Beginning Again (A Story With No Title series book one)

By Erin Lancaster

This book is intended for readers ages 18 and over.

Join this engaging cast of characters as you read about their past cheating spouses, unstable childhoods, and the love that comes out of it all in spite of everything. This series follows a popular story blog and introduces you to Erin, Bryce, Jesse, Lynne, Ginger, Desmond, and Marie as the story unfolds and grows.

In this volume, learn about Erin's struggle after finding her fiancé and best friend in bed together and her decision to start fresh in a new location. Still recovering, she meets Bryce and finds out his past resembles hers. Bryce wants her to let him help her get over her ex-fiancé, but as he gets to know Erin more and more, he discovers that maybe he hasn't dealt with his own pain like he thought he had.

All around Erin and Bryce brews romantic drama as other characters pop in occasionally and have their say. Their lives add to the richness of this highly-entertaining story.

Will Bryce be able to help Erin like he wants to, or will his own past pain prevent him from doing so?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Lancaster
• Release date: Jan 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310792519

Book preview

A Story With No Title

Beginning Again

by Erin Lancaster

© 2014 by Erin Lancaster

Published by Erin Lancaster at Smashwords

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this independent author.

This is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the writer's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, or locations is purely coincidental. The author recognizes the various trademark owners of the various products referenced in this work of fiction which have been used without permission. The use and publication of these trademarks are not associated with, authorized or sponsored by those trademark owners.

Foreword:

In this eBook, the character named Erin Lancaster is not me personally (we just share a name). The character Jesse Gillespie is merely the inspiration for the Jesse Gillespie in Guardian Angel, so he's a bit different.

This story centers around a few main characters with secondary characters sometimes taking the focus for a moment or two, and the point of view changes occasionally. I point out these changes by putting their name in larger, bold print when it switches. Occasionally, as these point of view switches are made, I may back up in time for a moment or parallel the time before bringing the story back to the present.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: A New Beginning

Chapter 2: Blocked

Chapter 3: Matchmaker

Chapter 4: Get Rid of the Hurt

Chapter 5: A Friend's Help

Chapter 6: Don't Apologize

Chapter 7: Hold On Tight

Bonus: Jesse and The Rules

Chapter 8: Introductions

Chapter 9: Between Friends

Chapter 10: Sleep On It

Chapter 11: A Puddle

Chapter 12: I Burn Water

Chapter 13: Answer In The Form of a Question

Chapter 14: Insecurities

Chapter 15: Surprise

Chapter 16: I Wonder

Chapter 17: Just Punishment

Chapter 18: Frilly Black Walls

Chapter 19: Steamy

Chapter 20: Sleeping Beauty

Chapter 21: Cat Scratch Fever

Chapter 22: Invasion of Privacy

Chapter 23: Danger

Chapter 24: At Your Service

Chapter 25: Misunderstood

About the Author

Other Titles by this Author

Connect With Erin

Chapter 1: A New Beginning

Erin Lancaster

I had to move. I couldn't stay there, not after what happened. I don't think I can ever look into those eyes again. I couldn't survive it.

I finally have my house set up the way I like it after the terrible hassle of getting all my belongings to this tropical island. The house itself is a tiny rectangular block with a very small, square front porch. Inside, it has a small main room with a tiny kitchen just to the right of the front door and a little living room just to the left. I don't have a dining area. I suppose I could jut a little table against the half-wall separating the dining room and living room, but I don't want to. I have a small couch but no television set. Then, I have a computer desk and my archaic machine sitting upon it.

So, here am I, hoping to get a fresh start. Nobody but my mother knows where I went, and I've asked her to not tell anyone, not even my brother. I don't wish to be found, especially by him (my ex). Besides, it's not like he'll go looking for me. He has her, and she can have that lying, stealing, cheating bastard if she wants him.

