Casting cupid, p.1
Casting Cupid, page 1
Contents
Casting Cupid
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
About the Author
Also from Radiance
Also from Radiance
An Imprint of Roan & Weatherford Publishing, LLC
Bentonville, Arkansas
www.roanweatherford.com
Copyright © 2023 by Mary Shotwell
We are a strong supporter of copyright. Copyright represents creativity, diversity, and free speech, and provides the very foundation from which culture is built. We appreciate you buying the authorized edition of this book and for complying with applicable copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. Thank you for supporting our writers and allowing us to continue publishing their books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Shotwell, Mary, author.
Title: Casting Cupid | Maiden’s Bay #1
Description: First Edition | Bentonville: Radiance, 2023.
Identifiers: LCCN: 2023946460 | ISBN: 978-1-63373-867-6 (hardcover) |
ISBN: 978-1-63373-868-3 (trade paperback) | ISBN: 978-1-63373-869-0 (eBook)
Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION/Romance/Contemporary |
FICTION/Romance/Action & Adventure | FICTION/Romance/General
LC record available at: https://lccn.loc.gov.2023946460
Radiance ebook edition October, 2023
Cover Design & Electronic Formatting by Casey W. Cowan
Editing by Staci Troilo, Lisa Lindsey & Amy Cowan
This book is a work of historical fiction. Apart from the well-known actual people, events, and locales that figure in the narrative, all names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to current events or locales, or to living persons, is entirely coincidental.
To the ceiling breakers
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ALTHOUGH THE PLOTS and characters are of my own creation, it takes a team to get them into a finished product. Thank you to my agent Amy Brewer for helping me redefine this series and get it in the hands of a great team.
To my publisher Roan & Weatherford, it has been a fun start to this exciting venture, and can’t wait to continue with the series. Special thanks to my editors Stacy Troilo and Lisa Lindsey, and cover designer, Casey Cowan.
To my readers, it is your support that I fall back on during times when I doubt myself or get stuck. Knowing I have supportive fans who can’t wait to read what’s next means the world.
Finally, to Matt, Luke, Evan, and Avery, thank you for listening, making me laugh, and constantly giving me ideas whether you know it or not.
CHAPTER ONE
SATURDAY, JANUARY 20
WORKING AT BEA’S Bouquets in Maiden’s Bay, Washington, was not Cynthia Pruitt’s dream job. It was a job—she’d give it that. It wasn’t that she minded making the floral arrangements or following the meticulous instructions her boss Bea hammered into the slightest of tasks. In fact, being surrounded by some of nature’s most beautiful creations brought joy to Cynthia on most days.
But today wasn’t one of those days. Today was another day crews were out at sea for their last chance at a big haul before crab fishing season ended. Yet another season she had missed. One more day not on the water meant one more day away from making her dream a reality.
“Cynthia!” Bea stood at the front window, one hand on her hip, the other holding a bouquet of crimson buttercups. “The phone, please.”
Cynthia snapped out of her daydreaming of crab pots and saltwater chop and answered the shop’s phone. “Bea’s Bouquets.”
“Hello, Cynthia?”
“Hi, Gwen!” Her teenage—nearly twenty now—niece’s soft voice was unmistakable. They had become close since Cynthia moved back to Maiden’s Bay after college four years ago and somehow even closer by phone as it was Gwen’s turn for college at University of Washington. It was probably easier for Gwen to confide in her aunt over her mother, Jackie, about her love life and happenings. Cynthia was, after all, closer to Gwen in age than she was Jackie.
“Hey Aunt Cee. I was wondering if you could help me out.”
“Of course. What can I do for you?”
“I figured since January’s almost over, it’s probably time for me to get my act together for Valentine’s Day, before it gets too crazy.”
“You’re right.” Cynthia glanced at Bea, who by some miracle positioned more deep red buttercups one by one in the already tight window arrangement. “We’re quickly approaching our busiest time of the year, so it was wise to call.”
“See, they are teaching me something here in Seattle.”
Cynthia smiled, the distance of the voice tearing a slight ache in her chest. She had family in town, but it wasn’t family. Gwen was the connection between Cynthia and her sister Jackie, and with Gwen gone, the connection virtually vanished.
“Honey, you’ve always been smart.” Cynthia opened the order form on the computer. “I still have your order info from last year. Are you keeping with the same or spicing it up with Nathaniel?”
“The same. I want to make it a tradition. Two years in a row should set that into motion, right? Plus it helps Nathaniel when he knows what I’m getting him. When he doesn’t, he has no clue what scale of gift to get me, even though I tell him he doesn’t have to get me anything.”
“Isn’t that sweet,” Cynthia jibed. “But are you sure you want to send him flowers?”
Bea snapped her fingers, the threat of a lost sale pushing her eyebrows together in a scowl.
