Love, Laughter & Happily Ever After: A sweet romantic comedy collection Read online

  “Actually, I can.” My mother’s family aren’t the warm, cuddly types. Then again, the Kings on my father’s side, aren’t teddy bears either.

  How Aunt Christina ended up with Uncle Allen is baffling. She’s warm and calm to his cold and austere—exactly how I was raised.

  I reckon it helps keep people from clinging or expecting a cut of our wealth.

  A golden retriever greets me at the door with a full-body wag. I give her ears a scratch.

  “Buttercup meet Doug. Come on in. I have coffee cake, muffins, pastries, you name it.”

  “So you’ve been keeping your cook busy?”

  She laughs. “No, silly, I do all the baking around here.”

  It’s then I realize she’s still wearing an apron as we pause on the threshold to the deck overlooking the water. The table overflows with sweet treats.

  I lift my eyebrows in surprise.

  “When I leave the city and come home, the finery and fuss dissolve. Your uncle may have built me a mansion, but I still enjoy cottage and lake life. Today is the Hello, Summer Soiree. It’s our kickoff to the beginning of the season. We’ll head over and I’ll introduce you to everyone so you can get a real feel for Liberty Lake.”

  “I already passed through. Was nearly forced to eat ice cream.” I shake my head and lower my voice. “Remember, I’m here undercover.” Not only to souse out the source of trouble at the Oil Change King shop, but also because I need a break from the demands of my not-lake-life and from the eligible bachelorettes in my family’s circle—women keen to access the King family fortune. If I were ever to settle down, it would be for something real. But I’m not looking.

  “In that case, you must’ve been by Queen’s Cones. Rose makes the best ice cream. I went there on my birthday and got my free scoop.” Aunt Christina closes her eyes in reverie.

  Rose, the ice cream queen. I ignore the way meeting her wound something up inside. My brow furrows.

  Aunt Christina’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Oh, that’s right. Can’t have anyone find out you’re the son of a wealthy oil family.”

  I cringe, wishing she’d lower her voice. Sound carries across the water and we’re mere yards from the lake.

  “You’ve always been so straight-laced. We’ll get you tangled up in the good life.” She winks.

  “Tangled up sounds like the opposite of the reason I’m here.” Rather, I need to unravel a mystery.

  Aunt Christina plows on. “I’ve told my husband and your parents that you’re all going to get ulcers, or worse. You need to come out here where the air is fresh, life is simple, and the water is clear.” She glances at the lake. “Well, it was. I guess the winter didn’t treat Lib well.”

  I grunt. “Oh, my mother knows how to live the good life.”

  My aunt tilts her head. “Depends on your definition. I mean clean living and getting into nature. You’ll have to join me on my morning walks with Buttercup.”

  I assume Aunt Christina is gently criticizing my mother for all her work. Not the charity kind with the ladies’ auxiliary. Rather, the kind requiring anesthesia and performed by a plastic surgeon. In her day, my mother was beautiful. Now, I hardly recognize her.

  Then again, sometimes, I don’t recognize myself.

  I grew up in a renowned oil family with all the privileges and trappings of wealth. When I was younger, I had my fun, but I want to make my own way instead of living off a trust fund. I learned to follow the dollar—figured I’d run the gamut from start to finish with the oil on my family’s land and start a fleet of service stations.

  The Oil Change King was born. Because of that, I don’t have time for relationships. Nothing can interfere with my personal success. The pressure to kick back and enjoy the family wealth is real, but I want to earn my money and not rest on my laurels. Plus, if you’ve ever seen a laurel bush, the branches are spiny. But at least they don’t have thorns. Not like Rose.

  She seems sweet yet spunky.

  Beautiful yet down to earth.

  Although my aunt described the good life up here at the lake, my focus is my career and the oil king empire. All of that happens in the city.

  The next day, I take the long way into town, not wanting to get swarmed by visitors toting floats, balloons, and Hello, Summer Soiree swag.

