The Wrong Mr. Right: A Small Town Friends to Lovers Romance (The Queen’s Cove Series Book 2)

NERVES ROLLED through my stomach as I stepped through the back door of the surf shop to grab a wetsuit. I had been to the surf shop enough times now to feel comfortable walking right in, even at six in the morning, so I headed straight to where the wetsuits in my size hung on the rack.

“Not that one,” Wyatt said behind me. His voice was still gravelly with sleep.

The nerves pitched in my stomach and that low voice traveled right down to my toes. The last time I heard that tone, his mouth had pressed against mine and he was taking it, claiming my mouth like it belonged to him.

You’re going to come home, crawl into bed, and touch yourself until you come.

His low words echoed in my head. I shivered and turned.

Goddamn, he was hot. Even when he was still sleepy and his hair was a bit messy. His eyes shone bright, his skin glowed with a tan, his mouth was fascinating, and the sight of him set off a series of sparks in me.

I totally had the hots for Wyatt Rhodes.

I swallowed and lifted my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

He gestured to the back room, where they kept extra inventory. “Got you your own.”

Until now, I had been using one of the suits the shop rented to tourists taking surf lessons. The fit wasn’t great. It was too long in the arms and legs, so I rolled the cuffs up. The mid-section was bulky and the zipper always snagged, but I didn’t know any different, and I didn’t want to complain, so I made do.

A new wetsuit hung in the back room, tags still on. The suit was shorter and way, way nicer. The spongey Neoprene was smooth, and the logo on the front wasn’t a brand carried in the shop. I ran my fingers over it.

“This is my suit?”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth ticking up.

“You didn’t have to do this.” I glanced at him, leaning against the wall, looking so casual and nonchalant. Apathetic, even. “I don’t mind wearing the suit I usually wear.”

“That suit sucks. You’ve graduated past it.” A smile lifted on his mouth. “Too many people have peed in that suit.”

A horrified laugh burst out of me. “No! What?”

He nodded and winced. “Oh, yeah.” He shrugged. “Now you can be the only person to pee in this suit.”

I dissolved into laughter, shaking my head. “I would never.”

His eyes sparkled. “It’s fine, bookworm. You don’t have to lie to me. Besides,” he added, “you’ve been doing great lately. With everything.”

Delight pitched in my chest at his praise and we smiled at each other.

I thought about our kiss for the millionth time.

His mouth against mine, the noise he made when his tongue stroked mine, his hard chest under my hands. His hand in my hair, taking control and tipping my head back.

His gaze dropped to my lips. Something zinged in me, an ache between my legs.

“We should talk about the other night.” He was still staring at my mouth, gaze intense.

I swallowed and nodded.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” He raked a hand through his hair and I remembered tugging on it, and the sound of pleasure in his throat.

Wait, what?

“Why not?”

He winced. “I’m not supposed to be—” He gestured between us. “This isn’t that.”

I deflated like a balloon with a hole in it. A slow, pathetic sink.

Wyatt regretted kissing me.

I chewed the inside of my lip and stared at the floor. My face heated, and I knew a blush creeped down my neck. Wyatt was still the hot guy from high school and I was the shy, invisible girl standing on the sidelines. The nerd in the bookstore. Of course he didn’t want to get involved that way with me.

I crossed my arms over my chest. My stomach tightened and I frowned but tried to erase it. The only thing more embarrassing than Wyatt regretting making out with me would be him pitying me.

“Bookworm?”

I blinked up at him as he leaned on the wall beside us. He watched me with curiosity, with something else behind it I couldn’t place.

I thought about him in my bedroom. He had said it himself, he couldn’t stay away. He couldn’t stop thinking about me that day.

Because I had a date with Beck. So he was jealous because someone else was playing with his toy.

I blew a frustrated breath out of my nose. “I don’t have any grand delusions, you know.”

He frowned. “What?”

I shrugged. “It’s not like I think you and I are going to get married on the beach and skip off into the sunset holding hands.” I rolled my eyes and pulled my shirt over my head. I already had my swimsuit on underneath.

Wyatt’s gaze dropped to my chest. His jaw ticked. He turned around and crossed his arms.

And that was how I knew he wanted to kiss me again. Because when we started surf lessons? He didn’t react like this.

A zap of that boldness hit me, the same feeling as when the wave was right behind me and I was about to jump up on my board. The same feeling as when I reached out to the artist about the mural. The same feeling as when I lifted up onto my tiptoes the other night and kissed Wyatt.

Wyatt wanted me as much as I wanted him, but something held him back.

I wasn’t going to make it easy on him.

I slipped off my shorts. “I needed someone to practice with.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, still facing the other way. “Is that a new swimsuit?”

“Yes. Don’t change the subject.” I had seen the two-piece in the window of a shop in town targeted towards tourists with overpriced swimsuits, flip flops, and beach bags with Queen’s Cove stamped all over them. The green palm print was so pretty, fun, and summery that I made an impulse purchase.

