Hidden Hearts: Lines in the Sand, #5

By Lindsay Detwiler

Not all secrets can stay hidden when it comes to love.

"All along, Reed Wilder's been this crazy rebel just waiting for me to let my guard down. And so, here we are, standing at the bar waiting to get the party started."

Sexy entrepreneur Lysander Wyatt has always believed in happily-ever-after thanks to his picture-perfect family. Now orphaned, he's made a family of his own at his popular beach bar, Midsummer Nights. There's just one thing missing—the forever kind of love he's been looking for.

Reed Wilder, a guarded corporate man from Philadelphia, is looking for himself when he moves to Ocean City, Maryland. However, a rocky childhood makes him afraid of commitment. When he walks into Midsummer Nights and meets the attractive bartender who owns it, he'll have to decide if love might actually be worth the risk. Will Lysander and Reed get on the same page about commitment, or will they continue hiding the true desires and fears of their hearts?

This sweet m/m standalone 35,000-word novella is also a prequel to the popular Lines in the Sand series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hot Tree Publishing
• Release date: Sep 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781925853025

Lindsay Detwiler

A high school English teacher, an author, and a fan of anything pink and/or glittery, Lindsay's the English teacher cliché ; she love cats, reading, Shakespeare, and Poe. She currently lives in her hometown with her husband, Chad (her junior high sweetheart); their cats, Arya, Amelia, Alice, and Bob; and their Mastiff, Henry. Lindsay's goal with her writing is to show the power of love and the beauty of life while also instilling a true sense of realism in her work. Some reviewers have noted that her books are not the “typical romance.” With her novels coming from a place of honesty, Lindsay examines the difficult questions, looks at the tough emotions, and paints the pictures that are sometimes difficult to look at. She wants her fiction to resonate with readers as realistic, poetic, and powerful. Lindsay wants women readers to be able to say, “I see myself in that novel.” She wants to speak to the modern woman’s experience while also bringing a twist of something new and exciting. Her aim is for readers to say, “That could happen,” or “I feel like the characters are real.” That’s how she knows she's done her job. Lindsay's hope is that by becoming a published author, she can inspire some of her students and other aspiring writers to pursue their own passions. She wants them to see that any dream can be attained and publishing a novel isn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Book preview

One

If he says what I think he’s going to say, the line that has crawled out of so many of my dates’ mouths over the years, I’m going to vomit. Or hurl this drink at him. Maybe even both. Because God knows, I can’t survive another Joe or Sven or Oliver situation. I’m through. I’m done. Goodbye.

Somehow I manage to maintain a friendly smile as Tony continues babbling on animatedly across the table from me. We’re at the Marooned Pirate, my favorite bar—other than mine, of course—where we’ve chatted about everything from Tony’s job as a pizza delivery guy to his great-aunt’s struggles with foot fungus. I’ve managed to keep it together by wildly tossing back at least three margaritas and by internally taking notes on every single odd statement from this man, knowing Jodie will get a real kick out of the conversation.

But anyway, like I was saying, after the whole relationship with Brad, I just realized that…

Here it comes. The line I’ve heard too many times to count. At this point, I can see it coming from a mile away.

I’m really not looking for anything serious, you know? Just some fun, some good sex, and all that. I mean, what are the twenties and thirties for, anyway?

I take another swig of my fourth margarita, deciding vomiting or tossing my drink at him would be both childish and a waste of my pride.

In truth, it’s not like Tony’s my type anyway. It’s not like I got that pang in my chest telling me that this very tanned, very talkative man is the one I’m looking for. There haven’t been any sappy montages playing in my head of white-picket fences, golden retrievers, and two children running in the front yard, all to sappy music.

Then again, after all these years of dating only to have about a dozen disastrous relationships under my belt, I’m pretty sure the pang in my chest is no longer functioning. Every bone in my body has just about given up, and the only montage in my head looks sort of like a lonely horror film. I feel a bit like that scorned woman in Great Expectations, sadly watching a clock in a dusty old room.

Ocean City, Maryland, isn’t the easiest place to live if you’re looking for love. Correction. Ocean City, Maryland, isn’t the easiest place to live if you’re looking for the kind of love that’s not the one-night-stand or just wild fun variety.

The tourists are here simply looking for some one-night-stand fun. The rest of the regulars are either workaholics—and, arguably, I could probably fit into that category—or the ones who have sworn off serious relationships. After all, with all these new possibilities floating in every summer, who wants to settle down? Isn’t monogamy overrated?

Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s me who has the problem. Or maybe I should blame my parents for setting the bar so high and for showing me that marriage is a beautiful idea, that settling down with one person can be fulfilling.

Or maybe it’s just all the margaritas are making it hard to think.

Oh, hey, that’s my coworker over there. Do you mind if I go talk for a minute? Tony asks, and I practically leap with joy. I’ve been trying to come up with an escape plan now for about a half hour.

Not at all, I reply, flashing him a grin to reassure him.

As soon as he’s across the room and a safe distance away, distracted, I’m out of my seat and crossing the dance floor of the Marooned Pirate, beelining for the exit as I pluck my cell phone from my pocket.

I dial her number.

Lysander, don’t tell me you’ve quit the date already, Jodie whines as she answers the phone.

