Love on Longboat Key: The Keys to His Heart, #1

By Meg West

Julie Joseph dreads spending Christmas in Florida with her cranky elderly parents.  Yet that changes when she arrives at Sun Tower and meets the eligible bachelor whose equally quarrelsome parents have just moved into the penthouse.  

 

Thomas Briggs IV is hardly the type Julie has dated in the past:  he's tall, handsome, and out-of-this-world wealthy.  He's also the son of the CEO of Pilgrim Mutual Insurance, where Julie works as a copywriter. 

 

Julie has just a few days to date Thomas before they both have to return to the ice and snow blanketing the Northeast.  But there's one big problem:  Julie's rival for Thomas's attention happens to be her gorgeous, but mean-spirited boss at Pilgrim Mutual.

 

Can Julie overcome the odds and beat out Amanda Ford to win Thomas's heart?  Love on Longboat Key is a sweet holiday tale about finding romance on the beach.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Jul 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781947128125

Book preview

Champagne Book Group Presents

Love on Longboat Key

The Keys to His Heart, Book 1

By

Meg West

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Champagne Book Group

www.champagnebooks.com

Copyright 2017 by Meg West

ISBN 978-1-947128-12-5

July 2017

Cover Art by Trisha Fitzgerald

Produced in the United States of America

Champagne Book Group P.O. Box 467 Oregon City OR 97045 USA

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, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not buy it, or it was not bought for your use, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

For my daughter.

One

Only six days remained until Christmas and most people were finishing their last minute shopping at the mall. But Julie Joseph sat on a worn wooden bench at the Selby Botanical Gardens, watching sailboats glide by on the still water of Sarasota Bay. Late afternoon light glistened on the bridge that connected the mainland to the keys. Overhead the heart-shaped leaves of the garden’s fig tree rustled in the gentle wind.

Julie stretched out her long, pale legs and flexed her even paler bare toes. She could hardly believe her good luck. Just yesterday she’d been bundled in a down coat and fur-lined boots, yet now she wore white cargo pants, a thin cotton T-shirt, and red rubber flip-flops. Basking in the warmth of the Florida sun took some of the sting off spending the holidays with her quarrelsome mother and father.

Here, watching the crisp white sails of catamarans pass by, she could rejoice that she had escaped the frigid Connecticut winter. Forget about the stress of her copywriting job at Pilgrim Mutual Insurance. Forget she was pushing thirty and still single. Even forget, if only for a moment, how Mom and Dad had bickered about the crispness of the English muffins at breakfast and squabbled over how much mayonnaise should go into the tuna melts at lunch. By the time her parents’ mid-afternoon snack rolled around, Julie could no longer bear to listen to them butt heads about whether or not graham crackers should be split in half or in quarters. She had grabbed her purse and told them she was going out for a walk. Instead, she had gotten into her rental car and driven over the high bridge into downtown Sarasota, turning at the green sign that read MARIE SELBY BOTANICAL GARDENS.

Whenever Julie walked through the front gates of the garden, she felt as if she could leave all her troubles behind. She loved to linger in the hothouse full of orchids and bromeliads, stroll the manicured paths that wound past the banyan trees, and wander along the wooden boardwalk that wove through the mangrove swamp. She liked to stand in the wooden wedding pavilion and imagine she was the lucky bride about to exchange vows with the imaginary handsome groom who stood beside her.

Sitting under the bodhi fig tree on the outermost edge of the park was her favorite thing to do. Years ago, the tree had been toppled in a hurricane, but thanks to conservation efforts, it had been replanted, taken root again, and thrived. Julie loved the idea of sitting beneath a tree that had overcome the odds. She thought of this bench under the bodhi as her personal refuge, the spot where she always found all the peace and quiet she craved.

Until today.

A louder-than-necessary male voice interrupted the silence. Julie turned and glared at the tall, sandy-haired guy crunching down the shell-lined path. He was so busy half-shouting on his cell phone he didn’t even give her a glance as he walked to the edge of the railing that hemmed the water.