And it pushed my boobs up. It showed off my stomach, which had developed a hint of abs over the past few weeks from surfing and trying to balance on my board. I wanted to look cute. Not for Wyatt. For myself.

Wyatt cleared his throat. “You don’t need practice. Do you need help with the wetsuit?” He glanced over his shoulder, took one glance at me, muttered, “Fuck,” and whipped his head back around.

Interesting. A little smile grew on my mouth. “Nope.”

“Then hurry up.”

I suppressed a laugh at his impatient, frustrated tone, so unlike him.

This swimsuit was proving to be a worthwhile purchase.

My mind buzzed and I rubbed my lips together, narrowing my eyes at his back. What was this feeling coursing through me? I felt… strong, like I held the power in this situation. I dangled something in front of Wyatt like a cat, toying with him.

Thérèse flickered into my mind. I bet she held the power with men all the time.

“If you won’t practice with me,” I said, keeping my voice casual as I pulled the suit on, “maybe Beck will.”

That was a low blow. Wyatt had admitted he was jealous and here I was, exploiting that. Wyatt was always so cool and careless, and I got a glimpse of another side of him in my bedroom the other night.

I wanted more of that version of him. Passionate, desperate, needy. Like he cared about something. Me. He wanted me, as much as I would give him.

I wanted more of that.

He turned, took a step toward me, and glared down at me. “Do not do that, bookworm.”

“Do what? Make out with Beck?”

His jaw ticked. I gave him an innocent smile and blinked a few times. He made an angry noise in his throat and turned me around before he yanked the zipper up. “How does it fit.” He spat the words out like a statement, and I suppressed another grin.

I had turned the most easy-going guy in town into a cranky asshole.

I rolled my shoulders and moved my arms around. “Fits great. Way better than the rental one I was using.” When I turned, his gaze had softened a little from the hard glare. “Thank you, Wyatt.” I reached out and gave his arm a quick squeeze.

I hadn’t finished teasing him yet. I let my hand linger on his bare skin.

“Your skin is always so warm. Did you know that?”

He didn’t answer me, but his throat worked as he swallowed, staring down at me with an expression on his face like he was in pain. He gave me a tiny shrug.

I nodded, letting my hand skim down his arm before I pulled it back. “That was the first thing I noticed when you kissed me. How warm you were.”

I fought to hold eye contact with him. Deep in my brain, a version of myself was squealing and rolling on the floor at my boldness. A different version of me shushed her and gave me an encouraging wink.

Wyatt’s jaw was so tight, his frown so intense as he stared down at me. His fists clenched at his sides.

“Have you done your homework yet?” His voice was low and tight, and I thought about another thing he had said in my bedroom.

I know, baby. I know.

I shivered and shook my head. “Tonight.”

I was talking about the date. It was Monday, and I was going for a solo dinner at The Arbutus.

And of course, there was the other part of my homework. The thing I was supposed to do after, by myself in bed. The thing I had of course done many times before.

But this time would be different. I knew it.

I shivered again and a heaviness settled between my legs. I was nervous but I was also… excited? Was he going to ask me about it after? The thought should have terrified me but instead, it sent a new series of shivers down my spine.

I sighed and smiled at him before I tucked my bag into a lower shelf and walked through the door.

“Are you coming?” I called over my shoulder to where he stood. “We have waves to catch, professor.”

I would pride myself for a long time in not laughing at his agonized expression when I called him that.

AFTER LUNCH THAT AFTERNOON, the bookstore was quiet so I pulled out my laptop and watched old footage of last year’s Pacific Rim. The competition was always on Labor Day weekend, and it was the last rush of tourists before the cooler fall months. All weekend, surfers walked down the main street to the beach, wetsuits on and boards tucked under their arms. I didn’t watch the competition last year but instead chose to work in the store.

This year, you wouldn’t be able to drag me from it. We’d close the store if we had to.

My dad wouldn’t be back until October. Hesitation pressed on my chest. I missed him, of course. Evenings at home had been even quieter recently without him sitting on the other sofa, reading his own book.

I rolled my mouth into a flat line and glanced at the little white square sticking out of the iPad I had bought for the store. We had gone back to the farmer’s market each Saturday, selling more and more books each time. A few tourism accounts had reposted some of my content, including one of Liya at the market talking to a customer, and it drove business to us.

On his blog, Don had written a detailed review of each book in the orc erotica series. A website in Victoria had found it hilarious and reposted it, and we had sold out of all the books in the series. A new shipment was due to arrive the next day. Selling orc porn to my dentist was mortifying but I wasn’t in the business of sex shaming people.

I was in the business of selling romance novels.

The romance section of the store grew with every shipment. Most of my social media posts revolved around romance, because that’s what Liya and I read, and that’s what we liked talking about. Each book I posted about sold out within a week.