  I’m not about fuss or flair. Give me simple. Straightforward. Engines, oil, and the fine mechanics of a motor. Sure, I got my degree in finance, but put an axle, wheels, and at least eight cylinders in front of me and I’m a happy man.

  However, I can’t get away with grease under my nails. Not if I want to remain at the top of my game.

  No distractions. No limitations.

  I park the motorcycle on the side of a weather-beaten building and enter through the grubby glass door of the Oil Change King. On a clipboard in my mind, I dock a few points for cleanliness. This isn’t an official evaluation, but I noticed financial discrepancies in the reports at this particular branch, prompting my undercover boss-style visit. And maybe I needed an excuse to get away from cement, skyscrapers, meetings, and meaningless small talk during business dinners with people who want a piece of King holdings.

  I smooth my hand down my newly grown beard. My mother said it’s beastly and insisted I shave. Catching my reflection in the sign behind the counter, I kind of like it—not to spite Mom, but it’s a new look for me. Like a mountain man, maybe I’ll fit in this far north.

  The door opens and closes at my back.

  “Like what you see?” a female voice asks.

  I force myself not to startle and turn around.

  Rose wears a Queen’s Cones T-shirt, cut-off denim shorts, and strappy sandals. Her toenails are hot pink.

  Yeah, I like what I see.

  “Are you here to talk me out of getting this job?” I ask.

  “No, I have some questions for the owner.” She’s average height—not short but has to look up to meet my eyes. Hers spark.

  I open and close my mouth, just barely cutting myself off from blurting that technically I am the owner.

  Rose wriggles her nose, reminding me of a bunny. “I’m telling you, something is off about this place. You can tease me all you like about loving that lake out there, but I have a feeling this business is polluting it.”

  A man with a paunch and his shirt untucked comes from the garage. The patch sewn over his breast pocket says Harlen. “Can I help you?” His gaze darts to Rose. “I told you to stay out of here. Don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  She wags her finger. “Harlen, I’m here on behalf of the lake committee. We know you’re up to something.”

  He snorts. “I applied for the permit fee waiver. Still pending.”

  “You don’t think the rules apply to you. Meanwhile, you’re destroying the lake.”

  “Prove it.” Harlen scowls.

  Rose looks to me as if I’m going to jump to her defense. Ordinarily, I would, but I can’t get on Harlen’s bad side right off the bat. If he’s guilty of wrongdoing, I’d rather figure it out and confront him with evidence than accuse him and have him deny it.

  “You should probably go back to your little ice cream shack.” Harlen waves Rose away.

  My jaw tightens.

  Her eyes bulge. “You bet your buttons, I’ll be back. In the meantime, no scoops for you!” The door slams behind her.

  Something melts inside to see her go.

  I turn back to Harlen. “Yes, sir. You can help me. I’m looking for a job,” I say for the first time in my life. I was born with a job...or without one, depending on how you look at it. I could’ve lived off the family riches if I’d wanted to.

  He looks me up and down. “You know how to fill windshield washer fluid?”

  “Sure do.”

  “That’s what the ladies always check. Did you top off my fluids?” he imitates in a nasal feminine voice.

  Playing my role, I force myself not to frown.

  “Ever been convicted of a felony?” He c
huckles.

  I shake my head.

  “You’re hired.”

  “What about changing oil?”

  He smirks. “We have our own way of doing things around here.”

  I get a tour of what should look like a state-of-the-art facility. Instead, it’s a dumping ground for rags, empty bottles, and random car parts like at a scrapyard.

  Fighting against dropping the ruse right now and accusing him of mismanagement, I say, “Where is the fuel exchange filter system?” It’s an expensive, high-tech fumes diffuser to minimize environmental impact.

  “I have a few side jobs, if you know what I mean. Keep that between you, me, and that carburetor.” Harlen points.

  Does that mean he sold the machine I paid millions to develop?

  Harlen chucks an empty bottle cap at a bin. It glances off the side and rolls across the floor. “You can start first thing tomorrow. I’m going boating.”

