Almost Lovers: A Sweet Romance

By Stephanie Woods

Sage Brewster thought she'd sworn off men forever after her disastrous first marriage. Moving to a new town and hiding out under a pseudonym, she built a comfortable new life for herself, complete with a best friend and a flourishing career as an author.

When a chance encounter with her childhood celebrity crush Caleb Ryder ends with a one-night stand, Sage never expects to see him again – and frankly doesn’t want to. But for Caleb, meeting her was love at first sight.

While Caleb plots ways to see her again without seeming like a stalker, Sage is left reeling from an unexpected pregnancy – and struggling to figure out how to tell him. Things only get worse when her violent ex-husband tracks her down.

As her past and future collide, Sage must learn to trust a virtual stranger – and in the process, re-think her position on love. Is opening her heart again worth the risk? Or will the scars of the past keep her from embracing her happily ever after?

If you like sweet romance with no sex scenes but plenty of love, then you won’t want to miss Almost Lovers. Grab your copy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie Woods
• Release date: Oct 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463682937

Stephanie Woods

Stephanie Woods has been writing stories and winning awards for them since she was in elementary school. After getting her Master's degree in Creative Writing and spending eight years as a reading tutor, elementary school teacher, high school teacher, and college professor, she finally decided to make her childhood dream of being a novelist come true. Her debut novel, "Earth Angel," is the result. With more stories planned in this series, and dozens of story ideas mulling around in her imagination, Stephanie Woods is an author to follow. In her spare time, Stephanie enjoys reading about history, watching fantasy and sci-fi TV shows, cooking, traveling, studying languages, investigating the paranormal, and spending time with her husband, friends, and three mischievous cats.

Book preview

Almost Lovers

A Sweet Romance

Stephanie Woods

Copyright 2019 Stephanie Woods

Chapter One

All the best, Charlotte Lamb.

I finished the autograph with a flourish and smiled at my thousandth number one fan of the day.

Thanks so much for reading, I said with cheer, forcing an energy into my voice I did not feel. After eight hours of sitting at my booth signing books, the only things I wanted were a drink and a nap. I loved it that people enjoyed my work, but these conventions could be exhausting. And remember, I added, as the giddy woman hugged the book to her chest, "my next book, The Dreams of the Dragon, is coming out in March. Can I count on you to read it?"

Oh, yes, she said, her voice shaky with excitement as she pushed a pair of wire-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose. "That’s the fourth installment in your Ravishing Roselle series, right?"

You know it.

I’ve been waiting ages for it, and so have all my friends. Will we finally find out the identity of Roselle’s parents in this one? Will she and Alaric be happy together, now that they’re married?

You’ll have to read it and see, I said, winking. Big things are happening in Roselle’s world, I can promise you.

The woman giggled and jumped up and down. I grinned. Yes, I knew how to give my readers just enough of a tease to keep them on their toes—lining up at bookstores or hovering their mouse over the purchase button on Amazon—waiting to be among the first to read my new releases. A carefully honed skill.

I will be the first one in my town to buy it, I promise, she gushed. And, I’ll leave a glowing review for you on Amazon and Goodreads. I don’t even have to read the book to know that. Anything you write is amazing.

Well, I laughed, I’m glad someone thinks so.

Oh, I do, Ms. Lamb. I do.

With that, the last reader of the day scurried away, disappearing into the crowd. If I recalled the schedule correctly, most everyone in that direction was going to the Supernatural panel. I loved that show, but the idea of sitting in a crowded auditorium for another hour or two after being here all day, putting on my public Charlotte Lamb persona, was the opposite of appealing. Maybe I would run into some of the actors in the hotel’s hallways—it sometimes happened at other events, and in my experience, it was far easier to meet actors that way than to line up with dozens of others for a chance to ask them the same questions they’d probably heard a million times before in a hundred different cities.

No, what I needed was some well-earned solitude in my hotel room, where I could be the real me—just regular Sage Brewster—before having to do this all over again tomorrow. Pretending to be an extrovert at these events wasn’t hard, but it did take a lot out of me. Thank goodness the security guards were roping off my area.

Actually, I kind of wished I hadn’t signed up for both days of the convention. The demand for my presence at these things was huge, though, and I hated to disappoint my fans. I was so grateful for them; it still amazed me that anyone wanted to read my work. I owed them a lot. Sure, I was happy being a reclusive writer who rarely emerged from my cave, but the joy my appearance at conventions brought to the attendees was so rewarding. People were thrilled when I met and spoke with them, and it made me feel great. So, everyone won when I showed up at these things.

