Synopsis

Katrina Bradshaw is a free-spirited photojournalist who has sworn off men.

Her love life up until now has been what she calls, “a series of unfortunate events.” When she bumps into Jack, she wonders if he could be different than other men.

Jack Anders is a thoughtful young executive who lives life according to plan.

When his mom passes away, he reevaluates his priorities and considers taking risks. Meeting Katrina opens possibilities Jack had only dared to dream about.

When they finally decide to pursue a relationship, a series of near misses threatens to keep them apart.

Can Katrina learn to trust?

Will Jack take risks when it matters most?

How will they find a second chance at love?

Excerpt

Chapter Three

Katrina

I can’t believe my rental car overheated. Now this total stranger named Jack is offering to help me out. He’s leaning over, looking under the hood trying to see what’s wrong. I stand a little closer to Jack, as though I know a fan belt from a carburetor. I just don’t want him to get the impression that I’m a bimbo who needs a man to step in and rescue her.

I can’t help but notice how he smells woodsy, like cinnamon and pine. Something warm and welcoming. Not like Thomas. Thomas always smelled like a cologne a man would wear when he was trying hard to be something he wasn’t. He smelled pretentious and eager. That smell should have been a warning to me. But, what do I know? Thomas seemed solid at first.

Just because a man smells like a campfire and a warm cup of tea, it doesn’t mean he isn’t an axe murderer. Maybe that’s why Jack smells like the woods. He may have been burying bodies somewhere, and now here he is bending over the engine of my car trying to diagnose what’s broken.

Jack lifts his head from under the hood and tells me it just needs to sit a little while. He asks me my name. I tell him and then ask how long the car needs to sit. I’m trying not to look like a complete idiot. He tells me, “About an hour. Have you eaten? I need to eat lunch, and if you haven’t, I could keep you company while the engine cools and then check it again before you take off. Just figuring I could hang around to help.”

That doesn’t sound like an offer an axe murderer would make, unless he’s trying to lower my defenses before he throws me into his trunk. Oh goodness, Kat. Get a grip. This truck stop has eyes everywhere. You are probably safe eating a burger with the man.

“Sure. That sounds good. Let me just grab my purse and I’ll meet you inside.”

I shoot a quick text off to Patrice, in case, you know, I go missing after lunch with a handsome stranger. Then I head to the women’s restroom to wash up. I stare at myself in the mirror over the sinks. My mind starts wandering to thoughts about Jack’s eyes. He has the warmest hazel eyes. His voice has the tone of syrup and butter melting over a stack of pancakes. I must be hungry. Starved actually.

As I join Jack at the counter to place my order, I silently chant my mantra like a monk at vespers: No men, no men, no men … What am I doing? I don’t need my resolve right now. I’m never going to see this man again. He’s just helping me with my lemon of a rental car. This is just a one-time lunch with a stranger. Nothing more.

“What can I get you?” the teen behind the counter asks me.

“Um. A plain cheeseburger with lettuce and a large iced tea.” I guess it isn’t plain if you count the whitish slice of iceberg, but that’s a technicality. Jack gets a chicken sandwich. I stand by the counter waiting for our food while he heads over to the soda dispenser and then comes back. We take our trays to a table in the center of the dining room of the truck stop. I’m glad we’re out in the open – safety first and all.

“So, what brings you to this area, Kat?” Should I answer him? Well, I can hit a gas pedal as fast as any girl I know, and I can scream pretty loudly too, so if he pulls anything funny, I have my defenses ready. Of course, I might have to scratch the idea of driving fast as that might be part of what led to the engine overheating. I can still scream though – like an old Hollywood horror star.

He’s looking at me with a question mark in his eyes, so I decide to answer. “I was shooting a wedding. As a photographer, not with a gun or anything. And it wasn’t a real wedding. I mean, it was a fake wedding for a venue.”

Jack chuckles. Oh. Good gravy. This right here – my mouth that flows like a hot volcano of craziness – this is one reason I don’t date, and man-fasts are the very best invention since mint chip ice cream. Actually man-fasts with mint chip are even better.

“So, you shot a wedding, and …” He wants more of the mental mayhem that happens when I open my mouth? Okay. He asked for it.

“Well, see, the venue wants pictures to use for their website, ads, and promos to couples. Weddings are big business, you know. So they hire fake brides and grooms – actors or models, or random beautiful bridezillas, as was the case this week – and they have them pose all day as though they were getting married. Kiss and all.”

“And you were the photographer. Kiss and all?”

“Yep. That’s me. The photographer, not the kisser. To be clear. Of course, you knew that. Anyway, yes. I’m a photographer and I usually don’t torture myself by shooting weddings or even faux weddings, but this was a sweet gig and I got to stay at the coast and get a little downtime before I leave for Africa.”

“Is there a wedding in Africa?”

Now I giggle. “No. The trip to Africa is like my more usual work. I’m going to do a piece on the Batwa people in Bwindi, Uganda. They lived with the mountain gorilla for ages and then the government decided to turn the rainforest into a national park, so they were somewhat displaced. I’m going to write about the impact of that change to their culture and to hopefully get to spend time with the Batwa people.”

“Just wow. That sounds pretty amazing.”

“Yeah. I do love my job. So, what about you, what brings you to this fabulous truck stop outside Ventura Beach?”

“Well, believe it or not, this was not my planned destination.”

“No? You don’t say.”

“Nope. Actually, I was in Montana. My mom passed away recently and her house needed to be gone through so it can be put on the market, so …” Jack sits silent for a moment. I can’t imagine losing either one of my parents. His eyes look like he’s carrying a private weight inside his soul.

“… Anyway, so I went up there to do the job and then I popped in on my brother and decided to swing by the Central Coast on my way home to L.A. I just stopped here for gas.”

