The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen’s Cove Series Book 2)

I WAS WALKING home from the store that evening, thinking about the husky way Wyatt’s voice had sounded that morning in the surf shop, when I paused in front of the hair salon.

What was it that Div had said? You should cut your hair. Something shoulder length and choppy.

My fingers toyed with my ponytail, pulling it over my shoulder and inspecting it. The ends were fried from the sun and salt water. I glanced back at the hair salon, where the stylist was blow drying someone’s hair, and then at my reflection in the window.

My hair had always been long and straight. I only ever had the ends trimmed. I never had a teenage phase where I did something crazy. I had never cut my own bangs. I had never ruined it with cheap box dye and then cried on my bed all night about how bad it looked. I never did anything interesting with it.

It was time to try something new.

An hour later, I walked out of the salon with something shoulder length and choppy. I paused again at my reflection in the window, back straight and head held high with a little smile on my face. I bit my lip and sucked in a deep breath.

I looked good. Really good. Hot, even.

My stomach swooped. It was working. The store was doing better, I had been going on dates and kissing and surfing and placing orders for wallpaper with giant flowers on it, and now, I had this cute haircut. I felt more like Thérèse every day.

I had the urge to stop by Wyatt’s place and show him my haircut.

I shoved the thought out of my head. I’d show him tomorrow morning for our surf lesson.

I took one last glance at myself in the window before walking home to get ready for my date with myself.

“WELL, HELLO,” Avery said with a big smile as I stepped into The Arbutus. “Look at your hair! You look so chic.”

My eyes widened and I tugged the shorter ends. I kept touching my hair, expecting it to be long still. I couldn’t help beaming back at her.

She glanced behind me with a curious expression. “Is your dad here? I thought he was on Salt Spring still.”

“He is.” I only ever dined at The Arbutus with him. “Just me tonight.”

My face warmed as I glanced around the busy restaurant, filled with tables of couples, families, and friends, laughing and talking and reaching across the table and sharing dessert. I swallowed.

Wyatt had pressed on a sensitive spot. I’d never eaten in a restaurant by myself before. He knew how to push me one inch past my comfort zone. I glanced down at my outfit—a summer dress I had bought for my birthday last year and hadn’t worn. It was white linen with blue stripes and a V-neck. The white fabric brought out my tan, I had realized, standing in my bathroom at home, staring at myself. I had fumbled my way through eyeliner application, swiped on mascara, and rubbed a pretty pink lip balm onto my mouth. The necklace Avery had given me last year with the little blue stone hung around my neck.

Tonight, I felt pretty.

Avery led me to a table near the front window and I took a seat, placing my book on the table beside me.

“Does the owner always work as hostess?” I grinned at her as she slipped a menu in front of me.

“Only for very special customers.” She winked. “Wine?”

I nodded. “Yes, please. Surprise me.”

She smiled again and disappeared. My gaze swept around the restaurant again. I made eye contact with a man at another table and self-consciousness spiked in my gut. People were bound to notice I was alone. Did they think I was on a date with someone else, waiting for them? Would they think I got stood up? Would they think I was a loner?

I fiddled with my fingers, twisting and pressing on my bare nails before I forced myself to stop and laid them flat on my lap.

What would Wyatt say? He’d shrug and say, who cares what they think, bookworm? My mom would say the same thing. Thérèse would say something like, the power of the male gaze is restorative. I snorted to myself and took another glance around.

No one stared at me. Everyone had their own meals and conversations. I was the only one worrying.

My worry eased a fraction, and I opened my book.

Minutes later, Avery returned, set a wine glass in front of me and poured. “Veggie bowl?”

I paused. The veggie bowl was my standard order here. Always. Tonight wasn’t about routine, though.

I thought about the rest of my homework, Wyatt rasping the words against my skin in the dark, and I shivered. Tonight was about me. Tonight was about indulgence.

“Tonight, I’d like a bowl of pasta. A big one.” I nodded once. Yes. That was what I wanted. “With cheese, please.”

Avery lifted her eyebrows, scratching the order on a pad of paper. “And that is what you shall receive.” She glanced at me, that curious expression back on her face. “What made you cut your hair?”