  Quitting early? I frown and follow him outside to his truck hitched to a boat trailer and hop on my bike.

  I process what I witnessed at franchise number fifty-six. The way our operation works is a potential Oil Change King owner buys into the business and we float them until they become profitable and can pay for the rest of the shop. But to do that, they have to agree to certain standards.

  So far, Harlen has failed every single one. I’ll find out more tomorrow, but my mind goes into overdrive, worrying that other branches are as bad, sullying the King name, and thinking about how to prevent something like this from happening in the future.

  When I get back to my aunt’s house, the sun sparkles off the water as it nears the horizon. My aunt and Buttercup work on an agility course. She flutters over. “I have big news.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I mutter. My business is failing—at least the Liberty Lake branch.

  “I was talking with my friend and we’re going to fix you up with the sweetest girl while you’re here.”

  I grip the back of my neck. My mother wants me to settle down. Get married. Stop working so hard. With this new problem at the shop, that’s not happening anytime soon. “That’s thoughtful, but I have my hands full.”

  “Oh, nonsense. You have to make time for fun. And what’s better than a blind date?”

  I cough then blurt, “A poke in the eye.”

  She laughs.

  “How you escaped that household with a sense of humor is beyond me.”

  My lips quirk at Aunt Christina’s dig at how serious my family is. Serious about being rich and letting the world know.

  She clasps her hands. “It’s going to be perfect.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you, but I wasn’t kidding. I can’t go on a blind date. No time. No interest.” I speak as gently as I can.

  “Oh, come on, Doug. Do it as a favor. Just think, maybe you’ll get more intel for your undercover work.” She nudges me with her elbow bent like a chicken wing.

  I sigh. She has a point. Finding out whatever I can about Harlen would be helpful.

  She squeezes my arm and leads me to the house as though we’re going to primp and preen like my sister before a date.

  This is going to be a disaster.

  3

  Blind Hate // Rose

  “You’re still plodding,” Jeanie says to me the next afternoon.

  My frown deepens. “I’m not plodding.”

  “You’ve been plodding since you came in this morning.”

  The tub of cookie dough ice cream I’m holding lands in the cooler with a thud. “Maybe my shoes are heavy.”

  “You’re wearing flip-flops.”

  She has a point.

  “Something on your mind?” Jeanie asks as she refills the napkin dispenser.

  “I stopped by the Oil Change King yesterday.”

  She goes still. “In that case, I understand why you’d be stomping...stomping mad. Harlen is twisted. A snake. If only he’d tie himself in a knot and put us out of our misery.”

  “I hardly talked to him.”

  “It’s a waste of time, anyway. Even if you had evidence it was his shop polluting the lake, he’d deny it.”

  An older couple comes into the ice cream shop. As always, we pause the previous conversation, smile, and greet them. When they leave, Jeanie says, “Wait a minute. Earlier, you said when you were at the Oil Change King you hardly had a chance to talk to Harlen, but you’re in a bad mood. Does that mean you saw the guy who denied Queen’s Cones?”

  “You mean Dougzilla?” I decided he must be related to the Grumpasaurus.

  “More like buff biker with a beard.” Jeanie winks.

  I sling my arms in front of my chest.

  Emma flutters her bangs from her eyes. “He was a hottie, heartthrob, a handsome total package.”

  I tell them how rude Harlen was to me and how Doug went along with it. “No surprise, considering the guy hates ice cream.”

  How could someone with those killer blue eyes, thick brown hair, and dimples hidden beneath the beard hate ice cream?

  He must be a monster.

  “The way you looked at him when he rode in here on his metal steed...” Jeanie bats her eyelashes.

  “I did not look at him.” I so looked at him.

  “You were checking him out from head to toe, especially—” Emma mock flexes her arms like a body builder.

  I shift from foot to foot. “It’s summer and hard not to notice things like that.”

  Jeanie lifts and lowers her eyebrows.

