Had To Be You

  HAD TO BE YOU

  Juliet Chatham

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2014 by Juliet Chatham

  HAD TO BE YOU by Juliet Chatham

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Media Group, LLC.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by Swoon Romance

  Cover designed by Morgan Media

  “To summers, small towns, and first loves.”

  HAD TO BE YOU

  Juliet Chatham

  PROLOGUE

  Moonlight framed the inky patch of sky out the port window, illuminating silhouettes of pale shadows. Overhead, halyards clapped softly in the breeze, keeping time with the creak of lines as the boat shifted to gently rock in the waves.

  Tiny thrills shivered through her body, thrumming with warm electricity. One moment it felt like she was flying, and in the next, melting away into a dream. His body was hot and hard, his kisses so soft and deep. Her lips parted in a quiet moan as his tongue slipped past, tangling with hers in a delicious slow slide, the surrounding ocean luminous and shimmering in the quiet summer night.

  Her breath quickened, the wind like a whisper of cool silk against heated skin as his mouth moved down her neck, his tongue tracing the hollow of her throat. She trembled with longing on every soft caress as his skilled hands curved around her hips, smoothing warm paths down the small of her back. They found their rhythm, the ebb and flow, bodies moving together in perfect waves of passion, a hot undercurrent of lust running beneath this deep well of feeling and emotion.

  Mindlessly, breathlessly, she gasped his name in a hot, hungry plea. He responded with a soft groan, a jolt of pure desire.

  She bit her lip to mute her cry, clutching at his broad shoulders, grasping at the taut muscles in his arms, anything to hold onto as she began to feel weaker and weaker against that relentless ache of need. Each roll and push of his hips was a pure revelation of sensation, filling her again and again. Her body arched, breasts crushed against the muscled wall of his chest.

  The pleasure was indescribable, waves of ecstasy building in intensity. Heart beats raced between shallow breaths and quiet gasps as she tightened around him. Soft, thrilling declarations of love burned in his kisses, murmured into her neck, whispered past her ear as he stroked her hair. Yet he never had to say it at all; she felt it everywhere. This feeling, this exquisite, endless ache, wasn’t just him inside her body, but inside her heart as well, bursting with the diamond brilliance of the starlit sky.

  After, feeling thoroughly sated yet somehow still weak from want, she settled into his arms. She could feel the thunderous pounding of his heartbeat gradually soften and slow through his warm skin as the boat bumped against the mooring, floating on an aimless current. A sleepy smile lifted the corner of her lips as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “You’re going to marry me someday,” he said in his usual joking way, though with a husky edge to it. “Just so you know.”

  “I’ll consider myself forewarned,” she replied and closed her eyes.

  They couldn’t stay here too long. She would have to go soon. But right now her whole world consisted of this place of pure contentment and perfect happiness, wrapped inside a fleeting moment in time.

  ONE

  Sunset warmed the city skyline even as the smoky edges of dusk crept in, nudging the afternoon out of the way. People lingered on their front stoops to chat with neighbors, and sidewalk cafés and eateries buzzed with early crowds eager to drink up the remains of the day.

  As a city transit bus roared and rumbled down the block, Rory heard the buzz of her cell phone. She brought it to her ear without a pause in her step, conscious of the busy foot traffic all about.

  Her voice lilted up in amusement, having anticipated the call.

  “Hello?”

  “What if they hate it?”

  She rolled her eyes with a knowing grin. “They are not going to hate it, Jonathan. They’re going to love it.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “Because I love it,” she assured him. “And I have extremely good taste. That’s how.”

  She could sense him relax on the other end of the line, having had practice talking him off the ledge quite a few times in these past several months. His new play would be premiering for a limited-run summer theatre production in Connecticut next week, and then, if all went well, opening off-Broadway in the fall.

  “Where are you right now?”

  “On my way over to the Westside Grill.”

  He didn’t bother to hide a sigh. “Oh, right. I forgot you were going out after work. What are you doing later?”

  “Later?” Rory spied the dark green awning of the restaurant in the distance. “Well, I have to be at work early in the morning. I was just planning on going to bed.”

  “Ah, see, that is a coincidence. Because I just happen to have a bed.”

  “That is a coincidence,” she agreed, the hint of a smile shadowing her lips.

  “So, I’ll meet you there?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she replied. “Don’t start without me.”

  Rory ended the call outside the restaurant, keeping her phone securely in hand. Passing by a mirrored column in the entranceway, she hesitated for a quick appraisal. Weeks overdue for a salon visit, her light brown hair was blown-out in smooth layers that now fell far past her shoulders, and since her schedule lately barely allowed time for meals, even her slimmest black pencil skirt was loose at the waist. She lifted one foot to adjust the thin strap on her sling back pumps before approaching the hostess podium.

  “Hi.” It appeared almost all the patio tables were full, but she assumed a hopeful tone anyway. “Anything outside?”

  “It’s about an hour wait right now,” the girl replied. “Would you like to put your name in?”

