Take a Bow Read online

  Take A Bow

  Libby Waterford

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, organizations, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used entirely fictitiously.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2022 by Libby Waterford

  All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Also by Libby Waterford

  Sawyer’s Cove: The Reboot

  Take Two

  Take a Bow

  Take It All

  * * *

  Never a Bride

  Can’t Help Falling in Love

  Can’t Make You Love Me

  Can’t Fight This Feeling

  Can’t Hurry Love

  * * *

  Weston Reunion

  Flirting with Her Professor

  Her Reunion Fling

  Falling for Her Ex

  * * *

  Love Unlocked

  * * *

  Steamy Shorts: A Kissed by Romance Anthology

  For everyone who makes libraries wonderful places to be, learn, and grow.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  “What in the world would we do without our libraries?”

  Katharine Hepburn

  Chapter One

  Sometimes being the stranger in town is the only way to be seen.

  Honey, I'm a stranger in my own limousine.

  “Stranger,” The Nash Speedwell Experience

  “In five hundred feet, turn left on Dandelion Road.”

  Nash peered out the window of his pickup, looking for anything in the dense trees that could possibly be considered a road.

  “Turn left on Dandelion Road.“

  “There is no road,” Nash told the insistent mechanical voice of his maps app. “Just a bunch of trees. Wait—”

  A break in the green showed a dirt road and rusty signpost almost hidden by the glossy leaves of a maple sapling. Nash made the sharp turn and nosed the truck onto the road—more of a track, really. He winced as the truck hit a deep depression and the entire vehicle jolted. He patted the dash reassuringly. It might have been a rental, but he’d bonded with the silver beast on the drive to Misty Harbor from the Boston airport.

  “Almost there.”

  Warner, the owner of the rental house, had said the place was at the top of a rise, and the track was indeed quickly rising in elevation. Nash shifted the truck into low gear and pushed the gas pedal down. The truck had no trouble with the climb, and suddenly the hill hit its apex. The road became a paved driveway for a two-story wood frame house, light gray with white trim, save for the cheerful bright blue front door.

  Nash parked right in front and climbed out. He dug the keys Warner had given him out of his jeans' pocket, but instead of heading for the door, he walked around the side, passing tidy beds full of shrubs and flowers just beginning to fade as summer got ready to melt into fall.

  The back flagstone patio was populated with generic weatherproof outdoor furniture. But the furniture didn’t matter. The view was what had drawn Nash to this property when he was looking for somewhere to hang his hat while shooting the new episodes of Sawyer’s Cove, the television show that had launched his career, and it didn’t disappoint.

  From this vantage point, the Atlantic Ocean spread out to the horizon like a dark gray blanket someone had spilled glitter all over. The late August sun lit everything up in Technicolor, from the green of the trees surrounding the house to the vivid blue sky. The house not only had a spectacular view, it also boasted access to the coastline. He spotted the entrance to a rocky trail that led from the patio down to a private stretch of beach.

  Misty Harbor’s public beach and harbor were a little way north, hidden from Nash’s eyeline behind a jutting spit of land. This spot was still technically Misty Harbor, but the beach belonged to the owners of the dozen or so houses on this side of town.

  Nash itched to explore, but the groceries sweating in the bed of the truck forced him to do the responsible thing. He reluctantly turned away from the ocean and dutifully unloaded the food into the kitchen—open floor plan, gray granite, and stainless steel everything—then grabbed his suitcase. He surveyed the rest of the ground-floor rooms—bathroom, living room-slash-dining room with French doors onto the patio. Upstairs were two bedrooms and another bath. He stashed his bag in the bedroom with the best view, washed his hands, then went back to the truck for the final item he’d brought with him—his guitar.

  He set the case with his beloved Gibson on the dining room table and literally scratched his head. His brown hair was getting a little floppy, but he’d wait to cut it until he’d met with the Sawyer’s Cove producers and discussed his character’s look for the show.

  Now what?

  He’d planned his trip to Misty Harbor weeks ago, thinking it would be smart to get settled before heading into what was going to be weeks of back-to-back shoots. They were filming all ten episodes of the limited series revival roughly in order, but, due to scheduling, there would be some overlap. As a principal on the show, he was going to be needed for most of the ten-week shoot.

  He could work on his lines for the scripts he’d already been given, though the first table read with the entire cast wasn’t for another ten days. He’d had some idea he’d hang out with Jay, the friend he never got to spend enough time with, but Jay and his girlfriend-slash-co-star Cami had flown to Paris to celebrate their birthdays and recharge before the show started production. Cami was also producing the series, and Nash knew she’d been working herself to the bone all summer. Selena Echeveria, the showrunner, was coming to town in a few days, but she was currently still in Los Angeles, working on things from there. The last he’d heard from Ariel and Crosby, the other members of the core Sawyer’s Cove cast, they were going to be arriving shortly before the table read.