As I packed up my belongings, getting ready to head back to my room, I spotted him out of the corner of my eye.

Oh, my God, he was still here. I’d been so busy signing books for the past few hours, I hadn’t had time to keep glancing across the aisle to check. I assumed he would have left long before me, but there he was, still sitting at his now-empty booth, the thick and winding line of fans that were there earlier having dispersed along with my own. He seemed to be engrossed in a book laid flat on his table. What if it was one of my books? That would be cool.

It was just the two of us in the vendor hall now. Well, us and the handful of security guards who were protecting the empty booths of the other writers and actors who were gone for the day.

This presented an amazing opportunity.

Okay, I never did this kind of thing—ever—and exhaustion pulled at me behind my eyes, but when would I ever get another chance like this?

Come on. It was Caleb Ryder sitting there, for goodness’s sake. I had to go for it.

Setting my stack of books and purse back on the table, I squared my shoulders and marched the few steps over to his booth.

He didn’t look up as I approached, being pretty engrossed in whatever he was reading. Good. It gave me time to summon up my reserve energy and throw on the sexy confidence of Charlotte Lamb. Charlotte was kind of a sex kitten; Sage was not. Fortunately, I knew Charlotte well. By the time I reached Caleb’s table, I glided like a leopard.

Dropping to my knees with a casual grace so I could put myself at eye-level with him, I folded my hands on top of his table and assembled my most relaxed "have we met before?" smile.

Hey, I said softly, drawing out the sound. Look who showed up. It’s Anderson Cooper.

I meant it as a joke and an ice-breaker, but he did look an awful lot like the famous news anchor. The snowy white hair? A bit surprising, since I knew he was only 34 years old. Why didn’t he color it? He was unmistakably Caleb Ryder, but when you added the white hair to his lean yet muscular frame, square jaw, and dazzling blue eyes, he and the real Anderson Cooper could easily be taken for brothers.

Okay. Moment of truth. My chance to talk to my teenage crush in person. Caleb began starring on his hit 1999-2007 TV show, Almost Love, when he was 16, and I was a love-struck 12-year-old. After what I’d been through since those easy, innocent days, I owed it to my tween self to do this. I just hoped I didn’t come across as a dork.

My off-the-wall greeting drew his attention, and he looked up from his book, blinking with surprise.

Excellent. I cocked my head, indicating I wanted him to reply.

Anderson Cooper? he finally asked, letting a laugh slip out, without letting it spill into the room at large. Has it come to that?

I’ve been watching you from my booth all day, I said, thrusting my thumb backward to indicate my perch, directly across from him, decorated with my latest book cover and nom de plume in giant cursive letters. It was mostly true; I’d glanced his way every fifteen minutes or so since I noticed him sitting across from me until my own crowd became too large to justify it anymore. You look like Anderson Cooper to me.

Sorry to disappoint you, he said, shaking his head, apparently not sure whether to grin or be offended. I am definitely not Anderson Cooper. Caleb Ryder’s the name.

Oh, darn, I teased, playing with him now. I really hoped to meet Anderson Cooper. I have some questions I’ve been wanting to ask about what it’s like to do that New Year’s Eve show with Kathy Griffin.

Well, he said, looking me up and down, I do know Anderson personally. Maybe I could answer some of those questions for you.

I had his focus now, his reading material forgotten. Was that a hint of interest, amusement, or both behind those large, heavy-lidded eyes?

If you know him, maybe you could put him on FaceTime. We could talk to him together, I suggested, glancing down at Caleb’s phone. Were my green eyes twinkling with amusement? I hoped they were.

I could do that, he practically purred. Or maybe I really am Anderson Cooper, trying to hide my true identity. You never know what kind of crazy TV news groupies are lurking around these conventions.

Hmmm. I didn’t consider that. However will I determine if you’re the real thing?

I have a few suggestions, he said, his voice so low I had to strain to hear him, which forced me to lean in closer. He seemed to like it, and I realized with a good deal of surprise that this was exactly what he wanted me to do.

Oh, man. This conversation had taken a turn. And, I was turning right along with it. Was I carrying on a flirtation with Caleb Ryder?