For all Julie knew, he was yet another self-absorbed thirty-something guy, the kind she often saw in the hallways at work, who gathered his sense of self-importance from how tightly he was tethered to his iPhone. He sure was dressed the part of an insurance executive on casual Friday, in a crisp blue Oxford shirt, khaki pants, and leather deck shoes. He only lacked the socks. And he was taller than normal. In the halls of Pilgrim Mutual, his head would have grazed the tiles of the low ceiling.

In any case, he was disturbing the peace. Julie felt annoyance surge within her until she heard him say, No, Mom, I don’t think that’s what Dad meant…it doesn’t matter, so give it a rest…come on, it’s Christmas, I’m here for all of a week, is it too much to ask for you to just get along with each other?

His conversation came to an abrupt end. He pressed his thumb on the phone and cussed the F-word under his breath. When he turned back, his forehead wrinkled and his jaw clenched, Julie recognized all too well his look of frustration, since she felt her own face tighten in the same way whenever she had to deal with her mom and dad.

He let out an exasperated breath when he saw her. Sorry.

For what? she said.

Swearing. Arguing. And otherwise interrupting your Zen. He gazed over his shoulder at the calm water of the bay. I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours and already my parents are driving me crazy.

Join the club, Julie said.

You here for the holidays too?

Julie nodded. It’s like being a teenager all over again.

"Exactly. Only they’re the ones who crack up the car and need to be grounded for misbehaving. He looked down the shell-lined path. Are your parents here with you?"

No, they’re home arguing about graham crackers.

Graham crackers?

Don’t ask and I won’t tell.

Fair enough. He smiled. Mind if I sit for a sec?

Julie scooted over on the bench. Ordinarily she wasn’t drawn to guys who looked like they could have been college basketball players. She wasn’t overly fond of the preppy look, but there was something endearing about the rolled sleeves on his pressed Oxford shirt, his creased khaki pants, and his boat shoes. He needed only to put on a navy blazer, a striped tie, and a pair of socks to look like an overgrown schoolboy.

Where’s home for you? he asked.

My parents live on Longboat Key.

Mine too.

But I live in Connecticut.

Where in Connecticut? he asked.

Outside Hartford.

So do I.

I’m in West Hartford.

I’m in my parents’ old house, he said. In Glastonbury. For now.

You’re thinking about moving?

That might be in the cards. He leaned back on the bench and spread his long legs. When’d you get here?

Late last night, she said.

Don’t tell me you were on that hellish flight from Bradley?

God, yes, wasn’t it awful? Julie said. First all that de-icing—

That’s never a good sign, is it?

—and then all that turbulence, Julie said. I was saying a few prayers.

I would have been having a few drinks if only the flight attendants had been allowed to get up and serve.

Julie laughed. Where were you sitting on the plane?

Up front.

Julie suspected this meant First Class. I was way in back.

That explains why I didn’t notice you.

Was he saying that Julie was worth noticing? But how could he think that, given she was sitting there in sloppy cargoes and a flimsy T-shirt and those red rubber flip-flops that had cost all of $2.99 at Target? If only she had slicked her hair back into a ponytail and put on some lip gloss before she had fled her parents’ condo. If only she had put on a sundress and sandals and painted her toenails a cheerful coral or bright pink.

She drew her feet under the bench. I guess we should count ourselves lucky to have gotten out of Hartford at all.

Definitely, he said. You see the weather report this morning?

More snow?

Another three inches.

Eek, Julie said. Tonight was supposed to be my office holiday party.

Mine too, but I just got a text. It’s postponed ’til next week.

I sure hope mine isn’t, she said. That means I’ll have to go to it.

Holidays parties are the worst, he said.

I’ve never gone to one of mine.

How do you weasel your way out of that?

I come here every year.

You aren’t missing much.

So I’ve heard, she said. My best friend usually gives me a report of who danced on top of the bar.

Your friend must not stay until the end, otherwise she’d be telling you which vice-president groped which secretary’s ass, if you’ll pardon my French.

