If You Only Knew

By Jea Hawkins

When novelist Sabrina Covell wakes up to a beautiful woman sipping coffee in her kitchen, she wonders what kind of mess her sister left her with this time. Another short-term love affair, another broken heart, courtesy of ruthless anchorwoman Miranda Covell.

Blythe Jansen isn't any ordinary guest in her Martha's Vineyard home, though. She's an accomplished photographer who's not afraid to get to the heart of the matter with her subjects. Not only that, but Miranda seems to think Sabrina needs a fake relationship to save her image.

Sabrina is tired of dealing with the fallout of her sister's romantic conquests, not to mention living in her overbearing shadow. Yet, she can't deny her attraction to Blythe. Maybe it's the lonely summer nights or the silence broken only by the crashing of the waves, but Sabrina decides to let Blythe stay for the season.

What starts out as a game quickly turns into something more when Blythe reveals what she wants: Sabrina's heart. Too bad Sabrina has been burned twice before by her sister's ex-girlfriends and doesn't expect this to be any different.

But what could one little summer fling hurt? Especially if it's not meant to be the real thing…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wicked Hearts Publishing
• Release date: Jul 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393041214

Jea Hawkins

Jea Hawkins writes sweet and spicy contemporary lesbian romance. She writes all her paranormal romance and urban fantasy as Lucy True.Regardless of genre, if love conquers all, then she’d like to think her heroines can rule the world one day. An east coast transplant to the Midwest, she loves to write about complicated women and settings that feel like home.Personal addictions include autumn, cozy sweaters, hot chocolate, and the Sims 3. She’s both an avid reader and gamer, and hopes readers don’t mind a few geeky references here and there in her work.

Book preview

Dedicated to my uncle, lost in the disaster of the Marine Electric, February 12, 1983.

And with thanks to Dar Williams for her song, "The Ocean," which always reminds me of home.

Chapter One

Notes of Italian dark roast filled her senses, drawing Sabrina Covell out of bed. Her sister’s signature coffee smelled amazing, but Sabrina already knew how it would taste. Bitter, like her sister’s outlook on life and treatment of the people around her.

Must be nice to be rich, famous, and feared. Sabrina groaned as she stretched, loosening the tautness of sleep. Her older sister could cut people down with mere words but, fortunately for Sabrina, she’d learned not to care. If Miranda was here, at least Sabrina had home field advantage.

She tossed back the covers and squared her shoulders, ready to do battle. No doubt Miranda was fresh off her latest conquest, perhaps a bit smug and disheveled after booting the young lady out the front door. Of course, all the ladies fawned over Miranda. Not only was she Boston’s highest paid anchorwoman. She also managed to look perfect no matter what, every silver hair falling straight and into place, regardless of wind or rain, heat or cold.

Sabrina, on the other hand, had to shove back her unruly mop of coppery-brown corkscrew curls to reveal her slightly freckled face. Both women had different standards to live up to. Miranda’s were far more stringent and demanding, while Sabrina’s remained loose and fluid. Being a literary novelist had its advantages, including never-ending intellectual discourse with her friends and peers, and an expectation that Sabrina would be... eccentric, to say the least. With their night and day differences, it was no wonder Miranda loved to cause trouble for Sabrina. Not that it made Sabrina want to elevate herself to meet her big sister’s standards.

The only thing she did to tidy her appearance was smooth down the front of her plain white t-shirt, which barely grazed the waistband of her boxer shorts. Let Miranda say something snarky about that, and Sabrina would toss her out on her ass.

Sunlight poured into the open, modern kitchen. She’d felt no shame in updating the 200-year-old house while retaining its 19th century character and façade. Miranda still pursed her lips whenever she walked in, no longer vocal in her objections to the renovation. But it’s been in our family since the whaling days, Miranda used to argue. How can you destroy it?

How could she? Very easily. No one in their right mind wanted to live in a house built to 1820 standards, regardless of the prestige it might convey. Besides, the house was Sabrina’s inheritance, while Miranda resided in the family’s palatial Boston townhome that better suited her hectic lifestyle. If she wanted to keep gas lighting and creaky floorboards in her own home, then good for Miranda. Of course, she hadn’t, but the pot did love to call the kettle black.