I made him sell the house we bought together, and I bought my new house with my half of the money. Yes, it's tiny, but I won't require much space. All I need is food, a bed, and my computer. I'm going to finish that book I started so long ago. Then I don't know what I'll do.

Okay, so, I bought the house for its view. I admit it. The rear and side walls of the living area are nothing but huge windows showing a gorgeous view of the lagoon in the middle of this small island.

I decided to put my computer right here by the huge windows so I could look out at the natural beauty that surrounds me. If I thought I could set up my dinosaur of a computer outside, I would, but I'm surprised this sucker even survived the move. I know setting it up in the sun like this isn't good for it, or, at least that's what I've been told, but I couldn't bear to face away from this gorgeous view while I write.

I love how this house only has the big windows in the back and side of the house. I like my privacy. A lot. It's too bad I don't have enough money my to buy my own private island and live there all by myself. I'm not a loner really; I simply don't do well around people. I don't use the S word. It's a label, and I don't like labels. I'm not shy. It just takes me a while to warm up to someone.

I pull up my old novel, and I read over what I'd written ages ago.

Ugh! This is terrible! How did I think this was actually good? Maybe parts of it are salvageable.

Nothing is salvageable. Not a damn thing! I think and slam my head down on the keyboard. Whoops, I think now as I notice I've knocked off a few of the keys. Also, when I pick my head up, I notice I smudged the inner part of the lenses of my glasses. After polishing them with my shirt, I pick up the fallen keyboard keys before carefully clicking them back into place. I tentatively try them out. Phew! They work.

Well, now what am I going to do? The only thing I can think of to write about is a failed romance. Who wants to read about that?

My computer crashes. Crap! No!

Thank God for auto-save. Not that I wanted any of that saved anyway. I bang my fists down on the desk and bite my lip. My hands sting a little from the force of my hands hitting the desk as I think, I guess I could go outside.

I decide to put on a pair of new, white shorts and a Caribbean blue shirt and go for a walk. On my way out the door, I grab a small plastic grocery bag just in case I find a seashell or two I like.

Putting one foot in front of the other, my flip-flops sling sand behind me as I walk along the streets. My long, blonde braid rests down the middle of my back, letting a bit of a breeze under it to cool the back of my neck. Traffic isn't bad. It's the middle of the day, and most of the time I'm alone with my thoughts. I did well in choosing to come here. Sunshine, that's what I need, lots and lots of sunshine.

Before I know it, I'm halfway around the island! I happen across a small park with a few picnic tables. Farther back from the picnic tables are some benches that face the ocean, and I walk to one of them and sit down with the sun on my back as I look through the light foliage at the ocean.

The park is empty for a long time, and I enjoy the quiet while it lasts.

That quiet gets broken by the sound of a little girl's giggling as she tells her father to hurry up. I can see them out of the corner of my eye as he grumbles something back to her, but I can tell it's good natured.

This one, Daddy! This one! she yells to him as she runs over to a picnic table, and her black hair glints a little when the sunshine hits it as she turns her head.

Alright, Adele, this one. You remembered the Cokes, right? he asks her. I'm really trying not to listen in, but other than the wind in the trees and the far-off sound of the ocean, they're the only noise.

Is he looking at me? Why is he looking at me?! I worry as I do my best to stop myself from glancing in his direction. Still, I can tell (even though I try not to look) he's really well-built and tattooed with brown, slightly wavy hair that covers up parts of his ears.

I can definitely feel him staring.

I don't like this. I wish he would just sit there and talk to his daughter and not look at me. I start to wonder if I should get started on walking back home.

I like that I already think of it as home. Who needs Sean after all? Who is he to all that surrounds me?

That daddy needs to quit looking at me. I should go.

Oh dear God, he's walking over here! My hands start shaking and my heart leaps up into my throat, making it hard for me to breathe. No no no, please go away! I keep my eyes glued to my feet, which are suddenly fascinating. Why on earth didn't I just go as soon as they got here? Go away go away go away.

He starts talking to me from where he stands right in front of me.