  “I bet he smells good.” Emma gazes wistfully into the middle distance.

  “You’re too young to be thinking about what men smell like.”

  She plants her hands on her hips. “I’m twenty-four years old. What else would I be thinking about?”

  She has a point. I was certainly thinking about guys at her age. Then Anderson ruined me.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say it was love at first sight,” Jeanie beams a smile.

  I playfully swat her with a dishrag. “More like enemies at first sight.”

  “I side with Jeanie,” Emma says.

  Nope. No way.

  There will be none of that.

  I’m the queen around here, and there’s no room for a king. I laid siege to love long ago, slayed it, and will not enter that battle again.

  Never. Not ever.

  In the coming days, I mostly, sort of, kinda forget about Doug. Well, not his perfect blue eyes. Or the perma-smirk on his lips. It’s hard to get his buff arms out of my head.

  But I try. Goodness, do I try because I have big things to focus on—summer is in full swing and there’s the matter of the pollution in the lake. I collected samples and sent them into a lab for testing.

  Jeanie comes in on her day off, biting back a smile.

  “Couldn’t stay away, huh?” I sweep up straw wrappers and sand.

  “You could say I just love this place.”

  The space between my eyebrows pinches. Let’s leave the L-word out of this, shall we?

  “The girls and I had our card game a few days ago and Christina and I got to talking...”

  I lift my hand to stop her right there. “Say no more. If this is about some convoluted scheme—” Get the two of them together and you’ll find yourself naked at the end of the dock under a full moon...I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.

  She waves her hands. “Even better. A blind date.”

  The broom clatters to the floor because I instantly know I’m one-half of that sightless proposition. “No.”

  “You haven’t let me tell you the plan.”

  “If it involves me, save your breath.”

  But she doesn’t, and that is how I end up with Jeanie leading me blindfolded into Valentino’s Italian Restaurant at seven p.m. on Friday night. Full send.

  Pawing the air, I take a seat. My senses are on high alert. The air is warm. Comfortable Chatter and the clatter of forks and spoons surround me. I breathe in basil, garlic, and oregano with an undercurrent of something else.
..brawn, musk, man...

  “Count down from five and then take your blindfolds off,” Jeanie says. “Have fun, kids.”

  She scoots away with a giggle. I tear the blindfold from my head.

  Blinking a few times, I get my bearings then look into a pair of piercing blue eyes.

  “You,” I say.

  “You,” Doug repeats.

  I look around. “Am I at the right table?”

  He spins the blindfold around his hand. “I’d say so. I have my aunt to thank.”

  “And I have the anti-fairy godmother not to thank.” I crane my head to find Jeanie, but she must’ve already left. Likely she and Christina are camped outside with binoculars. They’re quite the mischievous pair.

  “Well, this has been nice. It turns out I have a, um, a thing.” I wave my finger vaguely behind me.

  “What kind of thing?”

  “You know, a Friday night thing.”

  “Netflix and a bowl of ice cream?”

  “That’s not how I spend my Friday nights.” It totally is except he left out Butterscotch by my side.

  “Welcome to Valentino’s,” says Alexia, the owner’s daughter. “What can I get you to drink?”

  Doug and I exchange a look. Not the kind of look Jeanie and Emma accused us of. More like, Are we going to be civilized adults and do this then pretend it never happened or make a fuss and leave this girl without a table and a tip?

  “I’d like an iced tea,” I say.

  “Make that two, please,” Doug adds.

  “Ah, the biker has manners,” I say when Alexia leaves.

  “I wasn’t raised in a barn.”

  “An outhouse then? You were pretty rude the other day.”

  “Are you still ticked that I didn’t want any of your ice cream?”

  “It was free.”

  Before I can explain that my comment had more to do with the way he acted at the Oil Change King, Alexia returns with our beverages.

  “Have you decided what you’d like to have for dinner?”

  I don’t bother looking at the menu. “Yes. I’d like the Tartufo, please.”

  If my order surprises Alexia, she doesn’t reveal it.