Hello to you, too, I reply. And yeah, I’m starting to worry that maybe we’re not actually as good friends as I thought. I mean, really? Tony?

He’s cute, right?

He’s cute. But the overly tanned jock type isn’t exactly my type.

Yeah, but your type is either boring or assholish. I thought maybe you needed to mix it up.

Well, we just spent a half hour talking about pizza toppings and toe fungus, in that order. Oh, and about how he’s not looking for anything serious.

I don’t know why you’re so against fun. Nothing wrong with fun. Plus, sometimes just fun can lead to all sorts of great places. Stop being so picky.

I sigh. Anyway, how is Midsummer? Do I need to come in?

Lysander Wyatt, if you show up here, I swear to God I’m stabbing you with a kitchen knife, she bellows. Now stop. One night off isn’t going to kill you, and you do know your staff is so amazing, they can handle this place. Now either go back in that bar and find someone to hook up with or go home and drink your face off while binge watching television and forgetting that you’re an obsessive bar-slash-restaurant owner. Okay?

I shake my head at her. You know, some people wouldn’t talk to their boss like that.

And some bosses wouldn’t need their workers and friends reminding them that thirty-year-olds need to have some fun. Seriously. You’re washing up, Lysander. Stop being such a boring square.

I’m hanging up now. Need to call a ride.

I’ll see you in the morning. And don’t worry. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for your next prospect.

Of course you will, I reply before hanging up. I debate what I should do now; the night’s still young. Do I go back inside and scope out the dance floor while trying to avoid Tony? The risk of having to hear more about foot fungus and pizza just doesn’t seem worth it. Besides, it’s just a bunch of regulars.

Do I head into Midsummer Nights, my bar and restaurant, against Jodie’s orders? In truth, I don’t feel like serving drinks tonight. The margaritas are already wearing on me.

So I decide to do what I always do when I’m not working. I line up an Uber, head home to my townhouse, and tuck in on the sofa with a beer and Grey’s Anatomy.

Maybe Jodie’s right… maybe I’m turning into a lonely, predictable man. And, as I drift off to sleep that night after three episodes I’ve already seen, I shudder wondering if the wildest, best days of my life are already long gone.

Two

Morning, buddy. How was last night? Did you find anyone else to spend the evening with? Jodie asks the next morning when I head in for the breakfast crowd. Jodie’s leaning on the counter by the register, drinking a cup of coffee before we open.

I did actually. He’s a doctor, and pretty damn good-looking. He’s in a relationship, but you know, I took your advice and decided what the hell? Why not just have some fun.

Jodie rolls her eyes. "It is not normal or healthy for a man your age to have such an addiction to Grey’s Anatomy. Seriously. It’s kind of gross, actually."

Not many women would agree with you, sad to say. Or men for that matter.

Yeah, lifeless, washed-up ones who have nothing better to do. Why not go out? Live life a little bit? Have your own banging sex instead of just watching it? Jodie fiddles with the notepad in the pocket of her apron. She tears a sheet of paper out of it, balls it up, and tosses it at me. I roll my eyes.

Life’s not all a party, Jodie Ellison. Maybe someday you’ll realize that.

Doubtful, she replies.

Agreed, I say, heading to the bar to do some tidying up and to unload some boxes from the store room.

Midsummer Nights was my mother’s dream, which quickly became my own. An English teacher who loved Shakespeare—hence my name—but always wanted to open her own restaurant and bar at the beach, she opened this joint to live out her dream. It’s right along the beach and offers an odd mix of Victorian England-style décor and a beachy vibe. My mom was in charge of the decorating, placing wild prints of the Bard himself all around. In some, he’s surfing or wearing floral print shirts. Behind the bar, a quote is scrawled on the rustic paneling: Lord, what fools these mortals be! from the play.

Despite the name and décor, there’s not much Shakespearean about the food other than my special drink, Love-in-Idleness. The place offers your typical beachy pub food and has actually become pretty popular over the years thanks to Mom’s hard work.

When she passed away, this place became mine. In truth, it was an easy decision to take it over, even though it was intimidating. I couldn’t imagine someone else carrying out Mom’s dream, and I couldn’t imagine wanting to let it go. I’d already been working here as a bartender, trying to figure out exactly what I wanted to do with my life. Now, there’s no question.

I belong here, surrounded by Mom’s vision and the people who have become my family. I’ve made it my life mission to keep this place going and to keep her dream alive. I think I’m doing a pretty okay job at it.

Still, as I clean some glasses and watch the Saturday morning regulars roll in, Jodie leading them to their seats with a skip in her step, I take a deep breath, looking out the front window into the surf.

It’s a good life, really. It is. I work hard, but I get to see the fruit of my labor here, in this place. Families come together. The staff is a giant family, and I’ve found my absolute best friend here, Jodie. The redhead, who is also an aspiring writer, reminds me to step away from work and to live a little. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

As a few couples wander in, one who has been married for fifty years, I can’t help but feel a pang of what I’m missing. I’ve got a job, a house, and good friends. But still, there’s that one thing lacking, the one thing that Mom would always argue was the most important.

Love. Real, true love, the kind you can build a life on. The kind that you share your dreams and failures with. The kind that fifty years after saying I do, you come and eat waffles every Saturday morning together, reading the paper and just enjoying