The Always One: Love in a Small Town, #4

By Tawdra Kandle

Escape to Burton, Georgia, a quaint farm town near Savannah, where love stories thrive.

Maureen

I've harbored a deep crush on Smith Harrington ever since our college days. Despite knowing that he only saw me as his best friend, I couldn't help but weave tantalizing fantasies about him. Now, after years of maintaining a long-distance friendship, destiny brings Smith to Burton, where he'll become my partner at the veterinary clinic I recently took over. To add to the mix, he'll also be my tenant in the new house I've acquired. I believed I could handle working closely with him without getting hot and bothered. But perhaps I was mistaken.

Smith

From the very moment I laid eyes on Maureen Evans, I wanted her. Yet, she never seemed open to taking our relationship to the next level. Eventually, I resigned myself to the friend zone, convinced that we were destined to remain just that—friends. Even though we've lived miles apart for years, Maureen remains the one who got away, the one I can't forget. So when she proposes that we become partners at the veterinary clinic, I jump at the chance. Maybe there's still hope for us. Maybe, with a little effort on my part, we can finally seize our shot at love. And so, while Maureen tries to maintain the boundaries of our friendship, I persistently push them, blurring the line between flirtation and something deeper.

When friendship is no longer enough, love inevitably comes into play. 

Discover the power of love as it reshapes our lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tawdra Kandle Romance
• Release date: Nov 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516378203

Tawdra Kandle

Tawdra Kandle writes romance, in just about all its forms. She loves unlikely pairings, strong women, sexy guys, hot love scenes and just enough conflict to make it interesting. Her books run from YA paranormal romance through NA paranormal and contemporary romance to adult contemporary and paramystery romance. She lives in central Florida with a husband, kids, sweet pup and too many cats. And yeah, she rocks purple hair.

Book preview

Prologue

Six Years Ago

N o, see, you’re forgetting to pull out the variable here. Smith leaned over me, pulled the pencil from my fingers and used it to point to the x in the numerator. I held my breath so that I wouldn’t be tempted to inhale deeply, just to get a whiff of the delicious aroma that was pure Smith. A little bit of expensive cologne, a hint of his shaving gel, a dash of manly shampoo, plus that indefinable something I’d not been able to figure out yet.

And once you do that— The pencil flew across the paper as the very tip of his tongue appeared in the corner of his mouth. Then you cancel that, and you get rid of the denominator. He glanced at me out of the corner of his gorgeous gray eyes. Does that make sense?

At that moment, everything in the world suddenly made sense, because Smith Harrington was here, his arm almost around me as he leaned down over my desk and his face next to mine. If some foreign government took it into its head to bomb the state of Georgia right now, I’d die a happy girl. A horny girl, yes, but definitely a happy one.

I realized he was waiting for me to response. Oh, uh, yeah. I think so. I always forget to factor those out. I shifted just enough that my shoulder touched his fingers where they gripped my chair.

He grinned. Yup. We all have those little math quirks that trip us up. I’d tell you mine, but you’d lose all respect for me.

As if. I managed to smile back. Yeah, we wouldn’t want that.

Think you got this now? His mouth was so close to my ear that I shivered when his breath caressed my skin.

I think so. I didn’t mean to whisper, but it came out that way. Shaking myself, I straightened up and leaned away. I mean, yes. I do. Thanks for spending the time to explain it to me.

Any time. He stood up, stretching his back so that his T-shirt rode up and revealed a tantalizing band of tanned abs. Sweet baby Jesus, save me now. I swallowed hard and forced myself to look away.

So. I managed a semi-casual sounding voice. You doing anything exciting tonight?

Smith shrugged. Just a date with some girl my mother asked me to take out. I’m taking her to see a movie and then we’ll probably stop in at the Epsilon party. You going?

I shook my head. Nah. I’ve got too much to do tonight. Plus it would kill me to see you there with another girl, touching her, laughing with her . . . disappearing into one of the upstairs bedrooms with her . . .

Well, that sucks. He looked genuinely disappointed, although it might’ve been pity for the poor girl who’d rather do homework than get drunk and party with friends on a Friday night.

Yeah, well, we can’t all be preternaturally intelligent. I managed a teasing grin.

"Preternaturally? As in, my intelligence is beyond natural explanation, even beyond the supernatural, having its genesis in an unknown place boarding on the miraculous? Kind of like . . . dare I say . . . a superhero?" Smith feigned shock.

The fact that you could spout off that definition so fast proves my point. In your case, the super power is your ability to party all weekend and still ace the midterm on Monday. I tapped the pile of books on my desk. The rest of us mere mortals have to actually review the material.

I’ll say it again. Sucks to be you. He grabbed his jacket from the end of my bed where he’d dropped it an hour ago, pausing just long enough to glance at me as he slid his arms into it. Seriously, Reenie, if you need help, call me tomorrow. I’ll come by and go over the math with you.

Of course he would. Because Smith Harrington was just that good a friend. The kind who’d interrupt his Sunday of being awesome to swoop down and save his dweeby friend from failing her exam.

Thanks. I’ll let you know.