I shrugged and touched it again. The ends were so much healthier and less tangled, and whatever products the stylist had used smelled incredible. Light, fresh, and pretty. “It was time for a change.”

“I love it. You look so cute. It’s so you.”

I shrugged again, smiling at the table. In my chest, a bubble machine spewed out fizzy, happy feelings.

“Something’s different about you.” Avery tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at me.

I bit my lip, self-consciousness rising in me, but forced myself to sit up straight. “What do you mean?”

“You just…” She hummed before shrugging. “You seem happier. I like it. Surfing must agree with you.”

She put a weird emphasis on the word surfing. Like the word surfing meant something else.

I pretended I didn’t notice.

“You must really like surfing.”

I rolled my eyes with a grin and she let out a loud laugh.

“Stop,” I told her, but couldn’t hide my grin.

“Emmett said he sees you two on the water a couple times a week while he’s out on his run.”

Each week, I spent more time with him than the last. We surfed almost every day, and he often dropped by the store to say hi to Liya and I. He brought us lunch on Saturdays at the farmer’s market. After surfing, we always got breakfast sandwiches at the truck.

I spent way more time with him than with anyone else. More than most friends would.

Almost like he was my boyfriend.

I nearly choked. Wyatt wasn’t my boyfriend. The thought was laughable. He was helping me become a hot girl so I could find a boyfriend.

“I’m helping him with his social media,” I told her with a shrug. “For Pacific Rim.”

“Right.” She nodded, eyes still narrowed. “And he’s teaching you to surf and become a hot girl.”

I gave her a tight smile and quick nod. “Mhm. Exactly.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, which isn’t much, I think he likes you.”

I stilled. The bubble machine in my chest sped up. “Why do you say that?”

“Same reason I told you at Div’s place. He doesn’t hang out with people, he just surfs. He’s kind of a loner, but people don’t realize that because he’s so hot.”

A laugh burst out of me. “He is really hot.”

“Also,” she leaned in closer to me, “if he doesn’t like you, how’d you get that hickey on your neck?”

I gasped and slapped a hand over the spot on my neck. Liya hadn’t said a word today, and neither did the hairstylist.

Oh my god. I had been walking around town with a hickey on my neck all day.

Oh my god. Elizabeth had stopped in the store today to pick a book up and her gaze had lingered on my neck. She had done a little wiggly dance. I thought she just had to use the washroom.

I slapped my forehead and my face burned with fire but before I could make an excuse—any excuse—Avery straightened up with a big smile.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll put your order in. See you in a bit.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and I opened my book, staring at the page but seeing nothing. My face was a bright red stop sign.

And then I started laughing. I laughed into my wine glass as I took a big swallow of it. Who was this woman I had become, who chopped off her hair and walked around with hickeys on her neck?

I focused on my book, sipping my wine and turning the pages until my food arrived. Avery had delivered a bowl that looked like two servings. The tomato flavor burst on my tongue and the savory cheese made me hum with delight. Mmmm, fat, salt, and flavor. I worked at the enormous bowl of pasta until I couldn’t possibly eat any more. Another glass of wine appeared in front of me, and when I glanced up from my book, half the restaurant was empty and it was dark outside.

My phone buzzed and I read Wyatt’s name on the screen.

Took this of you today. Thought you should see it.

It was a picture of me in the bookstore through the front window, shelving a book near the window and laughing about something with Liya. A soft smile on my face as I reached up to place the book in its right spot.

I looked happy.

Avery pointed at my bowl and I slipped the phone away. “Are you done? Can I pack this up?”

I nodded and sighed. “I’m so full. That was amazing.”

“Dessert?”

“Of course.”

She laughed and whisked the plate away before returning with a square of tiramisu. I dove in with enthusiasm.

This was fun, I realized, grinning to myself. The second I stopped caring if people were staring at me, I started enjoying myself.

And so what if they stared at me? They’d see Hannah Nielsen with a cute haircut, wearing a pretty dress that made her look like she might have boobs, eating an indulgent dessert and reading a book. Maybe they’d think, Hannah Nielsen’s living a good life.