For the first time in a long time, our finances were in the black. I still wasn’t paying myself a salary but I was saving the equivalent funds for the mural.

“Hey, Hannah?”

“Mm?”

Liya tilted her head. “How come you never post photos of yourself on the store’s social media?”

I hesitated. “Um. I don’t know. I’m not very photogenic.”

She set a box on the counter and sliced it open. “Well, I think you are, and you should post pictures of yourself as well. You’re the heart of this place.”

I didn’t know what to do with that information. I wasn’t the heart of this place, my mom was. It was her store.

“When are you meeting with Naya?” Liya asked, interrupting my thoughts.

“Next week. Tuesday night.” I straightened up. “You should come with me. You’re part of this store too.”

She gave me an apologetic expression. “My sister’s in town next week so I’m going to show her around. We’re going to a comedy show that night. Show me what Naya comes up with, though.”

“Of course.” Excitement rolled through me and I gave a little squeal of delight and clapped my hands. “Liya. It’s going to look so good.” I beamed at her. “I can’t wait to take a picture of you under the new mural.”

She beamed back at me and pulled a handful of books out of the box. Her eyes widened at the covers and she laughed. “More hockey player romances?”

I shrugged. “People love them.”

Liya studied the shirtless man on the cover. “I can see the appeal.”

I snorted. “Pervert.”

“You’re a pervert, too.” Her shoulder shook with laughter.

“We’re both perverts,” I agreed before gesturing around at the store. “Two perverts working in a store with perverted books. My dream come true.”

She laughed again and headed over to the Sports Romance section to shelve the books. I thought about the mural again as my gaze swept around the shop.

In three weeks, we’d have a beautiful new mural outside the store, and the inside would still look like this. Dusty, faded wallpaper. Shelves held together with duct tape. Frayed carpet at the door to the stockroom. Peeling sign out front, barely legible.

When coming up with ideas for social media content, Liya and I had been getting more and more creative. I was hesitant to show our store in the images so we either did close-ups of the books, ourselves, or an image of us near the window. I tried to get as little of the store in the shot as possible.

A sharp, expanding feeling flickered in my chest. I didn’t want to be ashamed of the store anymore.

A cascade of soft thumps came from the book stacks.

“Shifter Romance just gave up on life,” Liya called over before emerging from the shelves with a handful of books in her arms. She dumped them on the desk. “Wyatt can fix that one next.”

“What?” My eyebrows shot up.

She nodded. “He and Holden were in yesterday. They fixed Mafia Romance.”

I wandered over to the Mafia Romance shelf and peered under the plank of wood. Shiny brackets now held the shelf up. “Huh.”

“Somebody likes you,” Liya sang as she passed.

The kiss, the wetsuit, and now the shelf.

A delicious warmth spread through my chest and I grinned. “No, he doesn’t.”

She cocked her head. “Oh? He goes around to all the local businesses fixing shelves with his hot brother?”

I rolled my eyes. I didn’t know what to say. Wyatt fixing the shelf had made my entire day. My shoulders lifted in a shrug and I returned to the desk to clear the remaining books.

The stupid wallpaper caught my eye again. Liya cut the bottom of the box to flatten it and the knife caught the light from the window.

There it was again, the same boldness that made me buy the swimsuit. Same as when I kissed Wyatt. It filled my chest and raced through my blood. My chest rose and fell with a deep breath.

“Can I borrow that for a second?” I held my hand out for the knife and Liya handed it over. I turned to the wallpaper panel behind the desk, reached up, and dragged a long slice through it.

Liya stared in delighted shock. “Oh, she really did that,” she whispered, nodding with wide eyes.

I stared at the giant cut. There. Now we had to change it. A maniacal giggle bubbled out of me.

I handed the knife back to Liya. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Spice Girls played in the background as we stared at the damage. There was no turning back now. My dad would hate it, but he wasn’t here and I had a business to run.

“After lunch, let’s look at wallpaper samples online.” My voice sounded stronger than I felt.

Liya took her lunch and in between customers, I reviewed more old surfing footage of Wyatt’s in case I could pull anything for his social media.

On my laptop screen, Wyatt carved and glided over the water, harnessing it like he was a god. He made it look so easy, like walking or breathing.

In the footage from last year, Wyatt paddled hard to catch a big wave. He hopped up and turned, carving into the surf—

And then he kicked his back foot out and fell off the board.

In the video, the crowd let out a collective groan of disappointment.

My eyes narrowed and I replayed the last ten seconds. Wyatt paddling hard, Wyatt snapping up, Wyatt carving into the surf, and then that weird kick.

That kick was unnatural. I’d seen him surf so many times, both in person and on video.

It settled in my stomach, heavy and uneasy.

Whether he realized it or not, Wyatt had bailed on purpose.