  Nash glanced at the guitar guiltily. He knew what he should be spending his afternoon doing, but he figured another few hours of procrastination wouldn’t matter. He turned his back on the guitar case, grabbed the truck keys, and locked the door behind him. He’d looked forward to the peace and quiet of Misty Harbor, the privacy and beauty of this out-of-the-way beach house. But now all he wanted was company. And he had some idea where to find the best company he knew.

  Mimi dropped a piece of paper on Pauline’s desk.

  Her co-worker and friend looked up, elegant eyebrows drawn together. “Are you going to tell me why you’re interrupting me, or do I have to guess?”

  “Can you proofread this press release? I’ve read it ten times, and I’m going cross-eyed.” Mimi paced back and forth in the small office on the second floor of the Misty Harbor Library, while Pauline bent her head over the printed sheet she’d been given. Her friend kept her dark hair short, and she looked more like a model with her swan’s neck and perfectly smooth dark brown skin than a small-town librarian who specialized in 19th century town history.

  But Mimi knew people weren’t always what they appeared to be. She paused at the window and looked down at the park next door to the library, recognizing a few of the locals enjoying the warm afternoon weather. Her gaze shifted, and she took in her reflection in the glass, her own curly hair coming out of the hasty bun she’d tied it up in earlier, the expression on her face unusually pinched. She turned away from the window and resumed pacing, feeling itchy in her skin. She pulled her red cardigan around her middle, buttoning and unbuttoning it compulsively.

  “You don’t need this comma,” Pauline said, circling the offending punctuation with her pencil. “And I think you used the British spelling of ‘traveling.’”

  “Thanks. You are a gem,” Mimi said, scooping up the sheet.

  “I know,” Pauline said lightly. “But you didn’t come to bother me over a comma. What’s going on?”

  “That’s unusually perceptive of you. I must be a mess.” She resisted the urge to unbutton her cardigan yet again.

  Pauline laughed. “I do have some social skills, you know.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Lucky for you, I do know what you mean,” Pauline said wryly.

  Mimi chewed on her bottom lip. “It’s just the fundraiser—I need to knock it out of the park. We’re starting Mr. Russell’s scholarship fund, and I’m worried no one will donate. And the Sawyer’s Cove production is starting soon, and it’s going to disrupt things in town for weeks. Months, even.”

/>   “I thought you were all about that show? You’ve been the one rolling out the red carpet for them since it was announced.”

  “True,” Mimi admitted. She’d been an early cheerleader of the reboot and convinced the library board to let the producers use it as a location for some scenes. Her own brother was one of the stars—she wanted it to be a success, and she knew it would do great things for the town. “I guess I’m just nervous.”

  She wasn’t only nervous about the success of the annual library fundraiser. Every day that brought them closer to the start of the Sawyer’s Cove production brought her one day closer to seeing a certain member of the cast. She had no business being nervous about that, but she was. The rub was, she couldn’t tell anyone to get reassurance everything was going to be okay. Not her mom, who she could talk to about anything and everything, with the very big exception of her love life. Not Pauline, who wasn’t particularly interested in the nuances of interpersonal relationships. And definitely not her brother Jay, who, even if he hadn’t been out of town with his girlfriend taking a well-deserved vacation, was the last person she could talk to about this particular quandary.

  “The fundraiser is going to be an unqualified success,” Pauline declared. “And it’s not for over a month. You’re going to burn out if you don’t calm down about it. And everyone keeps saying the benefits of the Sawyer’s Cove production outweigh the drawbacks. So, we’ll just have to put up with it when it gets started.”

  Mimi allowed herself to take a deep breath as Pauline’s reasonable tone washed over her.

  “Okay. You’re right. I need to chill.”

  “Precisely,” Pauline said, waving toward the door. “And you need to let me get back to work. The deadline for this grant application looms.”

  “I won’t bug you anymore. Today, at least.” Mimi paused in the doorway. “We on for the show this weekend?”

  “I think so.” Pauline had become her frequent companion to the weekend music shows at Jay’s bar, The Cove. Mimi made a hobby of booking acts for the bar, but she hadn’t booked this one, a folk-rock group that had approached The Cove directly. Even so, she was looking forward to checking them out. She loved live music, and Pauline was fun to go with and never cared if Mimi left with someone else. “Is it okay if Colin comes?”

