streets of Richmond, Virginia, she’d probably feel like the clichéd fish out of water. A jolt of nerves shot up her back, and she took a deep breath to regain her composure.
She’d made some careless mistakes in her past, but she was a pro. This was her chance to prove it to everyone who’d written her off as flaky and difficult to work with.
And to herself.
Stepping onto the cracked sidewalk, she caught the unmistakable scent of salt water and fish, laced with the pungent diesel that powered the small fleet of fishing boats chugging to and from a busy set of docks. Another interesting tidbit, and she scribbled it down with her stylus.
“You must be Bree Farrell.”
The mellow voice startled her, and she clutched her tablet close to her chest. Her parents had stopped fighting long enough to buy it for her as a birthday gift, and nobody was taking her prized possession from her without a serious fight. In her next breath she realized how stupid her reaction was. Even in the worst places she’d visited, thieves didn’t stroll over and address you by name.
Looking up, she found herself staring at the collar of a dark blue polo shirt. When her eyes moved up a little farther, she got the surprise of her life.
Someone had planted a movie star in her path. With eyes the color of a clear sky and an easygoing smile, the stranger who’d come to greet her would weaken the knees of any female over ten and still breathing. He had broad shoulders and a lean, athletic physique to die for. Dressed in nicely pressed chinos and deck shoes, he looked like he was headed out for a sail.
When she realized he was waiting for her to respond, she jerked herself back to the moment. “Must I?”
Chuckling, he offered a hand. “Cooper Landry. Welcome to Holiday Harbor.”
“Landry.” They’d never met, she was certain of that. But the name rang a bell, and she asked, “Are you related to Mayor George Landry?”
His eyes darkened, and his welcoming smile faltered before righting itself. “Actually, I’m the mayor now.”
Bree was usually pretty good at gauging someone’s age, but with his windblown good looks, this guy could be anywhere from twenty-five to forty. While she mulled that over, she noted that the logo on his shirt wasn’t a name brand but a sketch of a sailboat, with the words Holiday Harbor floating like waves beneath it. Promoting the village on that solid chest of his, she thought with a grin. Nice touch.
“Aren’t you a little young to be a mayor?”
“I’m thirty, but thanks for the compliment.”
Only a couple of years older than her, she thought with a frown. “Isn’t that a lot of responsibility for someone your age?”
“I guess it is.” He shrugged as if it hadn’t occurred to him until she brought it up. “Granddad passed away a few months ago, and the town asked me to complete the rest of his term.”
“I’m so sorry,” she stammered. Again she’d waded into deep water before thinking things through. “My research must be a little out of date.”
“Not your fault, but thanks.”
After a moment he added another, more personal smile. It was the kind of gesture that lit up his eyes and made her feel like he was honestly glad to see her. Lately she hadn’t gotten that kind of reaction from too many people, and it made her feel slightly more at ease.
Trying to make conversation, she said, “I’m not used to being met by the mayor when I’m on assignment somewhere. That was nice of you.”
“It only seemed right. I’m the one who asked Kaleidoscope to send someone to do a story here.”
His comment piqued her curiosity. “Really? The magazine is pretty new, and online besides. What made you think of it?”
“Your editor, Nick McHenry, grew up here, and we go way back. He thought we’d make a great addition to the Americana series he’s running this summer.” The driver set Bree’s two bags in front of her, and her host handed him five dollars. “Thanks, Ed. Are you and your wife gonna make it up here for the Fourth?”
The older man’s face broke into a delighted grin. “We wouldn’t miss it. We’ve got the grandkids right now, and they can’t wait.”
“If you’ve got time, stop by my place for some barbecue. After you eat, you can get ringside seats for the fireworks. Red Granger’s in charge of them again, and he promised they’d be even better than last year’s.”
Respect flooded Ed’s expression, and Bree figured he didn’t often get invitations to visit a town leader at his home. “We’ll do that. Thanks.”
“Great! We’ll see you then.”
They shook hands to seal the deal, and Ed closed the cargo doors before climbing aboard.
As the bus chugged away, Cooper eyed Bree’s scant luggage in disbelief. “Is this it?”
“Yeah.” She slung her beat-up messenger bag across her chest. “Reporters travel light.” She didn’t add that the pilot’s case and small duffel held the extent of her wardrobe.
“We keep traffic out of the center of town to leave room to walk for pedestrians, so I had to park down the street.” Without asking, he shouldered her duffel and lifted her suitcase. “I apologize for the hike.”
Bree almost told him she could manage her own bags, but something stopped her. It might come across as rude, and she didn’t want to insult him by refusing his hospitality. Her last termination notice flashed into her mind like a recurring nightmare.
Talented but headstrong. Impossible to work with.
Not this time, she vowed. This time she’d choke down her instincts and be a team player. Even if it killed her.
“No problem,” she said lightly. “It’ll give me a feel for the town.”
They started walking, and he asked, “Have you eaten, Miss Farrell?”
Knowing this could be her last chance at her dream career, she’d only managed to choke down half a ham and cheese sandwich while waiting for the bus. Unwilling to admit how nervous she was about this assignment, she replied, “I had lunch at the airport in Rockland while I was waiting for the bus, so I’m fine. And it’s Bree.”
“Then I’m Cooper. I’m sort of named after the founder of this place. He was from a long line of barrel makers.”
“Interesting.” That sounded lame, so she added what she hoped was a pleasant smile and started checking out her surroundings.
Main Street was lined with old buildings, some made of brick, others of the weathered clapboards Maine was famous for. The shops’ front doors and display windows were shaded by identical light blue awnings, and flowers of every color overflowed from window boxes and hanging pots. In the center of town was a gazebo surrounded by a small park where several kids were kicking a soccer ball around.
Everywhere she looked she saw American flags and bunting, obviously set out for Monday’s Fourth of July festivities. She could have thrown a rock the length of the business district, but it did occupy both sides of the street. It included a diner, a small café and something she’d assumed had all but gone extinct.
“A real bookstore,” she commented. “I can’t remember the last time I saw one of those.”
“They carry lots of things, even some antique books. My mother owns it, and she has a huge collection. If you want, I can set up a tour for you.”
“That would be awesome,” she blurted, then realized she sounded like a teenager with a crush. Acting unprofessionally had caused her more trouble than even her vivid imagination could have invented. Getting a firmer grip on her dignity, she amended, “If I have time.”
Across the street was a store called There’s