  “That’s okay,” she said, unsure if Jill would be up for the wait in her current condition. “I’m meeting a friend. She should be here any minute. I’ll take whatever you have.”

  The hostess motioned for a waitress, who, in turn, led the way to one of the cozy round-tops in the pub area. Rory smiled, thanking her as she slid into a seat and placed her phone on the table.

  In the next moment, she spotted Jill breeze in through the doors. The petite blonde wore a dotted sundress that gently hugged the perfect round swell of her belly and her tiny, tanned legs were as slim as ever (though now she wore flat canvas kicks instead of sky-high platform pumps).

  Jill was all baby—Rory couldn’t tell that she had gained any noticeable weight anywhere else, except maybe a bit in her face. Yet it only made her lightly flushed cheeks more round and soft, brightening her hazel green eyes. She was, in a word, glowing.

  Of course, she would never, ever use that word when speaking directly to her. What kind of friend would she be if she didn’t know better than that?

  “Hey!”

  “Hi there,” Jill said as she dropped into the chair across from her, slightly out of breath. Her blond curls, always perfectly in place, cascaded down her back.

  The waitress appeared immediately, hovering over the expectant mother with a bright smil
e. “Can I get you anything, hon?”

  Rory noticed a lot of people seemed to use a rather patronizing tone around Jill these days. She also knew it drove her nuts.

  “Oh, yes, please.” She pushed her soft curls out of her eyes as she glanced up at her. “I’d like a margarita on the rocks.”

  The smile abruptly vanished. “Um…” The waitress frowned and fumbled, obviously flustered. “With, ah—with or without salt?”

  “With, please. Thank you.”

  She immediately turned heel to leave without another word. Jill tilted her head, watching her depart as her grin took on a sly curve. Rory waited a beat before glancing discreetly over her shoulder. As suspected, the waitress marched directly up to some other staff people at the bar and began talking in hushed tones, motioning towards their table.

  She turned back with a shake of her head.

  “You’re so bad.”

  “What? I’ve had to give up nearly every one of my vices,” Jill responded, her voice rising in defense. “Let me have my fun in whatever small ways I can.”

  “And horrifying people is fun?”

  Jill paused before answering matter-of-factly. “Yeah, it kinda is.” Then her forehead creased into a troubled frown. “I mean, think about it—I basically went from aimless, drunken college student to a brief internship and then straight into impending motherhood! Need I remind you this wasn’t exactly my plan? I never got to realize my inner single, successful young urban professional, or even fully explore my ironic hipster phase! And any chance I had at being the next Carrie Bradshaw is long gone.”

  “So there is a bright spot, then.”

  “Seriously, I’m done. Stick a fork in me. Hang up a sign—‘Jill Marie Feeney Once Lived Here.’”

  The waitress came back, avoiding eye contact, mouth set in a thin line of reproof as she placed the cocktail on the table.

  “Thanks.” Jill moved it aside and glanced back up to call after her. “Oh, and whenever you get a minute, could I get a cranberry juice and soda water, please?”

  The waitress turned back with a confused frown. “Okay.”

  Jill slid the drink across the table.

  “I tell you every time,” Rory murmured, stirring it once. “No salt.” She paused to take a sip. “How was your doctor’s appointment?”

  “Fine. Everything looks good. And I’m not scheduled right now for another ultrasound, but if I am for any reason? I think I’m going to find out. Trevor doesn’t want to…but you know what?” Jill waved her hand dismissively. “Screw him. He’s not the one who has another person using his bladder as a chaise lounge.”

  The waitress, of course, picked that very moment to return with her drink.

  “Thank you.” Jill flashed her sweetest smile. She then gave Rory a comical look.

  Making a mental note to leave an extra big tip, Rory just shook her head again.

  On the outside, they probably couldn’t appear to be more different, but being seated alphabetically next to each other for almost all of elementary and middle school revealed they were often of a similar mind. Back then, it got them into trouble more often than not, but built a friendship to stand the test of time. Rory was glad to have her back in her everyday life since Trevor’s temporary job transfer to New York.

  “Do you think he’s hoping for a boy?”

  “Actually, no,” Jill replied. “He’d be happy either way. He’s into it, reading all these books and even buying things for the baby when he’s on the road.” She took a sip of her juice and soda water. “But if it turns out to be a girl? Let’s just hope she gets all his pretty.”

  Rory grinned in amusement. She had to admit she had her doubts about Trevor when Jill first got involved with him back in college, finding him to be a bit too good-looking and far too pleased with himself. But it was clear now that Jill was the only woman in the world for him, as she was once very familiar with all the signs.

  “It must be hard for him to be away right now, with as much as he travels for work,” she offered.

  “It is. That’s actually why I plan to spend my maternity leave at home, at my mom’s. It will be just as easy for him to come there, if he’s traveling. And he loves the beach. At least we timed the vacation part well, for the summer.”

