniels, and together they were raising the boy from his first marriage.

  “Hi, Brady.” She exited her Fiat. “Wow, she looks amazing. My grandparents will be so happy.”

  “Can’t take credit for the exterior, but the interior’s a thing of beauty. I think your parents will be happy with the upgrades. I used a small-block V-8 265 and two 283s, a 2-barrel and a 4-barrel carburetor. I also upgraded to a 4-speed as your dad asked.”

  “Um . . . I have no idea what you just said.”

  Brady chuckled. “It’s all on the receipt. She’ll be running even better than she did originally.”

  Allie looked over the receipt (basically a foreign language), then signed it and handed it back with the check she’d picked up from her parents’ house.

  “Thanks. She’s all yours.” Brady handed her the keys. “I’m heading in the house for lunch if you want to join us. Hope made her chicken Waldorf salad—it’s not to be missed.”

  “That’s tempting, but I’m getting a late start, and I need to get on the road. My parents expect me to crawl at approximately eighteen miles per hour; I might arrive by next Wednesday.”

  Brady flashed a grin. “Enjoy yourself. And it wouldn’t hurt to take it easy on those corners. They’re summer tires, not a lot of grip.”

  “Will do. Thanks for the warning. And you’re sure it’s okay to leave my car here for a few days?”

  “What’s one more?”

  He waved goodbye and headed into the house while Allie transferred her suitcase, pillow, anniversary gift, and contribution to the party—napkins, of course—into the Chevy’s white leather back seat. She hadn’t lied about the late start. At this point she’d be lucky to get there before eleven tonight.

  The driver’s door opened with nary a squeak, and Allie fairly glided onto the polished seat. The car smelled of new leather and carpet. Her grandparents would be so surprised. This was the car in which Gramps had picked up Gram for their first date. They’d shared their first kiss on this very seat. She couldn’t wait to pull into their drive and see the looks on their faces—if only they could stay awake long enough to see it.

  Allie dropped her purse onto the passenger seat and set her latte in the center cup holder. That’s when she saw it—the chrome stick-thingy poking up in the middle.

  What?

  Her gaze flew to the floor, looking for the brake and gas pedal—both present and accounted for. Along with another pedal—a clutch.

  Allie’s breath caught in her lungs. A stick shift?

  Of course it was a stick shift. She pressed a palm to her forehead. Her father had taught Olivia to drive a manual, but by the time Allie turned sixteen, he was working long hours and didn’t have time. Mom taught her to drive in the Odyssey.

  Her phone conversation with her mom came back to her. That’s what she’d meant when she questioned Allie’s ability to drive the car.

  She wrapped her finge
rs around the skinny steering wheel and stared out the front windshield into the woods. What was she going to do now? She couldn’t bail on this assignment. She had to get this car to Pennsylvania. But now was probably not the best time to learn to drive a manual. She’d have to get someone else to drive. She hated that. She wanted the credit for delivering the car. But there was no help for it now—she was going to have to share the glory with someone else.

  Olivia was the obvious choice, but they’d left early this morning as she’d been enlisted to make the bulk of the food for the party. (Roasted prime rib, mashed potatoes, and homemade yeast rolls, for starters.)

  Who else could Allie ask? Not Charlotte—she was all the way back in Atlanta, and she had her shop to run. Her other friends were also three hours south of here. She could hire a driver—but who? It really had to be someone here in Copper Creek, given the time constraints, but she’d lost touch with her old friends. She couldn’t call someone out of the blue and beg a favor.

  Why, oh, why was this happening to her? She thumped her head on the steering wheel once. Twice. Three times. Who could she ask?

  As if the jarring had knocked something loose, an image of Luke Fletcher burst into her mind. Her parents had invited their next-door neighbor, but he declined, according to her mother. Probably because of Allie. He was still practically her parents’ adopted son, but he made himself scarce when Allie came around—as well he should.

  A tap on the driver’s window made her jump. At the sight of Brady she composed herself and cranked down the window.

  Even with a bad case of hat-head he was a handsome man. Lucky Hope. “Everything all right?”

  “Um . . . sort of? It seems my parents forgot to mention this was a stick shift.”

  He blinked. “Oh. You can’t drive a manual?”

  “Well, I probably could, but I’m not sure we’d make it there in one piece.” She gave him a cautious look. “I don’t suppose you’re available for the next, say, ten hours or so?”

  “Oh, hey, wish I could. But I have a ’67 Porsche 911 due tomorrow afternoon. It’s for this guy’s birthday . . .”

  “No, of course, I understand.”