Summer Love by Piper Rayne

Chapter One

“So.” Mai peered out the large front window of her coffee shop. “It doesn’t look like the storm has changed its mind and decided to head back out to sea.”

“Nope. I think we’re in for one heck of a weekend.”

Mai stood shoulder to shoulder with Becca Wolfe as they watched the rain fall outside. It was still hot enough that the raindrops were sizzling and evaporating as soon as they hit the street. August in St. Caroline, Maryland, was normally rather sweltering, but the temperature was dropping—practically by the minute.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Main Street this deserted before.” August was also peak season in St. Caroline. Summer was when the east coast sailing enthusiasts descended on the town. Along with fishing enthusiasts, group bicycle tours, photography buffs, people headed to Ocean City taking an afternoon detour, the owners of the estates and mansions ringing the town’s perimeter, and weddings.

Good Lord, the weddings.

Mai’s Two Beans coffee shop caffeinated them all.

Becca leaned her forehead against the glass, looking toward her quilt gallery where her husband was busy sandbagging the front of the building. “Looks like Jack is almost done.” Up and down the street, business owners were stacking giant bags of sand against their storefronts. Several had nailed great sheets of plywood over their windows. Mai hoped that was an overabundance of caution on their part.

Hurricane Ian had been downgraded to Tropical Storm Ian as it swept across the mid-Atlantic coast. Seventy mph winds could still do a lot of damage, though. Not to mention the flooding that was the town’s main concern. Living in a waterfront town was idyllic … as long as the water stayed in the bay where it belonged.

Becca patted Mai’s forearm. “It’ll be fine. What the insurance agent said to me was, ‘If the building is still standing after two hundred years, it’ll withstand any weather Mother Nature throws at it.’”

“Did you get that in writing?”

Becca laughed and turned around. Her eight-year-old daughter, Jackie, was sitting at a table, carefully coloring in one of the many coloring books Mai kept on hand for younger patrons. “Finish up your page, sweetie. Daddy will be here soon.” She grinned at Mai. “Those coloring books were a genius move, by the way.”

“Clearly. I’ve been going through half a dozen a week.”

“Well, the moms appreciate it.”

Mai nodded. At twenty-eight, she was beginning to wonder if she’d ever be a mother herself. A downside of living in a small town, to be sure. She’d already dated or passed on most of St. Caroline’s eligible bachelors. Still, she loved living here. Loved the history of the place. Most of the businesses on Main Street, hers included, were in buildings that dated back to the 1800s.

And of course, she loved that Two Beans was a popular hangout all year round. If only some new guy would decide to move here and fall in love with her, life would be grand!

Fortunately, the pity party that was about to launch in her mind was interrupted by Jack Wolfe coming in the front door.

“All done,” he said, bracing for impact as his daughter launched herself at him. “Mai, do you need any help?” He glanced back toward the street.

“No, I’m good. My brother sandbagged the back of the building and brought up the rest for the front.” She nodded at the bags stacked at the back of the shop.

“Why didn’t he do the front?” Jack peeled off his daughter.

“He had to get back to Annapolis.” She swallowed the bubble of irritation that rose in her throat, again. She came from a restaurant family, had grown up working in her parents’ mini empire of Vietnamese restaurants. Her brother now ran the newest addition to the empire—an upscale French-Vietnamese restaurant on the water in Annapolis. To her parents, Mai’s small coffee shop was not a “restaurant.” Thus, not important.

“I’m fine,” she said to Jack and Becca’s concerned expressions. “I checked last night. I can lift the bags. You guys should get home before the winds pick up.”

Hesitation flickered in Jack’s eyes, before he acquiesced.

“Alright. But get those bags out there. The storm’s going to hit soon.”

“I will. No worries.” She waved them off and then eyed the small mountain of sandbags waiting for her. I got this.

* * *

Ian Youngblood slowed the rental car. He was driving down Main Street on his way back to the house he was house sitting for a friend. Through the hyperactive thwap-thwap of the windshield wipers and the monsoon-like rain, he could just barely make out a small figure struggling to heave a sandbag up onto the pile of bags already in place. It was clearly a woman, and a drenched woman at that.

As much as he wanted to get to the house and hunker down for the storm, he couldn’t, in good conscience, simply drive by. He pulled over to the curb and parked. Two Beans. Simone had recommended the place before she and Douglas left on their honeymoon. The way she’d described it made it sound like Cheers, only with coffee.

He jumped out of the car. “Hey! Let me help you.” He ran over and pushed the sandbag easily onto the pile. “There.” He brushed wet, leaking sand from his hands.

The woman turned to look at him. “Thanks. I only have a dozen more to go.”

His breath caught in his throat, even as rain needled his scalp and dripped off his nose. It was the karaoke woman from London. He was sure of it.

“Where are the rest?”

Her expression was one of skepticism, not recognition. That disappointed him on both counts. Of course, he was going to help her with the rest. He wasn’t a dick. That was Alex’s role in the band.

But wait—she doesn’t remember me?

He wasn’t accustomed to not being remembered. At the very least, his manager wouldn’t mind a viral tweet or two about some Good Samaritan behavior to counter all the recent bad publicity from Alex. Who was now in rehab for the fourth time after trashing one tour bus, two hotel rooms, and half of a backstage dressing room. Ian had gotten there just in time to save the other half.

He loved Alex like a brother—he really did—but the drinking was out of control. And Ian wasn’t the only person who was tired of it.

“In the back.”

She climbed over the stack of bags in front of the shop’s front door. He was momentarily mesmerized by the sight of her legs, shiny and sleek in the rain. He followed her over the bags and into the coffee shop.

“Sit down and rest. I can do it.”

“It’ll be faster if we both do it.”

Looking her over, “unlikely” was the word that came to mind. She was maybe a hundred and twenty pounds, soaking wet. Her long, dark hair was plastered to her head, cheeks, and neck. Her white button-down shirt was now nearly translucent, revealing a lacy yellow bra underneath. Yellow was an unusual color for lingerie, in his not-so-limited experience.

He was remembering the black lingerie she wore the first time he saw her, when a gust of wind slapped against the roof of the building. Oh right. His namesake storm was bearing down on them. There was no time to ponder lingerie or the fact that she apparently had no recall of him.

“Well then, let’s go.”