It All Began with a Note

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

H.M. SHANDER

It All Began with a Note

Published by H.M. Shander

Copyright 2019 H.M. Shander

It All Began with a Note is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locals, are entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored, in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior written consent of the author of this work. She may be contacted directly at hmshander@gmail.com, subject line ‘Permission Requested’

www.hmshander.com

Cover Design: GET COVERS

Editing: PWA & IDIM Editorial

Proofreading: Krista @ KD Proofreading

Shander, H.M., 1975—It All Began with a Note

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Sneak Peek – It All Began with a Mai-Tai

Sneak Peek – It All Began with a Wedding

Dear Reader

Other Books by H.M. Shander

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Chapter One

I pronounced it slowly and deliberately, breaking it down into its syllables—zee-watt-an-eh-oh. Zihuatanejo. It sounded idyllic and relaxing, a place with fragrant florals and an ocean that went on for miles. The perfect place to recharge and reflect on the state of my life.

Surveying the magnificent view from the balcony high above the resort, I made mental plans to explore the pools and restaurants right after a hearty breakfast and a lengthy nap on the beach. But first, I scrawled out a note to my best friend Camille, the one I’d convinced only forty-eight hours ago how desperately we needed a girls’ vacation. And now we were three thousand miles from home, with no work, and no one to answer to. It was heavenly.

Each exhaled breath pushed out the crappy, wintery air and each long inhale filled my lungs with warm, salty ocean air that held more promises than a child begging her parents for a puppy.

I reread the note to Camille.

Hey lazybones,

If you get this after 10, I’m hanging out on the beach, waiting for you to show up.

Get your butt down here and don’t forget your sunscreen.

T-bird

Good enough. I folded it in half and slipped it under her door, wondering exactly what time she’d eventually wake up and come find me. The beach called my name, and had been since I’d checked in, and it was time to make friends with the sand and surf.

The resort was much bigger on the ground level than it appeared from my balcony, and it took a fair bit of navigating to find the stairs I’d spotted that led to the beach. From my room, the light beige sand was deserted, and I understood why. Given the hidden entrance, no one would be able to find it, it was like a game of hide-and-seek. There were no signs to direct me. However, after passing by the adults-only pool, another pool with a swim-up bar, and another bar already lined with adults ready to start their vacation, I found the coveted stairs I’d spied from my room on the twenty-sixth floor and descended.

Palm leaves covered the narrow space, leaving it cool and breezy; no doubt a welcome reprieve from the heat for most tourists, but not me. It was -26ºC when I left home yesterday, and the resort said today would hit +32ºC. Bring it on. I could stand to lose the frostiness and thaw out.

My feet hit the beach and instantly a smile burst across my face. The powdery sand wrapped around my feet as I sank into its welcoming heat.

I walked, slowly and purposefully, over to a vacant lounge chair and dragged another to park beside me. This was where I’d planned on hanging out for the day. I tossed my bag of day essentials—sunscreen for my freckled, white Canadian skin, a couple of water bottles, my phone—I planned on making all my limited friends back home jealous with my Insta-worthy pics—and one of three novels I’d packed. The bag fell with a thud onto Camille’s chair, and I draped my blue-and-white striped towel over the foot of my lounger.

Sunscreen rubbed in, floppy hat and sunglasses on, I sat cross-legged on the cushioned spot, taking in the million-dollar view and inhaling the relaxing and intoxicating scent of ocean air.

Bye-bye, city stress.

Hello, paradise.

Endless ocean stretched out ahead, the deep sapphire matching the imagined blue of my dreams. Morning sunlight highlighted the island across the bay. Jet surfers hummed in the distance, cheers and screams punctuating the air as they bounced over the waves. A boat pulling a brave, or borderline crazy, parasailor slowed just enough to let their dangling feet touch the water. Yep, everyone in the vicinity was having a good time, living for adventure, and here I sat, taking it all in from the safety of my chaise lounge.

Yes, this was the life. For the next ten days, I was going to max out on my sunshine, get my vitamin D the natural way, and try my best to forget about my boring life back home. The co-workers who took great pleasure in throwing me under the bus. The kicked-out ex who could take his infidelity elsewhere. The new job with new people and new challenges. I shuddered. This trip was about finding myself, having a helluva good time, and connecting with Camille. A quick glance to my phone, which I promised to not be checking all the time, and it was almost ten. Where the hell was she?