  Rory employed some restraint in her sarcasm. “Really? You think this is going to be comparable to a vacation? Really, Jill?”

  “You know, I see your lips moving,” she said, shaking her long blond curls in denial. “But all I hear is la-la-la.”

  Laughing, Rory quickly tucked some nagging regrets away in the back of her mind. It had been a long time since she herself visited home. Over the holidays this year she’d opted to go away skiing with Jonathan instead.

  “I wish we could go for Memorial Day weekend,” Jill continued. “We always did when we were in Boston, but this year it turns out his parents are coming to stay with us because they’ve never been to New York. So, instead of relaxing and kicking back, I’ll be eight months pregnant and traipsing all over the city to go sightseeing with millions of tourists.” The tone of her voice went flat and dull. “As you can see, I can hardly contain my joy.”

  Rory only smiled in vague amusement, still preoccupied with her thoughts of a certain little seaside town. It was a bit like breaking a protected seal, and she never knew what might slip out if she wasn’t careful. Then her cell phone beckoned once again, redirecting her attention.

  “It’s a text from my friend Sarah,” she explained once she had it in hand. “She’s going to try an online dating service and wants some feedback on her profile.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  Rory took a deep breath.

  “Bitter, disillusioned twenty-something female still carrying the emotional and physical baggage of a failed relationship with ex-boyfriend, not to mention an extra ten—okay, twelve—pounds, seeks kind, decent, honest and reliable man, if such a thing still exists in this city cesspool of lazy, self-absorbed, unfaithful, two-timing, miserable lying bastards.”

  “Wouldn’t both two-timing and unfaithful be kind of redundant?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. And she probably has to pay per word, so…” She quickly tapped out a reply.

  “How have you been?” Jill’s voice softened as she tilted her head to appraise her. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you in weeks.”

  “I know. Sorry about that.” Rory placed her phone aside. “My life’s been even more crazy than usual. I’ve had tons of meetings lately, been working nights, weekends, museum charity events, fashion events, you name it.”

  “How is the PR business these days?”

  “Still spinning away,” she said. “And since Jonathan’s place is right downtown, I’ve actually been crashing there most nights, living out of my bag. Otherwise, we’d probably never see each other.”

  “Which means you haven’t been home to your apartment?” Jill watched her carefully. “Not even to get your mail?”

  “No, Sarah has been getting my mail for me,” Rory explained, narrowing her eyes. “Why? What is it?”

  “Oh, nothing.” She attempted to shrug it off, playing with the straw in her drink before a small sigh slipped out. “It’s just—well, it’s just that I got my invitation this week.”

  “Your invitation to what?”

  Jill hesitantly lifted her gaze.

  “The wedding.”

  Rory only frowned, perplexed. “What wed—”

  And then her heart stopped.

  She leaned forward slightly in her seat to stare in near disbelief. “You mean Matt’s wedding?”

  Jill only nodded.

  Slowly, Rory sat back, the blood rushing through her ears, pounding through her chest, all those aortic chambers pumping in frantic overdrive to make up for the unsettling halt. It couldn’t be.

  “When is it?”

  “June 16th.”

  “This June?” she gasped in dismay, but quickly covered with a harsh, empty laugh. “What’s the rush? D
id he knock her up or something?”

  Jill only arched an eyebrow in warning.

  “Sorry,” Rory said, instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”

  Jill shifted in her seat, and then rested her hand on her small bubble of a belly.

  “They’ve been engaged for months, Rory. I mean, you had to know this day was coming, right?”

  “Yeah, of course,” she quickly replied, reassembling her broken pieces and trying to shove everything back down into place as she reached for her drink. “So, Matt O’Shea is the first of us to get married. Who would’ve figured, huh?”

  Jill only watched her from across the table without comment, and Rory promptly downed what was left of her margarita.

  ***

  Slumped against the mahogany-paneled wall of the elevator car, arms folded, she stared in silence at the patterns on the carpet floor.

  “Miss? I believe this may be your floor,” said the elderly woman next to her, rousing her from her thoughts.

  “Oh.” She glanced out to see the familiar gray-and-cream hallway and the shiny-leafed potted palm. “I guess it is.” She thanked the woman and stepped off just before the elevator door slid shut.

  Hesitating at the second door on the left, she lifted her hand to knock. It opened, and Jonathan waved her in as he spoke animatedly into his cell phone.

  Tall and lean, he wore a black t-shirt with slim dark jeans, his chestnut hair cut in perfect, short razor layers. He was one of the most talented and innovative playwrights to hit the New York stage in the last five years, and her job demanded that she always have an interest in the newest, hottest young thing on the scene. As it turned out, he returned that interest—only a little more behind-the-scenes.

  Wandering into the kitchen area of the spacious apartment, she dumped her bag on one of the slim modern barstools that surrounded the island countertop. Jonathan finally said his goodbyes and walked up behind her. Placing his phone down on the counter, he rested his hand on her waist and leaned down for a kiss. She offered her cheek.