How did that happen? I just wanted to say hi and introduce myself to an actor I admired, in a way that made me stand out a little from all the other genuflecting fans he’d talked to today. Maybe get him to read one of my books (or, even better, provide a blurb for the back cover of my new one). That would be great. Caleb hadn’t acted since his teen dramedy ended nearly a decade ago, and I read somewhere he moved far away from Los Angeles, but he must still have connections. If the right person read my work, it could mean a TV or movie deal. That would be a real career changer—in the best possible way.

Somehow, without meaning to, I engaged his interest, and here we were, flirting right off the bat. He didn’t even know my real name.

Amazing, the ease with which these teasing words were pouring from my mouth. So unlike me. For one, I never, and I mean never, went chasing after celebrities. If I couldn’t meet them on my own terms, as real people, I didn’t want to meet them at all, and I refused to ask for autographs. It automatically put the person giving their signature in a position of power over the person asking for it, and I did not care to be the powerless one. My disaster of a marriage taught me that. This brought me to Point Two—upon my divorce four years ago, I firmly swore off romantic involvement with all men. In my experience, they weren’t worth the trouble. Even the Caleb Ryders of the world.

Yet, here I was, kneeling on the floor, coquettishly tilting my head at Caleb, flirting like hell with him like I did it every day. And, to my immense surprise, he flirted back.

Let’s face it. At this point, we were both aware I knew he wasn’t Anderson Cooper. Yet, we kept up the game. How far would we take it?

I’m, ah, open to suggestions, I said, tapping the fingers of one hand on his table while propping up my chin on the other one. God, what was I doing? Unlike all those Drama Club conventions I attended in high school and college, I did not come to this one to make out with a guy. Yet, the idea presented itself to me, and it became more appealing the longer Caleb sat there staring at me.

Oh, I don’t know if I should say anything in front of these guys, Caleb said, tilting his head toward the closest security guards. I wouldn’t want them to be scandalized.

We were almost whispering, and the guards were three tables away, so there was no possible way they could hear the conversation; Caleb knew it.

Are your suggestions scandalous, Mr. Cooper? I opened my eyes wide in feigned innocence. It had been years since I did this with anyone. Was it always this much fun? I couldn’t remember. I’m not sure I could even remember what fun felt like.

So much so, I hesitate to speak them out loud at all, he said, twirling his index finger in a circle on the surface of the table. Man, could he be any coyer? You never know when TMZ is listening. Those guys are everywhere. I’d hate to get a reputation as a seducer of young women.

I blushed in spite of myself, feeling the heat creeping up into my cheeks. What a sweet compliment. I just turned 30 a month ago, and yes, I could still easily pass for a college student. I knew that. But, it was nice to hear someone say it, even if it was only implied.

Oh, well. Being pretty much committed to this game now, I may as well keep playing. I brought my gaze back to Caleb, shook my head, and rested my chin on my palm. I don’t see anyone.

Well, of course, you don’t. They hide, you know. You see that potted plant over there? A TMZ reporter could easily be tucked behind the leaves. Or, the plant itself could be a reporter in disguise. They’re quite clever and industrious in their quest to obtain celebrity gossip. No, I can’t say anything here. I’d be much more comfortable talking to you about it in private.

Whoa. Chills ran down my spine at that, and I gave silent thanks to all the good spirits above for prompting me to put on a long-sleeved white peasant blouse this morning, so Caleb couldn’t see the goosebumps forming on my arms. No mistaking his intent with that statement. Only two places in this hotel offered us total privacy—my room or his.

Caleb Ryder just suggested we go somewhere private together.

My 12-year-old self was practically jumping up and down with glee. Things like this didn’t happen to real people, only to fictional ones like the characters I created. Yet, there it was, that unmistakable offer hanging in the space between us, so close I could reach out and grab it. Should I?

I wasn’t stupid. With strangers, that kind of request can only mean one thing. I may have sworn off romance in real life in favor of simply writing about it, but this was Caleb Ryder. A girl can make an exception to every rule, can’t she?

Private, you say? I asked, pretending I had no idea what he meant; I needed to buy myself some time to decide what to do. Any idea where we might find that, Mr. Cooper? There are thousands of people here.

I think you know, he said, leaning in close, so close I could smell a hint of spice from his cologne. He held out his hand to me, and God help me, I took it without even thinking.

Please, universe, give me a sign I’m not being stupid.

With my hand firmly in his, he stood up, lifting me to my feet with him.

And, what proof of your identity will you give me when we’re alone? I whispered, suddenly wishing the table wasn’t between us anymore. This had to be a stupid move on my part, but I couldn’t help it. While 12-year-old me shrieked with delight, contentiously divorced me told me I deserved something amazing. So, why not go for it? I would carpe diem the heck out of this opportunity.