I want the earth to swallow me whole.

Excuse me, but my daughter always packs way too much food for just the two of us. Would you care to join us? he asks me. I can't see his eyes through those reflective sunglasses of his, and that, among other things, makes me nervous. What is he hiding?

I forget where it was I put my voice for what feels like eternity, but is actually probably only about ten seconds.

No thank you, I say and hate how I can't get my voice louder than it is. I clear my throat and say as I stand up, I was just headed back home anyway. Now I feel like I'm being rude, but I don't want to eat their food. Not that I think they've poisoned it or something. I can't help but find it strange that he'd walk up to a complete stranger and offer to have her join their picnic.

He's blocking my path to the road.

You won't be intruding or anything. I just hate to see it go to waste. Then he smiles, and I feel like I need to sit down, before he says, She thinks I have this massive appetite, and even at ten she likes to cook.

I mumble something, a lie, about having something thawing on the counter that I need to get back to.

As I pass him to make my escape, he asks, What's your name?

Erin, I answer quickly. I don't ask him for his. I don't turn around to check and see if he's still looking at me. I make good time back to my house.

When I get home, I pull up my internet diary:

Dear Diary,

Today I acted really rude to this guy at a park. He had his daughter there. Where was the girl's mother? I don't know if he's divorced or a widower or whatever. What if he's still married? Jerks are everywhere I guess.

I don't even know his name. He asked me mine, and I told him. I panicked.

He has a nice smile.

I stop typing before I start up at a random ramble. Then I get an idea.

I have no idea where this is going, but I start writing about a man who's wife died tragically and left him with a daughter to raise. At least I'm writing.

I feel bothered that I don't have a set plan, outline, or anything set up before starting this. It might turn out to be crap, but I am writing again. I have no idea what I'll call it either. I guess it has no title for now.

Chapter 2: Blocked

I'm awakened by the sounds of the seagulls as they fight over something or other. Ugh, I stayed up too late last night. I remember how I used to be when I'd get an idea in my head about something to write. I couldn't rest until I felt I'd done enough to appease the muse or whatever.

I try to go back to sleep.

It's no good. I can't sleep anymore. I stretch and yawn as I make my way into the kitchen to get to the bathroom door. I need a shower. Then, after I scarf down some cereal, I sit down at my computer again to see if I can pick up where I left off with my book. Somehow, I just can't get back into the spirit of the story.

Figures. Besides, this just makes me think of that guy. I wonder who he is? It's a small island. I suppose I'm bound to run into him sometime or other.

Again, I try to get into the story in front of me. I'd reached a good stopping point last night before I went to bed. I guess the stopping point was a little too good.

Thrill. Writer's block. Can it even be called writer's block if I've only spent one night writing it? This doesn't bode well for the rest of it. Maybe I should trash this as well.

No! Dammit, I had a decent idea. Maybe I just need to get out again, clear my head, and come back to it fresh.

So, I leave the house once again. This time I head in the opposite direction towards the library. If I can't write a book right now, maybe reading something would help.

The island's library is much nicer than I expected it to be. I'm not sure exactly what I expected… but nothing like this. It's a two story building with indoor and outdoor seating areas. At the outdoor ones, they have rolling bookcases set up for nice, sunny days like today. I find a happy little outdoor area on the second floor and pick up a volume off the shelf that looks interesting. I like to read a little of a book before I check it out usually.

The area I'm in is deserted, and I love that. There were people downstairs on the library's computers, so I steered clear of that area. I settle myself down on one of the little couches they have available and crack the book open.

Although I'm absorbed in the book pretty quickly, I still hear the door behind me open. Great. So much for solitude. Maybe whoever it is is just passing through.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a man in a red shirt with brown hair somewhat covering his ears.

Oh no. Is that...? It is. I think so anyway.

Okay, maybe this island is too small.