“I know how you feel about Valentine’s Day, Aunt Cee. But it’s our little thing we have, you know, starting with the single rose on my car, the corsage for Winter Formal, then the graduation bouquet bigger than the cake Mom ordered.”
“I know, I know. I’ll make sure only the most beautiful are in his when we send it out.”
“Thank you.” She paused, and Cynthia nearly filled the void before Gwen took the helm. “What about you? Go on any dates lately?”
“I think we’re done here.”
Gwen laughed. “Okay, okay. Say hello to Bea for me.”
“Will do.”
Cynthia filled in the order on the computer. Bea approached, hand on hip and mouth pouted, her silver-streaked black hair looking even tighter in its bun. Cynthia tucked loose blond strands behind her ear. Bea had a way to make even the neatest of groomers look disheveled.
“You weren’t trying to talk that customer out of buying, were you?”
“First off, Gwen says hi.”
“Oh! I can’t wait until she’s off for summer break. Maybe then I can have the right help here.”
Cynthia shook her head. Bea never hesitated threatening to let her go, or gave up on an opportunity to remind her of how easily she could be replaced. Cynthia understood it for the joking it was.
“What makes you think Gwen would work here and not Postal Port? Gwen tends to be a loyal person.” She had worked at Postal Port since she could legally work.
Bea shoed her comment away. “That’s because Gwen is a go-getter, starting that knitting business all on her own. No doubt she upsells customers at Postal Port unlike someone else I know.”
“You’re right,” Cynthia said. “I don’t upsell customers at Postal Port.”
Bea let out a short, one-syllable sound known as her laugh. Cynthia winked at her. She loved making her laugh because it took effort and was deeply rewarding, even if short-lived.
“If you must know, Gwen was placing an order for Nathaniel for Valentine’s Day. I simply was steering her away from last year’s flowers to maybe a noteworthy balloon or chocolates.”
“What, so men can’t get flowers now?”
“No, that’s not what I was saying. I meant to encourage her to change things up from last year.”
“Everyone can appreciate a beautiful flower. They are nature’s batting lashes, her—”
“Her musical notes on the staff of life.” It was one of Bea’s go-to speeches.
The bell on the front door jingled, and Cynthia’s shoulders dropped in relief. It was distraction enough to walk away from the conversation.
She picked up a water bottle to work on the larger plants in the back. Bea insisted on sprayer versus watering can. They need refreshment, not drowned, she’d say.
She peeked behind her, making sure Bea wasn’t watching, and sneaked the headphone buds in her ears. The volume was high enough to drown out
She leaned over a pot of dianthus and felt the soil, the soft dirt not quite clumping with her pinch. She sprayed the water bottle near the soil and worked her way up the shelves. She stopped at the sound of a shout.
A figure moved behind the rack. Cynthia pulled out her headphones and pushed the flower pot to the side. A man wiped his eyes and dried his face in his flannel sleeve.
“Oh, my goodness.” She hurried to the other side of the rack, nearly tripping on the corner of the metal shelf. “I didn’t know anyone was there.”
The man held up his hand while he dried his face. “It’s okay. I—” He looked up, his deep brown eyes striking hers. “It was my fault.” He had a strong, smoothly-shaven jawline and narrow nose. His dark hair was cut in a crew style, longer strands in disarray above his forehead.
Cynthia tucked her blond strands behind her burning ears. “No, the fault is mine.” Her voice sounded mousier than usual, probably from the fact all her blood rushed to her head in embarrassment. “I’m the one with the bottle.” She jiggled it in her hand, mimicking what her stomach was doing at the moment.
“If I had known the difference between a peace lily and petunia, I wouldn’t have put my face in firing range.” His playful smile drew her stare to his lips.
Cynthia opted to look at the plant rack, her feet, the ceiling. Anything other than directly at this man who made her heart race.
“Maybe you could help me decide?”
“With…?” Her brain fogged over. He might have explained himself already, but she only caught the question at the end.
“The flowers….” He pointed to the shelf, the sight of the incident in which she was forced to speak with this handsome man.
“Oh, yes. Sorry.”
“Good. Do you mind putting down the weapon first?” He pointed to the spray bottle in her hand.
She stared at it to process what he meant, then chuckled. “Sorry. Yeah.” She set it down on the shelf. Turn your brain back on and act like a human. She inhaled slowly through her nose, her blood pressure easing up a few nanometers of mercury.
“What is the occasion, and where will they be housed? That usually helps in deciding.”
“Well, the occasion is my mother’s birthday.”
Is he playing her, or is he really just a nice guy?
“I’m hoping she’ll keep them in her house. I didn’t want to get her cut flowers. It’s her sixtieth, so something that will make a bigger statement but will also last more than a week or two.”
“You have to travel with these, I assume?”
He certainly wasn’t anyone she had seen in Maiden’s Bay before. Not that she knew everyone, but certainly she would’ve remembered seeing him.