’kay. Later. And he was gone, swinging out the door and down the hall. Before my door clicked shut, I heard several people greeting him in the hallway and his cheerful response. Because, again, he was Smith, and that’s just how he was. Friendly. Happy. Always ready to lend a hand.

I tossed my pencil onto the desk and threw myself onto my bed. Burying my face in the pillow, I screamed out my frustration, beat my fists and kicked my feet against the mattress, only coming to an abrupt halt when I heard the door open again. Panic made me flip over and almost fall off the bed.

Oh, it’s you. I settled back down, closing my eyes against my roommate’s quizzical expression.

Since I just passed him on the steps, I’m going to assume that this little display is brought to us by the letters ‘S’ and ‘H’. And maybe also by the words ‘lust’ and ‘coward’.

I picked up one of my small accent pillows and threw it at her. Shut up, Lainey. I’m in agony here.

She shook her head. You’re in agony because you won’t woman up already and make a move on the guy. Jesus Christ, Maureen. How long have you known him?

I slitted my eyes at her. Three and a half years. And don’t take the name of the Lord in vain. Yeah, I could cuss with the best of them—I’d won a contest for who could use fuck the most times in one sentence at a party sophomore year—but there were certain lines, and when they were crossed, I heard my mom’s voice loud in my head.

Lainey ignored the second part of what I’d said. Three and a half years of the two of you circling around each other, dating other people, pretending you don’t have the serious hots for the other one—and why? Because you’re afraid to lose his friendship?

I blew out a long breath. You’re rewriting history. We haven’t circled or pretended. Well, he hasn’t. Smith doesn’t see me as any more than a good friend, the one he has to help with math on a regular basis. The one he hangs out with when he doesn’t have a regular girlfriend. That’s it. I grasped another pillow and covered my face with it. It’s me who’s dying of unrequited love.

Buck up, buttercup. Lainey tugged the pillow away. This is so stupid. We’re graduating this year, and then you’re going to have four more years of vet school with him. This is the perfect time to finally tell the man how you feel. You could have a wild affair while you’re in grad school together. Or you could both figure out that you’re madly in love and move in together, save some bucks and start your happily-ever-after. She pretended to gag. That sounds so perfect, it makes me fucking sick.

I can’t do it. I shook my head. He doesn’t feel the same way, Laine. If he did, wouldn’t he have made a move by now?

She sat down on the edge of my bed. I think he has, Reen, and you just haven’t noticed. All those times he says, ‘Hey, Maureen, you going to that party?’ That’s his way of testing the waters.

Why wouldn’t he just say something, then? Tell me he wants me to go with him?

Because he’s a guy, toots. He’s got feelings, and he doesn’t want to get shot down. And every time he asks, you have an excuse, which would tell him you’re not interested, even though he looks at you like a yummy treat.

He does not. You’re only saying that because you’re my friend. I think you’re confusing pity with lust.

"I’m your friend, yes, but I’m always straight with you. Did you ever think that maybe this little scenario is playing out across campus in Smith’s apartment, with all of his dude friends telling him that he needs to make his move and him claiming you only see him as a friend? Talk to him, Maureen. Lay it on the line."

I can’t. I’ll screw up our friendship, he’ll end up feeling uncomfortable around me, and then I’ll never see him again. At least this way, I can love him from afar. But close up.

Girlfriend, you are seriously mental, you know that? She sighed. But whatever. Just don’t come sobbing to me when he finally gives up on you and finds a second-best. When you have to go to his wedding and watch him walk down the aisle to some skinny society bitch, knowing the whole time that your husband is marrying someone else.

I frowned. "Did you just quote When Harry Met Sally to me?"

Lainey rolled her eyes. Of course I did, Maureen. It’s only the best-written, most romantic, funniest movie of all time. Plus, Nora Ephron was a fucking genius, God rest her soul. We both paused for the requisite moment of silence. But that doesn’t make it any less true.

Maybe not, but I’m such a damn chicken. When I think about telling Smith I’ve been madly, deeply in love with him since we met freshman year, I want to throw up. The idea scares me shitless.

Lainey dropped back onto the bed to lie next to me. We both stared up at the ceiling. So you’re going to do this—the sighing, the mooning, the gazing when you think he’s not looking, the screaming into your pillow in frustration—for the next four years? She gave my foot a gentle kick. Have I said I’m glad I’m moving back to Kentucky after we graduate?

Yeah, you’re abandoning me. Go ahead and rub it in.

And then what? You finish vet school, and you each go your separate ways. Exchange Christmas cards for a few years, until that stops too, and then you never see each other until we all come back here for our twentieth class reunion—

Hey, what about our tenth?

You won’t come to that one, because you just found out that Smith and his skinny bitch society wife popped out a kid. But twentieth is different. You think you’ve grown. You think you’re over him. Hell, you might’ve even married a consolation prize yourself. But then your eyes meet across the sub-standard buffet at the reunion dinner, and you realize . . . you’ve wasted twenty years being scared and spineless and not having who you want . . . so the two of you end up in a janitor’s closet going at it like bunnies.