I surreptitiously peep up at him as he too pulls a book off the shelf, and I debate whether or not I should get up and leave or just go somewhere else in the library. It's a big library after all. But this is a nice outdoor reading area, and I saw it first! Maybe he'll just take his book and go somewhere else to read it or go check it out right away.

Of course, he doesn't.

I tightly grip my book in both of my hands to keep them from shaking. I've stopped reading it, debating what I should do. If I get up to leave right now, it might look obvious that I'm avoiding him. Well, I am. He makes me uncomfortable.

I'm grateful for the hair in my face as I quickly glance up at him before I return my eyes to the meaningless words on the page of my book. I remember to turn a page as I work on slowing my frantic heart down. I have to get out of here. I can't focus on a thing.

Aw man! He just looked up for a whole second right at me. Next thing you know, he's going to want to speak to me. Is it still too soon to jump up and run away?

I notice that at least today he doesn't have those sunglasses on. I start to wonder what his name is. I mean, I started writing a book practically about him last night. Maybe he could break this block I have. He just looked at me again. Did he see that I saw him looking at me? I bite my lip as I ponder what to do. My leg starts shaking of its own accord, irritating me.

I decide enough is enough. I'm no longer interested in this book I'm not reading, so I close it up and notice he has a ring on his finger. It's not on his wedding ring finger, just a gold ring on his middle finger. I'm careful to look to see if there are any tan lines or creases to indicate that there's usually a ring where a wedding band would go. There's nothing.

I can feel him looking at me as I stand up to put my book back on the shelf, and I hear his book close as well. Oh no. Maybe I should've stayed sitting down and pretending to read.

Just walk away, Erin. Walk away nice and slow.

I'm not normally this skittish around other people, even people I don't know. Well, okay. I'm not exactly friendly either, but I'll sometimes offer a quiet hi to passers by. Not this man. I don't know what it is about him, but he makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Yesterday, I blamed it on his sunglasses, but he's not wearing them today. Maybe I'm just remembering the sunglasses.

I've been standing here staring at the bookcase for too long. If I don't leave soon, he might get up and try to talk to me. My eyes widen with that possibility. I purposefully turn on my heels and head for the staircase to go downstairs. I get to the bottom and breathe a sigh of relief. Now he can't talk to me without making it obvious that that's what he set out to do. I take a deep breath as I head for the exit, hoping to also escape the notice of the overly-friendly redheaded girl that works behind the front desk.

I haven't made it to the entryway yet, and just as I get ready to go through the doorway in front of me leading to it, I hear behind me, Hey, Erin! Wait up!

Why did I tell him my name? I think as I also realize he remembered, and a small feeling of happiness courses through me with that knowledge.

Yes? What is it? I ask, and I hate how I sound slightly breathless like I've been running.

I slowly turn around and see his eyes are brown. He's walked right up to me, and he stands in front of me quietly, looking like he's debating what it is he wants to say. I'm certainly not going to say anything.

He starts talking finally. I was just wondering. You're not a tourist, are you? The whole talking about something defrosting on the counter kind of tells me you're not. Are you a new resident here? I mean, you can't have lived here long.

He remembered everything I said yesterday. No, I'm not a tourist. I bought a house here. And I'm not telling you where. How do I know you're not some crazy psychopathic killer? Ew. Very dark path for my book to travel down.

He smiles again, and I quickly gauge the distance between me and a chair behind me in case I have need of it. I hear the soft pounding of the librarian stamping a book that someone must be checking out.

That's great! he says, still smiling. Hey, me and some friends of mine are throwing a party at The Flamingo tomorrow. Wanna come? In case you might want to meet a few of the other locals.

Is he asking me out or just merely inviting me to a party? If I go to the party am I his date? Why do I get the feeling that that's what it is? Or will turn out to be?

Maybe I'm reading too much into it. Maybe he's not interested, and he's just being nice.

Wait, what am I thinking?! A party?!

I don't know if I'm quite settled enough for a party just yet. I've only been here a few days, I say quietly,