“I’m so sorry about your mom, Jack. I know people say that whenever something tragic happens, but I really am sorry.”

His face softens. “Thanks. She was one amazing woman. Coming down the coast was …” He’s silent for a minute. I don’t want to pry. “… Well, I was hoping to rekindle my connection to her. We went to Cambria together a few years back.”

“So, did it help? I mean, the trip. Did you feel closer to your mom after being here?”

“Actually, no. It really just … solidified something about her being gone. So, no, unfortunately, I felt more loss. Sorry, I didn’t mean to douse our lunch with talk of my mom.” He gives a slight shake of his head like he’s trying to dispel his grief.

“You didn’t douse anything. Losing a parent, that’s huge. Tell me about her.”

“She was something else. Of course, most sons would say that about their moms. She was soft in all the right ways – the kind of woman everyone turned to for support. She didn’t judge people harshly and was truly present for them. I don’t know how she didn’t burn herself out. It’s like she was made to care for others, and it actually gave her joy. She made you believe in yourself. If it weren’t for her believing in me, I doubt I would have gone on to get my MBA. She saw things in me I never could see in myself, and all she wanted was for me to be happy.”

“She sounds really special. And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Happy. Are you happy?” He stares off a bit. That would be a no. If you have to think about whether you are happy, you aren’t. I feel for this man having lost his mom. He seems to have a rare kindness and depth about him.

“I have happiness in my life – some good friends, a job that pays well, not that it makes me happy exactly, but it provides for me to be able to do other things I enjoy.” He sighs. “Enough about me. What else did you do up the coast besides taking pictures of a moody model bride?”

“Well, I stayed in Cambria. Picked up some souvenirs for my friend Patrice, and a dish towel to send home to my Mama. I went to the elephant seal preserve to get some shots. Have you been there?”

“I have. They are strange creatures.”

“They are funky looking! Watching them is kind of like when you can’t look away from a car accident even though you know you should.” I try to think of how to describe them. “Hmmm, they look like, well, what do they look like? If a walrus grew a gigantic bulbous nose and had no tusks. Pretty gross, right?” Jack laughs.

“I can’t take my eyes off them when they get into dominance fights in the water. Did you know the males raise the babies after they are one year old, and the females leave each year to go north until mating season? That’s an arrangement I can get behind. Male childcare, coming back for some mating. Otherwise, living life free in the ocean.” I look over and Jack has a slightly delighted smirk on his face.

“So that’s an arrangement you can get behind, huh?” Jack raises an eyebrow at me. Sometimes my mouth gets to rolling like a go-cart careening downhill. The crash at the bottom is inevitable.

I feel a blush creep across my cheeks. “Well, I don’t know. I love freedom. Men haven’t been my strong suit.” Oh, I just said that. I should honestly bring duct-tape with me to prevent moments like this one. Jack looks so amused, but also concerned.

“Men haven’t been your strong suit? I find that hard to believe.” Now I really blush. And I have to change the subject before I unload about Thomas all over this perfect stranger. Emphasis on perfect.

“So, Jack, are you heading back to work when you get home?”

“Yes. I’ll get back into my routine. Hit the gym with my friend Brett, do laundry, all that settling back in stuff, and then it’s back to my nine to five. How about you?”

“I have my trip to Africa. Which reminds me I need to get back and start packing. You’ve been so kind to keep me company. I’m really grateful.”

“It was my pleasure. I was due for a diversion from my own thoughts. Lunch with you was just what I needed. Let’s go check your car so you can get out of here.” We stand to clear our trays and dump our trash.

As we head out the doors, I ask Jack what he does for work. I couldn’t tell you what it is except he’s indoors, behind a desk, and he helps other companies with management or something. Analysis was in there too. Some analysis. All things I don’t do: indoors, desks, analysis. Nope. Not for me. I have firmly established that he is either the nicest mass murderer I’ll ever meet, or he’s probably just a really nice guy. I’m going with Option B but reserving the right to change my mind should he try anything shifty.

Jack walks me to my car. We look at the gauge – it’s a gauge and I’m feeling brilliant for knowing that now. All’s well, according to Jack. He watches me get in and start the engine.

“It was really nice to meet you, Katrina. Drive safely.” I have this sudden urge to hug him or kiss him. No not kiss. Hug. What in the world, Kat? You have one lunch with a possible axe murderer, and you want a kiss. Pathetic.

“It was really nice meeting you too, Jack. Thanks for helping me.” I press the gas before my body decides to jump out and hurl itself at Jack. He waves as I drive off. He was right. My rental car just needed to cool off. After looking at him bending over the grill to check my engine, I can relate. That man fills out a pair of jeans just right. I know. I know. No men. Good thing I won’t ever see him again. He’s the kind of guy a girl could seriously blow her whole man-fast for.

I blast my road trip playlist – the one I created to celebrate the freedom of being a woman living life to the fullest. That’s me. Man-free and loving it.

About the Author

Patty Scott dreamt of being a writer before she could even set words on paper. She loves writing happily ever after stories and scenes where kisses make you melt a little. She also loves to write non-fiction books that help moms navigate motherhood, grow in their faith, and find joy in life.

Patty’s fictional characters experience real life struggles, misunderstandings, and hurts, but they make their way through and find love in the end. Patty delights in bringing her sense of humor into a story. No two characters are alike, and no story is ever like another. Patty’s relatable characters make her stories come to life.

Patty and her husband have two boys aged 11 and 18. They also have a 22-year-old foster daughter. Her joys when she isn’t writing are hiking, sharing conversation and a good cup of coffee with friends, dancing Hip Hop, and taking spontaneous road trips.

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