That Second Chance Page 11

This man who looks like he just walked out of GQ, freshly styled with a douse of cologne from one of the free sample pages. He is all kinds of wow . . . just like Griffin. Port Snow apparently is hot-guy paradise.

He takes a seat across from me and sets down a leather-bound folder. Leaning back in his chair, he casually drapes his right ankle over his knee and stares me down.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re giving me a weird look.”

I clear my throat, inwardly chastising myself for staring. “I’m sorry, you just look a lot like the guy who helped me out of my car yesterday.”

“Griff? Yeah, he’s my brother.”

Well, that makes sense. Maybe I do have a concussion; that should have dawned on me a lot sooner than it did, especially knowing his last name.

“Oh . . . yup, there is a definite resemblance. Funny that he didn’t mention you last night when we spoke about the house.”

Rogan flips open his folder with one finger and pulls out a pen just as Ruth brings him a cup of coffee. He looks up at her with a sincere smile. “Thanks, Ruthie. Put it on the tab?”

“Always.”

When she walks away, Rogan turns back to me. “Griff likes to leave out details and keep to himself. Heard he had to extract you from your car using the jaws of life.”

With a lift of his brow and a pointed look, he studies my reaction as I roll my eyes.

“Not you too. Being Griffin’s brother, I would have expected you to not buy in to the town gossip.”

“I don’t; I’m just testing out your rage level. I’m sure you’ve heard multiple stories by now. You handled that well. Glad to know you won’t be going on a rampage in the Alabaster Haven while you’re staying there.”

“Oh, you’re going to have to push me a lot harder than that if you want me to go on a rampage.”

“Yeah?” He plays with his pen, twirling it between his fingers. “What’s your hot button?”

“Is this part of the landlord interview? You know I’ve already moved in, right? I put my clothes away in the dresser drawers.”

“I’m not opposed to eviction.” His dry sense of humor and delivery throw me off. The only way I can tell he’s joking is from the small crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“Playing hardball, I see. Okay.” I take a sip of my coffee and then set it on the table, cradling it with both of my hands as I stare back at Rogan, taking in the strong, classic features, so similar to Griffin’s. Their parents must have incredibly attractive genes. “Hot button? Well, I’d have to say it would be something like destroying my sweets stash.”

“Sweets stash?”

I nod. “I love sweets. Any kind—I need them in my life. I always have a stash in my house for emergency purposes, and if someone touches it, we’re done. Horns grow from my head, and I start spitting fireballs.”

“Fireballs, huh? Not just fire?”

“Nope, straight-up balls.” I point at him. “Remember that if you don’t want your house burned to the ground.”

“Noted.” He starts pulling out paperwork and shuffling through it. While Griffin, I imagine, would have laughed with me or at least chuckled, Rogan is a little more straitlaced, business type. “Do you have a stash yet?”

“Huh?”

He peers up. “A sweets stash. Have you established one yet?”

“Oh, no, not yet. The whole car-between-trees incident set me back yesterday.”

The corner of his lip barely tilts up as he looks back down at the papers. “Well, I suggest you head on over to the Lobster Landing. They’ll be able to set you up with some sweets for your secret stash.” He hands me a business card. “On the back of that is a twenty percent off coupon. Go wild.”

“Wow, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Now let’s get down to business.”

Lease papers, a coupon for some yummy treats, and a brisk conversation later, I’m headed to take a look at the damage to my car. It’s at the town’s auto shop, which, according to my phone’s navigation, is just a short walk down Main. It seems like I won’t even need a car that much; everything is within walking distance, or at least the bare essentials are.

Now that it’s past ten and all the shops are open on this bright and humid Tuesday morning, the tourists are filling up the sidewalks, excitement beaming from their faces as they talk about the Lobster Landing and catching a boat tour. I’m even more enamored with my new little town as I watch visitors take pictures in front of the beautiful stone library, the rows of pastel buildings lining the harbor, and the kitschy tourist photo opportunities like the giant rocking chair and the lobster bench in front of the Lobster Landing.