Sabrina breezed into the kitchen, guns blazing. You could at least keep up your end of the bargain. Where’s my Dunkies?

That was their deal. Miranda could drop by unexpectedly – even bring a woman to spend the night – but she had to deliver a large French Vanilla coffee (iced in summers), extra sweet, extra light, and a garlic bagel to Sabrina to make up for the inconvenience. This wasn’t where they went to visit their grandparents anymore, after all. It was Sabrina’s home.

The ice coffee is in the fridge. The voice that responded lacked Miranda’s smoky tenor and mild, newscaster inflection.

Sabrina bit back her knee-jerk response as she peered at the person sitting at the breakfast bar, a person who was decidedly not Miranda. Blinking back at her was a young woman with long, blonde hair, slightly freckled porcelain-toned skin, and blue eyes. She perched on one of the four bar stools pulled up to the breakfast bar, a cup of coffee in front of her.

Miranda left you a bagel, too.

Left that, among other things, it seemed...

Sabrina nodded and extended her hand, hoping she didn’t look surprised. She wouldn’t let her racing heart keep her from using her good New England manners. Thank you. I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. I’m Sabrina, Miranda’s little sister.

Nice to meet you. I’m Blythe Jansen, her one-month stand.

Sabrina couldn’t help but guffaw and she wondered if Miranda was lurking around the corner, listening. Ouch. That’s blunt.

Blythe looked down at the cup of coffee and slid her finger along the rim. But it’s true. A month is more than most of them last, so I guess I can’t complain.

Sabrina supposed Blythe was right. Her sister was a love ‘em and leave ‘em type of woman. Unfortunately, that hadn’t prepared her to find a stranger in her home. Miranda usually had the courtesy to stay, maybe to flaunt her latest conquest in a not-so-subtle dig at Sabrina’s enduring singlehood, if she hadn’t already sent them packing.

It wasn’t that Sabrina couldn’t get a woman. She simply chose not to at this point in her life. Between work and, well, more work, she didn’t need a distraction. In her experience, romance resulted in more bad than good. She’d never found that partner who supported and complemented her. Instead, the women who threw themselves in her path were usually social climbers looking for the attention that hanging off her arm could bring them.

Even worse were the ones that were trying to catch her sister’s eye. Once Sabrina figured out what those women wanted, that was the end. Miranda didn’t do leftovers, anyway, and after a couple bad experiences, neither did Sabrina.

Sabrina offered Blythe a smile. In a way, the two of them were in the same boat, left adrift by Miranda’s thoughtless actions. But she still felt little sympathy for the young woman who was probably just another fame chaser.

She had to do something while waiting for Miranda to get out of bed. There was no sense in standing around awkwardly, even though everything about the moment made her limbs tingle. She wanted to flee. Instead, she retreated into small talk. Do you live far from the Cape?

Blythe half-shrugged. You could say yes and no.

Great. A response like that could go either way – an invitation to ask more questions or a warning to back off.

This is the worst time of year to brave the island, Sabrina observed. She turned, opened the refrigerator, and picked up the clear Dunkin Donuts cup with its distinctive pink and orange logo. One sip had her grimacing. The ice was melted, watering down the coffee. Miranda could be so thoughtless sometimes, that Sabrina wondered why she let her keep a key to the place.

When she turned back around, she saw another lift of one slender shoulder from Blythe. It’s not so bad. I like the people. In the winter, the island seems kind of forlorn without them, but beautiful at the same time. Does that even make sense?

What was this – deep thoughts? That was a first for one of Miranda’s girls and, despite herself, Sabrina smiled. Yeah, I think that, too. There’s something lovely in the loneliness of Martha’s Vineyard in the winter. Not a lot of people see that. You get the millionaires who visit their summer homes from Memorial Day to Labor Day, and then they’re gone, like this place doesn’t exist at all.

That whole summer colony mentality. Blythe sounded like she knew what she was talking about, and Sabrina wanted to pursue the initial question of where she lived. Instead, she went to the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of iced coffee.

At least the bagel waiting on the counter was perfect, soft and ready for toasting. Sabrina had been smart enough to ask her sister to bring them untoasted, so she could do it herself. She could