There are a few tests you can put me through, he said, still holding my hand. As I said, most of them can’t be spoken of here. Though, I will tell you there is an interesting tattoo Anderson Cooper has in a…shall we say…intimate place. If you find it on me, then I’m Anderson. If not, well, you’ll have to figure out who Caleb really is. It’s a puzzle that’s worth your while, I promise, Ms. Lamb.

All my teenage dreams were coming true at once. I had this man’s face on a poster on my bedroom wall until my junior year of high school, for criminy’s sake. It was too much. For just a second, I almost bolted, overcome with the enormity of the fantasy becoming reality. But, no. I did deserve this—especially after what my lousy ex put me through. It was beyond my turn to get some pleasure out of life.

I looked up into Caleb’s smoldering blue eyes and nearly melted. Oh yeah. Stupid it may be, but not only did I want this, I needed it. It would be my late birthday present to myself since I refused to celebrate on my actual birthday. This would be one big freaking party, and I intended to make the most of it.

Sage, I blurted out before I realized I was talking. My name is Sage Brewster. Charlotte Lamb is the pseudonym I use for writing steamy fantasy romances. But don’t tell my fans. I wouldn’t want to spoil the illusion.

It was the first true thing I’d told him—as well as the only thing I’d said as myself and not Charlotte.

"I wouldn’t spoil anything for you, Ms. Brewster, he promised, holding my gaze, and I slammed my legs together to keep my whole body from shivering with the other promises hidden in those words. Your secret is safe with me. May I call you Sage?"

He was laying on the gentleman act pretty thick, which would come off as corny with anyone else. On Caleb, though, it came across as sexy as hell. I doubted this old-fashioned chivalry thing he had going on was for real, since you just didn’t find those guys anymore (or if you did, they were taken), but he could keep it up all night as far as I was concerned. Whatever we were about to do was about fantasy, right? So, why spoil it with reality?

Call me Sage, I allowed, smiling widely enough to show off my perfectly straight, dazzling white teeth—the ones I bought with my first big royalty check.

Well, Sage, he said, coming around the table to stand beside me, my hand still firmly ensconced in his; the closer proximity nearly made my heart leap into my throat, something I hadn’t experienced since college. Shall we retire to more private quarters so you can interrogate me?

If you’re going to be stupid, may as well go big with it.

Enjoy this, Sage. And, remember all the details. Lily is going to demand them when you get home. Man, is she going to love this story.

I think we shall…Anderson, I teased, and I let him lead me out of the vendor hall, pausing only long enough to snatch my purse and phone from my table.

Tonight promised to be interesting.

Chapter Two

The wooden porch swing on my house, cozy and inviting, begged you to curl up and relax on it, which is what I did my first day home after the convention. Lounging there, deliberately lazy, I sipped iced tea and read Jane Eyre for about the hundredth time. My favorite book. The compelling heroes did it for me—emotionally restrained Jane, whose passions ran deep below her prim surface, and openly passionate and wondrously sexual Rochester, who wore his heart on his sleeve.

I would so marry Rochester, if I could ever find him. There had to be a Rochester somewhere in the world, right? I mean, odds and everything. Until then, happily single I would remain, with only the fictional version of my fantasy lover to keep me company.

Though Jane and Rochester were riveting as always, staying awake proved difficult this day. With the weather in Asheville finally starting to turn pleasantly cool, and the early October leaves beginning to get a hint of fall color at their tops, it had an effect like the field of poppies in The Wizard of Oz. I adored autumn.

Outside, the silence licked my eyelids, making them heavy. Other than the rustling of leaves as a high breeze touched the treetops, not a sound reached me. Combined with the pleasant weather, it made a perfect recipe for relaxation. The gentle rocking of the swing amplified the effect, and I struggled to keep my eyes open.

Eventually, I gave up, set the tea and book down on the weathered floorboards, and leaned back into one of the swing’s soft pillows for a well-deserved nap.

Pretty, colorful images I couldn’t quite decipher had just begun to dance happily behind my eyelids as I quickly sunk into dreamland, when a familiar voice calling my name dragged me reluctantly back to this world. Darn it. Couldn’t I enjoy at least a few minutes of peaceful sleep outside while the perfect weather allowed it? Still, the owner of the voice made the sacrifice a worthy one.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes and stretching. Lily! I cried and gave my best friend and next-door neighbor an eager hug.