I sent her a text.

You can sleep on the beach. Come join me. The view is to die for.

I stretched out my pasty-white legs, crossing them at the ankle, and snapped a pic of the sand, my toes and the waves. So cliché, but whatever. I’ll retake the picture later in the week when I’ve gotten one of the spa pedicures and there’s a decent start of a tan. That’ll be fun.

Leaning back, I breathed in the salty air and allowed the rays of golden sunshine to warm me up and thaw me out, melting away all the frostiness inside as I closed my eyes. The waves gently rolled against the shoreline; the sounds so soothing it could’ve put me to sleep. Instead, I listened to the murmurs of the people behind me, the kids splashing in the pools, and the soft squishing of someone’s feet in the sand.

For a breath it was just quiet. A perfectly welcome relief on my weary and mentally worn out self. A dark shadow covered me and not the kind that came with the clouds, as there hadn’t been any. I sensed him before I dared open my eyes. With a sharp inhale of air, I stared at the pair of toned and sexy legs beside me, slowly allowing my gaze to roam upwards over a pair of dark swim shorts, up a white T-shirt, and setting on the tanned, handsome face taking me all in.

T-bird, I presume? There was a slight accent on the tip of his tongue, at once charming and intoxicating.

Oh crap. Had my note to Camille gone under the wrong door?

Chapter Two

May I? The man in a plain white tee and blue board shorts pointed to the lounger beside me.

I’m saving that for someone.

He scanned the beach and smiled. It was an alluring smile, a little tipped on the one side and showcased a deep dimple on his left cheek. Appealing and downright sexy. Fair enough.

His form was nice, like he worked out enough to take care of himself but not so much that he was egotistical about it and devoted all his waking hours to the gym. However, he sported more colour than me, had a head of dark wavy hair, and the start of a sexy five-o’clock shadow that started a few days back. The kind where guys don’t care if they shave or not, yet somehow it still looks good. Wraparound shades prevented me from taking in his eyes. Damn. Those were the heart and soul.

A moment later, I blinked away my stares as he set another chair beside me, a nice respectable distance away, yet still close enough to talk without yelling.

So, T-bird, he said in a lilting accent I couldn’t place. Not New York-ish, but close. I’m going to be honest. I’ve never received a note like that.

Well, that note was intended for someone else. I glanced around, craning my neck to see if it was a joke Camille was playing on me. Little Miss Sleepyhead was nowhere to be found. Where was she?

To the mystery note accepter, I raised my perfectly shaped eyebrow at him, thankful I had them done the day before I’d left. Everything had been waxed that morning. Everything. My lip, my underarms, my legs, and yes, I’d gotten an introduction to bikini waxing. Suffice it to say, I’ll leave that alone and chalk it up to a what-was-I-thinking moment. Pretty sure the esthetician knew I wasn’t coming back. You’ve never received a note like that? Really? Sarcasm rolled off my tongue. I didn’t believe that at all.

I had to come and check out who this T-bird was, and surprise, you are the only one on the beach.

Which was true. Unbelievably odd. I know, isn’t it crazy? I sat up and crossed my legs like a yoga master. It was the most comfortable position to sit in. Maybe not the most ladylike, but I didn’t care. How are there so few people down here?

The beach was almost ours alone, aside from a young couple making themselves at home in a cabana farther down the beach. I turned my gaze away. It was too early in the morning and a little too out in the open for that. I preferred my PDAs to be a little more refined and contained, and most definitely undercover.

It gets busier towards the end of the day, when the heat wanes. By supper, there’ll be no available seats.

Well, that’s good. Hate to think everyone comes here for the pool. Stay home if that’s the case. I’d much rather be in the ocean, pushed around by waves. Even hearing the waves lap against the shoreline had a calming effect. Been here long?

Got in two days ago.

So … he wasn’t from my area at all. WestJet from Edmonton only flew here on Saturdays and Wednesdays. Where are you from? I tried to penetrate the sunglasses and look into his eyes, imagining they were dark like his hair. Or maybe more exotic, like a mossy green. It would fit with his accent.