I tried not to giggle, but I couldn’t hold it back. You paint quite a picture, Laine. Thanks for that visual.

Hey, it’s your life, not mine. I’m just the storyteller. So now what’re you going to do?

I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest. I’m going to talk to Smith. I’ll . . . I’ll do it after midterms are over, when I can think again.

Lainey sat up, too, and pushed me off the bed. Nope. Do it tonight, before you can talk yourself out of it. Go get a shower, do your hair and makeup, and I’ll pick out a moking’ outfit for you. Smith’s going to the Epsilon party, right? He never misses one. She offered me her hand, hauled me to my feet and smacked my ass. Get moving, girl. Tonight’s the night.

Tonight’s the night. I echoed the words, as my stomach clenched with equal parts dread and excitement. God help me, tonight’s the night.

One

Maureen

H ave no fear, reinforcements are here!

I heard Meghan’s voice before her red head poked around the corner of my bedroom door. She grinned at me and held up the pile of flattened packing boxes she’d brought. As promised. And I’ve got some wrapping paper and tape in the car. I’ll go grab them.

Why don’t you hold on for the moment? We’ve got enough to get started, and we’re tight on space. I gazed around my room, sighing. Who would think that thirty years of living in the same house, with a brief hiatus during college, would let me accumulate this much crap? And yet here we were, knee-deep in boxes, knick-knacks, books and clothes.

Okay, where should I start? Meghan stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the scene. This is your show. I’m just a hired hand.

Yeah, well, don’t expect anything in the way of recompense, toots. This is strictly a charity gig. I’m poor now, you know.

Don’t worry. The only expectations I have are paper cuts and maybe a pizza and a couple of beers.

That I can handle. Why don’t you start with the books? There’re a few sturdy boxes from the liquor store in the corner.

On it. She retrieved one of the boxes and began pulling books from the tall shelves that lined my walls, stacking them carefully. I passed your mom on my way in. She seemed a little, ah, preoccupied. Everything okay?

I blew my bangs out of my eyes. Yeah. She’s picking up the pizza. I concentrated on wrapping a small crystal box. She claims it’s not true, but I think on some level, she’d started to think I was going to live here with her forever. You know, the widow Evans and her spinster daughter.

Shut up. You’re not a spinster.

I nodded. Oh, you’re right. I forgot about the husband and kids I have. Crap, where did I leave them now?

Meghan rolled her eyes. I just mean, you’re hardly old and dried up. Lots of women stay single later nowadays. You’re a modern career gal.

Snorting, I reached for another pile of paper. Sure I am. Or I’m the oldest single woman in Burton under fifty. I watched my friend try to work out what I’d said. No, it’s true. I figured it out the other day. Miss Charity, who works at the bank, is in her mid-fifties, near as I can figure. I don’t think there’s another unmarried woman in town my age or older until you get to her.

Maybe if you dated a little more instead of spending your Friday nights thinking about that stuff, it’d be a moot point. She taped up the first box of books and moved on to another one.

Uh huh. That reminds me, I need to send a change-of-address notice to the men knocking down my door, begging to take me out. I lifted my own finished box and carried it to the hallway. We were getting a nice little collection out here. Pretty soon, I could build a tunnel.

I’m not going to argue and point out that if you wanted to go out on dates, you could.

Yeah, with who? You took the last decent available man in town. I thought about Sam Reynolds, who’d been more like a brother to me than anything else, and I gave a little shudder. Not that I was interested in Sam that way. Ever. I’m glad he ended up with you.

Meghan smiled. Me, too. But while I’ll admit I happen to think my husband is the sexiest, most incredible man in town, I find it hard to believe he’s the last one.

Okay, maybe Rilla’s the one to blame. She snapped up Mason from under our very noses.

Were you interested in Mason? Meghan’s voice was equal parts surprise and amusement.

Not one bit. I mean, the man is seriously hot. He’s built for sin, he’s a huge flirt, and he’s sweet as sugar to boot. But other than that, not my type. I flipped up the top flaps of a half-packed box.

So exactly what is it you’re looking for, if it’s not someone like Sam or Mason? She started on a new shelf of books.

"Ah, I didn’t say I wasn’t looking for someone like Sam or Mason. But there are definite aspects of those men I’d love to have in my OAO."

OAO? Meghan’s forehead wrinkled.

One and only. I winked at her and then tilted my head, thinking. I guess I’m looking for someone . . . easy. Someone who I can hang out with, who knows me and likes me for who I am. Someone I don’t have to pretend with. Smiling, I stood up and stretched my back. Physically, I’m not that picky. A little taller than me, in good shape but not too built, you know? I don’t want to be intimidated by how much he works out. A regular guy.

There’ve got to be tons of regular guys around Burton. Maybe you’re just not looking in the right places.

Oh, yeah? And just where do you think this battalion of regular guys hangs out, pray tell? At Mason’s? At church? Out at the farm stand?

Meghan threw up her hands. "I don’t know, Reenie. But you have to put yourself out there to meet people. Your—what did you call him? Your one and only isn’t going to just walk up to your front door and