I thought you were going to call when you got back, Lily said, hugging me back and pretending to be offended. Luckily, I knew Lily well enough to recognize when she teased.

I meant to, I promised. It was just so late when I got back last night, and I was exhausted and slept late, too. You and Justin are usually down at the club this time of day, anyway. I was going to call you tonight, really.

Justin went alone today, Lily said. I couldn’t wait to hear all about your trip.

Doesn’t he need you in the kitchen?

Marcus is fine with it. I trained him myself. Trust me, he can handle a day without me, and so can Justin.

Lily and Justin Edgemon were a powerhouse team whose marriage certificate might as well have "relationship goals" printed on it as a hashtag. They owned a coffee house in downtown Asheville, North Carolina, just a few blocks from the postcard-perfect historic district where we all lived. It hosted open mic nights several times a week, a poetry slam, karaoke, and weekly featured performers from around the state; once in a while, they even got a nationally known act to play there.

In addition to the creative coffee drinks and healthy smoothies they served, a limited menu of avant-garde appetizers and small snacks that Lily made also existed, and it sold out almost every night. Her assistant, Marcus, excelled, but no one could substitute for Lily; whoever ate at Brewed Moon tonight would be sorely disappointed.

Well, girl, how was it? Lily demanded, putting her arm around my shoulders and pulling me back down on the swing with her.

Though we were the same age, our birthdays only a few months apart, Lily always called me girl, as she did with all her girlfriends. Part of her charming Mississippi upbringing.

Thank you for cat-sitting, I said, buying myself a little time. Lily wasn’t shy about prying for details, and I wasn’t ready to get into the lengthy conversation that would definitely ensue once I told her what happened with Caleb Ryder. You and Justin are awesome. It’s great to know I can always count on you guys to take care of my babies when I’m away.

Oh, sweetie, that’s not even a thing, Lily said, waving her hand dismissively. They’re no trouble, you live right next door, and we love those three fur balls as if they were our own. What are best friends for? Oh, I know what they’re for. Giving details on their exotic trips, that’s what. Now, spill the beans.

I’d hardly call Cleveland exotic.

It is to me. I’ve never been there. And, you’re stalling. What happened at that convention, Sage? Lily leaned in close, looking me right in the eyes with a suspicious expression. She moved her head back and forth examining my face, as if trying to divine the truth with some kind of spell, and I marveled for the millionth time at Lily’s extreme beauty.

About five foot five with long, wavy hair of natural blonde, stunning blue eyes, and plump ruby lips enhanced by a perfect complexion and a thin frame with curves in all the right places, she could have been a model instead of the wife of a small business owner 20 years her senior. Lily, however, completely devoted herself to Justin, and Justin…well, Justin recognized his absurd luck in winning her and treated her like a queen.

Okay, okay, I said, pushing Lily back a little. Stop with the spooky eyes, will you? I’ll tell you all about it. Those probing eyes would get the truth out of even the most committed person. I wondered, not for the first time, if there wasn’t a little bit of witch in Lily somewhere. Light magic, of course.

Excellent. Lily leaned back against a yellow throw pillow, pleased with herself.

Can I get you some tea? I offered, indicating my own glass.

No, Lily said, crossing her arms to indicate she would tolerate no more stalling. Just details, please.

Lily’s interrogation skills were on point, I had to give her that.

I picked up my tea and took a long drink, savoring the smooth sweetness that cooled the back of my throat so nicely.

Okay, I said, mentally geared up to talk at last. Here’s what happened.

I told Lily the whole story, including the Caleb Ryder part. Okay, maybe not everything. Some things were simply too personal to share, even with your best friend. Other than the intimate details, there was no point in hiding anything. She would pry it out of me eventually. I knew from experience.

When I finished, Lily’s almond-shaped eyes were about as wide as they would go without popping out and rolling across the porch. Shut. Up.

She spoke the words one at a time, in an astonished gasp.

Will not. I grinned, a bit smugly. Hey, the story practically had smug-worthy written on it.

"Caleb Ryder? Lily stammered, a bit dumbstruck. That Caleb Ryder?"

The same. Wow. Could my own smile get any bigger? I enjoyed spilling the beans more than I imagined.

My God. Lily sank down into the pillow a bit more.

I know, right?

Okay, maybe I was a tiny bit proud of myself. After all, it wasn’t everyone who could say they had a one-night stand with their former teen heartthrob. That’s every