  “Colin Bailey?” The librarian assistant who worked part-time at the front desk checking out books and helping patrons, and part-time for his dad’s landscaping business was the only “Colin” she knew. She’d known him since he was born, in fact, and even babysat him for a few years back in the day.

  “Yeah. He told me he’s always wanted to check out the music at The Cove but his friends aren’t interested, so I said he could come with us. If that’s okay.”

  “Sure.” Mimi examined Pauline’s pretty face for any clue this was something besides a friendly co-worker get-together, but she gave nothing away. Mimi was aware Pauline was asexual and hetero-romantic, but that didn’t mean Colin knew. “Like as friends?”

  “Of course,” Pauline said. “Now go back to work so I can go back to work. Please.”

  “Right, okay, off to my office.” She closed the door firmly, feeling mildly guilty about taking up her friend’s time when she was the one who needed to get her shit together.

  There was no reason to be so stressed over the return of Sawyer’s Cove. So what if Nash Speedwell was going to be among the group of actors and crew descending on the town? So what if he’d specifically texted her several times over the past six weeks to remind her he was coming and he was looking forward to seeing her? So what if the last time he’d contacted her, he’d said he might arrive in town as early as today? Those texts were simply glorified booty calls with one of the most desirable men in America. And since that’s all Mimi had ever wanted or expected out of their acquaintance, there was seriously nothing to be nervous about.

  She walked briskly back to her closet-sized office located off the employee break room. She didn’t have time for a personal emotional crisis. She had work to do.

  To show exactly how not bothered she was about Nash’s imminent appearance, she decided to put on his album. She clicked the play button on the music app on her computer and started streaming The Nash Speedwell Experience’s self-titled debut.

  If she had a vinyl copy, she probably would have worn it out from the number of times she’d listened to the album since it came out last year. She’d fallen in love with the poppy alternative sound, with its heavy country influences. Well, “fallen in love” was a strong phrase. She really liked the entire album, from the radio-friendly tracks to the couple of slow burns tacked on to the end. Nash sang each song in his mellow, soulful baritone, with an occasional twang that always made her insides clench.

  He was as expressive a singer as he was an actor, and Mimi always felt as if he was singing directly to her. Of course, every fangirl and fanboy who’d been smitten with Nash since he played skinny-armed Will O’Connell on Sawyer’s Cove, or more recently been exposed to him as a brawny-armed hero on the historical epic Hawk and Bone probably felt the same way.

  She hadn’t seen him since the album came out; he’d just finished recording it the last time he swung through Misty Harbor to spend a couple of days hanging with Jay before he went to Europe for a multi-month shoot. At the time, he’d been hesitant about putting the thing out in the world. He shouldn’t have been. The album rocked, and it had gotten good reviews in the trades. Strangely, he hadn’t done much promotion for it. In fact, unless you were a diehard Nash Speedwell groupie, you probably wouldn’t have heard about The Nash Speedwell Experience at all.

  No matter how much she liked the album, Mimi firmly declined to be labeled a Nash Speedwell groupie. She supposed when viewed from a certain angle, their interactions could be interpreted as those between a famous actor and devoted fan.

  But no—actors didn’t text groupies. They didn’t make a point to see them whenever they were in town.

  On the other hand, whatever had happened between her and Nash in the past didn’t comfortably fit into any relationship box. They’d never dated. They didn’t talk on the phone. They weren’t pen pals.

  They didn’t fuck in silence and then ignore each other the rest of the time. No, they talked. But the talking was always a prelude to something physical happening, and the post-coital conversation was usually abbreviated, since Nash was always going somewhere, heading to a shoot, or back to his home base in L.A.

  He occasionally mentioned wanting to spend more time in Misty Harbor, but he never did, and Mimi was glad. He was a vivid part of her fantasy life, and a much smaller part of her real life. She didn’t need him to spend more time in Misty Harbor—she had enough of him those handfuls of times he’d ended up in her bed. In between, she could always watch his shows, or listen to the album if she needed a Nash Speedwell fix.

  She corrected the two errors Pauline had pointed out, then sent the press release to her contact at the local newspaper. They’d already sold about half the fundraiser tickets, and she hoped a little more publicity would help sell the rest.

  Her favorite of Nash’s songs, “Stranger,” started playing, and she kicked up the volume, singing along under her breath as she rooted around the bottom file drawer in her desk, looking for last year’s fundraiser program. She needed to update it for this year and get it to the printer soon. Nash was singing about tumbleweeds and limousines, and she was so lost in the music and her task, she jumped when the door to her office cracked open.