He nodded, his smile tightening his cheeks. “Oakside.”
“Hmm.” She scanned the rack. “With all that in mind then, I’d say….” She walked to the end of the rack and slipped out the pot on the bottom shelf. “Clivia here.”
The man stared perplexed at her selection of shiny leaves in a pot of dirt.
“I know they’re not in bloom yet, but we’re only a week or two away. You’ll get lovely bright orange flowers, and the plant is very easy to maintain. The pot should be fine in the seat or trunk of your car.”
He examined the pot, touching the green waxy leaves and investigating the info card spiked into the soil.
“Okay. You convinced me.”
“If that’s all, I can ring you up.” The sooner she could end this encounter the better.
“Sure.”
She walked toward the front of the store to the counter, feeling the man’s stare at her back. The poor guy was just shopping for his mom, as ordinary as any other customer. Why was she so flustered? It was embarrassing what she had done, but not devastating.
Bea stared at the two of them while Cynthia worked the register. Don’t come over, Bea. Don’t come over. Don’t—
“Did you find everything you needed today?” Bea smiled her over-zealous grin she saved for customers.
“Actually,” he said, “I was wondering if you gave discounts for being sprayed in the face?”
Cynthia nearly choked.
“What is this?” Bea stared at her.
“It was an accident,” Cynthia muttered.
“I’m just joking,” he said. “I’m sorry.” His face turned serious, and he looked right into Cynthia’s eyes before returning to Bea. “She was a great help, and you have a lovely store.”
Bea tipped her head in confusion. Or suspicion. “Thank you.” Bea lingered, and the man looked back at Cynthia. His eyes widened, and he whispered, almost mouthed, the next words. “Is she still there?”
Cynthia smirked and gave one affirmative nod before handing him the receipt.
“Like I was saying.” The man spoke up. “Let me know when those come in. I don’t want to miss out.” He took a pen from the counter and wrote on the back of the receipt. He slid it over to Cynthia. “You have a good day.” He smiled and grabbed his potted plant, then nodded at Bea before exiting the store.
Cynthia looked at the paper. Coffee? it read, with a phone number beneath.
Cynthia pursed her lips and faded the smile, folding the paper in half and slipping it into her back pocket.
“What was that all about?” Bea crossed her arms over her chest.
Cynthia cleared her throat. “Nothing.” She cleared the counter of soil crumbs, brushing them into her hand, then throwing them in the trash can.
“Sure didn’t look like nothing.”
Cynthia shook her head. “I’ll be back there if you need me.” She walked away from the counter, the reminder of that slip of paper in her pocket painting a smile across her face. She didn’t dare turn around to show Bea.
The man had written his first name on the back. But she knew his full name from the credit card he had used. Not that she was spying or anything.
She wasn’t used to men being so forward. Not that he was overtly forward. In fact he was very polite, but smooth at the same time. Usually they asked for her number. Even then, she was hesitant to text or call back, if she gave her real number in the first place.
Something about the encounter with Liam Reynolds made her think she might make an exception.
CHAPTER TWO
LIAM REYNOLDS HAD never been so delighted to have taken the scenic route from Seattle back to Oakside. Maiden’s Bay was not a common stop, but not uncommon. It meant traveling toward shore further north than needed along Highway 101, in the portion known as the Crescent Coast. A handful of small towns dotted a stretch of coastline, each etched into the cliffside like divots in a carton of ice cream left from the rounded scoop.
He knew enough of the town to know the general layout, and that Pearl Avenue served as the main road of shops. If only he had been better prepared for the encounter at Bea’s Bouquets.
His hunter green Chevy Tahoe rolled over the last of the curved hills between the shop and Oakside. Unlike Maiden’s Bay, Oakside was tucked away from the shore in a leeward sloping valley. Except for a few cliff-side businesses like Oakside Processing and summer homes for the tech elite, there wasn’t much visual coastline from the central part of town.
He stretched an arm low over the passenger seat as he slowed to a stop at a red light. The clivia plant’s leaves had bounced and swayed with the movement of the truck along the rocky windy coast, but the pot had kept its place on the passenger seat.
Liam could enumerate the differences between Dungeness and Pacific Rock crabs, but heck if he knew indoor vegetation. The woman seemed to be knowledgeable, and something about her made him trust her. Even though she had attacked his face.
Liam smirked, recalling the young employee. Red-faced was an understatement to describe her embarrassment. That’s when her eyes met his, gray with the faintest of blue. Who knew gray could sparkle?
He hadn’t cared at that point what she recommended. At the register, he could only think about never seeing her again, something that hadn’t settled well. Slipping his number to her was unlike him. He wasn’t the guy with the slick moves. He was the boring guy in high school who stayed on the sidelines—literally, as second string, he had spent most of his time on the sidelines. Other guys had the sly tricks and sweet talk. It was partly why Sandra left three years ago.