I make a mental note to take my own pictures at some point.

I turn down Lighthouse Way, which I know—thanks to some well-written Yelp reviews—leads to the town’s lighthouse and attached restaurant known famously for its lobster bisque. I’ll be trying that as soon as I can, as well as eating my fair share of lobster.

To the right, I immediately spot the auto shop, a large white building with the name BRIG’S GARAGE spray-painted on the side in the same pastel colors seen throughout town. For crying out loud, does everything here have to be so cute?

Two large garage doors are open to the public, displaying a very pristine-looking interior with white walls and chrome tool benches, and that’s when I spot my car, raised up on a platform, looking pathetic with its caved-in sides and broken window. Oh boy. It looks worse than I remember.

“Can I help you?” A man wiping his hands on a red cloth steps up next to me, his forearms covered in dirt and oil. I glance up, and my jaw drops.

What in the hell?

Same blue eyes.

Same brown hair.

Same built body.

But instead of a clean-shaven face and smile lines around his eyes, he has thick stubble caressing his jaw and a tattoo peeking past the neckline of his shirt, and his hair is styled thickly on top of his head, messy in the best way.

“Uh . . .” I can feel myself scanning his younger face, the same face I’ve been staring at for what seems like the whole day. “Are you by any chance related to Griffin Knightly?”

A smile stretches across his face as he holds out his hand. “Yup. Brig Knightly. I’m his brother. And you are?”

I take his hand in mine. “Ren Winters, the owner of the red tree-smashed car up there.”

He glances up at the car and then chuckles. “Ahh, so you’re the one my brother rescued from the pond.”

“The pond?”

“Yeah, heard he had to crack the window open so you didn’t drown. Not sure where the tree came in or if the pond was really a thing at all, because I didn’t see any water damage, but still, you’re the girl. PE teacher, right?”

“Algebra,” I correct him. “And there was no pond. Just trees, a ditch, and a moose.”

He nods knowingly. “Ah, classic. Happens to the best of us. I’ve seen many cars in this shop because of a wild moose.”

“Really? I was thinking I didn’t know any better because I’m new to town.”

“Well, that’s correct”—he chuckles—“but there have been locals who’ve lived here all their lives and still end up getting in some moose-related accident. It comes with the territory.”

“That makes me feel a little better.” I twist my hands together, feeling nervous. Don’t say anything stupid, Ren, like wanting to grow chest hair. “So is the damage bad?”

He turns to fully face me and looks both ways before leveling with me. “It isn’t good, but it’s fixable, and trust me when I say you’ll be treated fairly here. We can get the old girl up and running again, but it will take at least a few weeks. There’s been some real cosmetic damage, and then there’s the parts we need to replace, along with the new airbag. It’s going to be a bit. Plus, it’s behind a long line of cars that are waiting to be fixed.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” I sigh, plastering a smile on my face. “At least Port Snow has two Uber drivers to rely on. Do you happen to know if they drive into other towns that have either a Walmart or Target?”

“Bart will; Wallace won’t. He’s a stingy old bastard and tries to cut down Bart every chance he gets.”

I was a firsthand witness to that last night.

“Rogue told me you’re in Alabaster Haven, right?” I nod. “Which means you’re a few houses down from Griff. Just borrow his truck if you need to go anywhere; he rarely uses it. Likes to walk most of the time.”

“Oh no.” I shake my head. “I couldn’t bother him for his truck. That seems a little too aggressive for someone who just met him yesterday, and not in the best way either. Me getting rescued while freaking out doesn’t make us best friends who borrow trucks, you know?”

“Nah, he’s cool. Just ask. Until then, let me take your number so I can call you with any updates.” He walks me into the very clean and orderly garage, where he writes my number down on a clipboard with my car information on it. He then pulls out a card and hands it over to me. “Here’s my info if you need to get in touch, and hey, there’s a twenty percent off coupon to the Lobster Landing on the back. They have great fudge; check it out if you get a chance.”

These boys seem to really enjoy promoting their family business—it’s certainly endearing.

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