Portland.

Ah, I’ve been there when I was younger. We drove to Astoria and saw Mikey’s house. Seeing the house from one of my favourite childhood movies was the highlight of that trip. Astoria had been one of the places we visited, but there had been others, just not as memorable. Oregon had been quite the drive from my hometown of Edmonton, but road trips were always fun with my family.

That grin of his widened. "Portland, Maine. Other side of the country."

What were people from Maine called? East Coasters? New Englanders? Not that it mattered. Nice. I’ve never been there. Having lived in Edmonton all my life, of the limited places I’ve traveled, Maine was not on the list of places I’d seen. That was too far a drive.

Where’re you from? He perched his feet on the lounger and dusted the sand from them. No, wait, let me guess.

I kept my focus on the water, not wanting to give away any kind of clue. Camille said I was like an open book. However, sensing his gaze travelling up and down my body, I turned to make weak eye contact, pushing my own sunglasses up a bit to hide my eyes.

Dark hair but pale skin. Hasn’t seen true sunshine since the fall.

A smirk edged on my lips. Wow. That narrows it down to a lot of places north of Mexico.

True. He gave his whiskery chin a scratch. You have an accent though, so it’s throwing me.

I have an accent? It was crazy enough that I started to laugh. I had zero accent. British people, they had accents. People from the deep South did too. I lived in Northern Canada. There were no accents there.

Sure do. It’s slight. Very … Canadian.

Nice guess. I focused on him, hoping he couldn’t see my gaze trailing over his strong jawline.

Didn’t you know Canadians have accents? You all sound different to us Americans. I worked in Toronto for a bit, and trust me, you all have an accent.

And those from Maine don’t?

Ah, maybe we do. I don’t notice mine as much as I notice yours. However, I’m originally from Boston and those accents I recognize.

Well, that explained his entrancing accent; one I could easily listen to all day long. If he blabbed on about the stocks and bonds and weather, it would be music to my ears just listening to the way the words rolled off his tongue.

By the way, I’m Jon. He extended his hand. But you can call me lazybones if you prefer.

I shook his hand. Firm, but not too much so. Jessica, I blurted out, momentarily ashamed for not revealing my real name. Whatever. It’s not like I was going home with this guy. As soon as the playboy was done with me, he’d find another. Just as well. I’m not into one-night stands or short-lived romances. I wanted the satisfaction of falling so hard I couldn’t imagine another living soul being so perfect. A dream to be sure, as it so rarely happens. Except to my parents.

Jessica, it’s a pleasure to meet you. He stretched out on his chair. Mind if I stay a bit?

Not my beach. But I said it with a smile. I wasn’t a bitch. Not always, anyway. I grabbed my phone, wondering where the hell Camille was. I sent her another text and a moment later, it pinged back.

Hey. Met someone late last night. Going to be a while.

When? I’d dropped her off at her hotel room late last night after we had a welcoming drink in the bar. And what about Trey?

Eh … I need to think about him, but not now. I want to have fun. Take a note from my playbook. Live a little. Find yourself a guy or two or three. Go home satisfied and relaxed.

I threw a glance at the good-looking guy beside me. Yeah, not an option. At least for me. Instead my gaze travelled to my bag where my book resided. That was more like it.

I typed back, Can we at least meet up for supper?

Already booked us reservations at Flora.

That was the Mexican a la carte restaurant on the resort. We were allowed to book there twice a week. The menu looked delicious, even if it was totally outside my level of comfort. Great. When?

Seven. L8R.

And that was the end of that. I was on my own until dinner. Sigh. I tucked my phone into the book I’d painstakingly cut a phone-sized hole in and set it on the edge of my chaise. No way would someone think to steal my copy of Clan of the Cave Bear.

So, Jessica, tell me, what do you do for a living?

A little forward, but nothing to set off warning bells. I’m between jobs. Start a new one in two weeks.

Doing?

Dental hygiene sounded so boring. Who wants to know that I scrub teeth all day long? I loved it, and I loved that my patients left after a visit with clean and healthy teeth, but it’s not a sexy job in the least. I could’ve lied and said anything. Instead, defeated, I told the truth before I could conjure up a more romantic-sounding job.

"That’s