Married One Night. Amber Leigh Williams
he strike you as...all there?” Adrian pointed to her head.
Olivia nodded slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes. Despite the frightening optimism and the fact that he braved tropical storm conditions to tell me all this, he seems pretty lucid.”
“What’s your impression of him?”
“He’s...” Olivia stopped, thinking of the man who’d sat across the table from her tonight. She lowered into a cozy armchair. “He’s...sexy.”
Adrian nodded approvingly. “Uh-huh. Go on.”
“He’s intellectual, but in a sexy way. Very Tom Hiddleston. Proper and upper-crust but not at all haughty. He’s accessible, down-to-earth and so damned charming he can make your toes tingle just by smiling at you....”
“I’m intrigued, and also slightly confused.” Adrian licked her lips. “What you’re saying is...this Tom Hiddleston-esque, sexy, intelligent man-hunk walks into the tavern and has decided to stay next door for three weeks so that he can, basically, try and woo you into staying married to him. Correct?”
Olivia nodded, thinking it through carefully. “In a nutshell. Yes.”
“And you, Olivia Lewis, who has no problem letting men woo her is freaking out because...”
Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “He and I are married.”
Adrian shrugged. “In my experience, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But, hey, some people like it. Look at Briar and Cole. Look at your parents.”
Olivia made a thoughtful noise as she gnawed on her thumbnail. Her parents’ partnership, which had spanned three decades and the hell-raising teenage version of herself, was a lot to live up to. From an early age she’d known that it was the ultimate ideal—the kind of love she’d once ridiculously envisioned for herself.
As a young adult, however, she’d learned the hard way that that kind of love and bond didn’t come easily. Nor did it happen for everyone. And she was sure it never would for her. “So you’re saying...” Olivia took a deep, steadying breath “...I should just let it ride?”
Adrian lifted her shoulders. “Why not? He’ll definitely be gone by the end of the three weeks?”
“He says so. And he said he’d file for separation himself, take care of the legal fees, everything—as long as I give him these three weeks.”
Tired, Adrian gave Olivia a telling look. “Then what’s the harm?”
Olivia narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Usually, I can count on you for cynicism. What the hell?”
Adrian lifted a shoulder. “It’s midnight. I’ve been up since 5:00 a.m. Penny and I threw together over a hundred arrangements at the shop today. My bed’s calling me. That’s all. Talk to me tomorrow after coffee if you want practical advice.”
Olivia sighed. “Right.” She rose. “Sorry to barge in so late.”
Adrian stood. “For curiosity’s sake, what’s the name of this British man-hunk who intends to sweep you off your feet?”
“No sweeping,” Olivia said pointedly. “There will be no sweeping. And his name is Gerald Leighton, for what it’s worth.”
Adrian blinked in surprise. “Gerald Leighton? The writer, Gerald Leighton?”
“That’s his name,” Olivia said. “I don’t know what he does for a living. I don’t know anything about him.”
“Hang on.” Adrian disappeared into the hall where she kept books on built-in shelves. She strolled back in with a dog-eared paperback, turned it over and opened the back cover for Olivia to see the black-and-white picture on the inside. “Is this him?”
Olivia gawped at Gerald’s face for what had to be the third time that night. “Oh, my God. What’s he doing there?”
“Liv.” Adrian closed the book, firming her lips together as her eyes lit up and she clutched the worn paperback to her chest. “Your husband is Gerald Leighton.”
“So?”
“Gerald Leighton,” Adrian said again, a bit louder this time. “The fantasy writer. He’s an international bestseller. He’s won all kinds of awards in the genre, not to mention for writing in general. He writes the Rex Flynn series.”
“Who?”
“Rex Flynn.” Adrian made an impatient noise. “Come on, don’t you read?”
“Not really,” Olivia admitted. “Just the occasional romance novel, heavy on the smut. Short ones—I don’t have time for anything else.”
Adrian raked a hand through the red cap of her hair. “Oy. Okay, Rex Flynn is this amazing hero who has this weird but really awesome time-traveling ability that just gets him into trouble at first but eventually becomes useful for rescuing people, spying and, of course, saving the world. But the best part about it is the love story. In book one, Rex accidentally travels to the fifteenth-century Highlands where he meets the love of his life, Janet MacMillian, and so starts this epic love story that continues throughout the rest of the series.”
“You read love stories?” Olivia asked doubtfully. “Since when?”
“I started out reading the series because Dad suggested it for the history and time-travel elements. But it’s more than all that. There’s intrigue and action and magic and ancient history and love and even a little bit of smut.... Oh, it’s just perfection! He is the best writer. And he’s, like, a multimillionaire.”
“No, he’s not,” Olivia said automatically.
“No, really. He’s an actual multimillionaire. He gets seven-figure advances and he does these book signings where people line up for city blocks just to meet him. They’re talking even about doing a Rex Flynn movie. Liv, this is a big deal. He, Gerald Leighton, is a big deal.”
“Calm down,” Olivia ordered. She put her hands on her head and shook it in denial. “I can’t process this right now. I just can’t. You’re right. We’ll talk more in the morning. Postcoffee.”
“Liv,” Adrian said, snagging Olivia’s arm as she opened the front door. “Can I meet him? Do you think it would be okay if I met him. I mean, meet him again...when I’m not drunk? Maybe he could sign a couple of my hardbacks or something?”
Olivia took one good look at Adrian’s animated expression and shook her head. “For Christ’s sake, Adrian. Get a hold of yourself.” She walked out of the cottage, back into the rain.
If the man had Adrian Carlton of all people beaming sunshine and rainbows, Gerald Leighton was going to be far more trouble than Olivia had initially thought.
* * *
THE BREAKFAST OLIVIA’S cousin, Briar Browning Savitt, served for guests and family at Hanna’s Inn was not to be missed.
Olivia walked around the tavern and the adjourning shops facing South Mobile Street. She crossed the gravel parking lot to the proud white three-story bed-and-breakfast that had been owned by the Brownings for decades. She saw her cousin’s small sedan, the four-by-four owned by Briar’s husband, Cole, who used the brawny vehicle to haul landscaping materials and such, Adrian’s ten-year-old SUV and what looked to be a luxury sportster Olivia could only guess was Gerald Leighton’s rental car.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who had shown up for Briar’s cinnamon rolls. Frowning at the blue skies scant on clouds today, Olivia mused that if not for the wet and battered leaves littering the ground and the tangled state of her cousin’s climbing roses and jasmine bushes, one might never have known that the coast had had a very near miss with a Category 3 hurricane. And despite the fact that it was late October, the brush with El Niño had left the Eastern Shore warm enough for it to be mid-May.
Nobody