Thérèse would say something like, they would be lucky to stare at you, ‘annah. I took another bite of the tiramisu and my eyes rolled back in my head.

My skin prickled and I opened my eyes. Wyatt towered over the table, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were dark, gaze heavy on me, and he frowned like I had offended him.

It was the same expression he had given me in my bedroom.

“You cut your hair.” He leaned down, resting his palms on the table, still watching me with that intense look.

All I could do was nod. My fork hovered in the air. My pulse pounded in my ears. My mouth might have hung open. What was—

He lowered his mouth to mine and the fork clattered onto the table.

The warmth of his lips and the quiet in my head—that’s all I noticed. No music, laughter, clink of glasses, or creak of footsteps on the old heritage floors. Wyatt’s mouth was hot, firm, and demanding, seeking and coaxing mine open, tongue slipping against the seam of my mouth.

He sucked on my tongue and I might have moaned.

In a restaurant.

Kissing Wyatt.

I’m pretty sure I moaned. Especially when his hand came to my hair and he fisted it, tilting my head back to open me up more. A ripple of something hot and languid moved down my body to my core and I throbbed. His other hand brushed my jaw, gentle and light, nothing like his mouth.

He smelled like the ocean. Fresh and clean with something masculine underneath.

He nipped my bottom lip but cut my tiny gasp off by laving the sting with his tongue. He tasted me, explored my mouth, using me to sooth something inside of him.

I’m not sure how long he kissed me before he broke away and rested his forehead on mine. We were both breathing hard, gaze locked on each other. I ached between my legs and pressed my thighs together.

“Don’t practice with Beck.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper. His gaze locked on mine. “You want to practice? You practice with me.”

I jerked a nod.

“And Hannah?”

“Mmm?” I could barely speak.

“Don’t forget the rest of your homework.” His breath tickled my mouth.

My core clenched around nothing and I nodded. He dropped another quick kiss on my mouth before straightening up and walking back out the front door of the restaurant while I watched, stunned.

Out of the corner of my eye, someone at another table fanned herself.

I fell back to earth and glanced around the restaurant. Except for the music, it was silent. Everyone stared at either me or the door with open mouths.

Avery stood at the bar with bright eyes and a look that said busted. That’s what I thought, she mouthed.

Twenty minutes later, I flew through my front door, tossed my bag down, and headed straight to my bedroom. I slammed the door, whipped my dress off and crawled under the covers.

I thought about Wyatt while I did my homework.

I thought about his fascinating mouth, the way it ticked up at the corner, the way he watched me with that easy grin. The playful, roguish expression he shot me as he teased me. The hungry, furious look he wore tonight.

I should have been embarrassed at the sigh that came out of my mouth when my fingers found the damp spot between my legs. I wasn’t, though. I was wet. Of course I was wet. I had been wet since the second Wyatt’s mouth took mine. I had been aching, twitchy, and wound the entire way home. I had never been so frustrated or needy until him.

My fingers moved fast, swirling over my clit, and in my head, I replayed Wyatt kissing me in the restaurant. I replayed Wyatt here in my bedroom, groaning against me and tugging my hair. How hard he was when I rubbed against him. Electricity shot through my limbs, and my fingers moved fast over my wetness.

Soaked. I was soaked. I had the bizarre desire to tell Wyatt, for him to be proud of me, and I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but then I remembered kissing him, being kissed by him, and I let out a whimpery moan.

I thought about what it would be like for Wyatt to lay in the bed with me. For him to watch me do this. For his fingers to work my clit. For him to sink into me, for my core to stretch around his hard length. For his demanding, needy mouth to take another part of my body, to make me writhe and grind on his mouth.

My back arched and I cried out as I came, thinking of Wyatt the entire time. Lights exploded in my vision despite my eyes being clenched closed. My core pulsed around emptiness but it wasn’t enough. It was the strongest orgasm I had ever had, and it still wasn’t enough.

I blew a long breath out, relaxing into the pillows.

A different woman, indeed.