You cussed stronger before.

My mother brings out the worst in me.

As long as she doesn’t bring out the worst in your father.

That’s up for debate. He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a pair of sunglasses.

Before he slipped them on, Julie sneaked a look at his eyes: greenish-brown that matched his sandy-colored hair. The faint crinkles on the outer edge, not quite deep enough to be called crow’s feet, led her to believe he had three or four years on her.

The garden sure is quiet today, he said.

Guess everyone’s at the mall.

You’ve finished your shopping?

Days ago. You?

Haven’t even started. But the list is short.

She deliberately did not look at his left hand. She assumed he meant that, like her, he had just his parents and siblings to worry about. Selecting presents for a wife required much more planning than any guy could reasonably accomplish at the last minute.

They sat in silence, looking out on the seagulls soar above the water. Julie couldn’t help but think they were doing just what a married couple would do: enjoy each other’s company, without obligation to make conversation.

So what brought you here today? she asked.

He patted his shirt pocket, where the top of an envelope stuck out. I’m playing delivery boy for my parents. You?

I’m obviously escaping mine.

And their graham crackers.

Yes. Besides, this is my favorite place in the world.

It’s not my favorite. But it’s up there. He paused. You said your parents were on Longboat?

That’s right.

The Key Club?

That newish development, Sun Tower.

That’s where mine are too.

Which floor?

Toward the top.

Ocean view?

He nodded.

Julie tried not to show envy. Her parents had scraped together just enough money five years back to buy a bank-owned unit on the third floor billed as city view—code for view of the recycling dumpsters and the parking lot.

His phone chimed. He grimaced, then took it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. I’ve got to get over to the garden office before it closes. But listen, how long are you here for?

’Til New Year’s.

Would you like to have dinner?

With you? Julie blurted, then inwardly cringed.

"Well, definitely without our respective parents. Are you free tonight?"

Tonight? she echoed.

Why not? he asked. Unless you have other plans?

Beyond listening to my parents bicker? No.

Great. Somewhere on the Circle okay?

Sure.

Say, 7:00?

Julie nodded. I’ll meet you in the lobby. At quarter ’til.

Sounds like a plan. But it might help if I knew your name.

Julie.

Thomas.

Thomas, who clearly was not a Tom and never a Tommy, held out his hand. When Julie shook it, she felt as if they had just sealed a deal. But to do what—keep each other company over the next few days? Distract each other from their respective parental problems?

Uh-oh. Mom and Dad. Julie was sure they’d feel abandoned if she went out on her first evening home. But at the thought of her parents waiting back at Sun Tower, ready to launch into their next quarrel—hamburgers or hot dogs for dinner? CBS or NBC for the evening news? —the guilt that seized Julie melted like butter into sweet relief. She could always just sit at the dinner table with her parents, who ate at 5:00 p.m. sharp. Besides, she wouldn’t be leaving the condo until right before 7:00, and her parents went to bed by 8:00.

Thomas’s head grazed the heart-shaped leaves of the bodhi tree when he stood. His deck shoes crunched on the shell-lined path as he set off in the direction of the mangrove swamp and the garden office, which was housed in an unassuming white clapboard old-Florida house on the street side of the garden. The Christie Payne Mansion wasn’t a huge manor, but it had big picture windows that gave out onto a rolling lawn and charming pond. It felt great without being grand and was the kind of home Julie dreamed of living in.

Julie sat under the bo tree for another quarter of an hour. She took her time walking back, meandering down the poinsettia-lined paths that led past the desert garden and the banyan cluster and the creaking bamboo stands and koi pond.

The gift shop smelled of pine and amaryllis and paper whites, and was festooned with strings of champagne-colored Christmas lights that sparkled like diamonds. In the outer lobby, a docent with brilliant white hair sat the desk, gossiping on the phone. "I just saw her son leaving—she pledged how much—? yes, such a shame about Thomas, I’m sure she’s worried sick about him."

As the docent kept clucking her tongue,