With You: A Queensbay Small Town Romance (The Queensbay Series Book 5) Read online

  With You

  A Queensbay Romance

  Drea Stein

  Book #5 Tory & Colby

  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

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  A Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Colby Reynolds had known good days and he’d known bad days. And then there had been the truly terrible days, like when he’d been betrayed by the man who had been like a father to him. The day after that, he’d woken up drunk in a cheap motel in Panama City, not knowing how he’d gotten there, not knowing the name of who he’d been with and what had happened in the past twenty-four hours, only that he was pretty sure he’d never be allowed back at Sandy’s Crab shack on the beach there.

  So when he woke on this day, twelve hundred miles and twelve years from then, he was thankful that it was a day, he was alive and that he had a pretty lady in the bed next to him. The lady, his Princess, grunted, rolled over and flopped an ear as she opened one eye. Princess was not a morning dog, he thought as he got a whiff of doggy breath and wet kiss on his nose.

  “You are not supposed to be in bed,” he told her but she woofed and ignored him. He got up, pulled on his running shorts and a t-shirt. Princess, sensing something interesting, lifted her mix of black lab and retriever butt off the bed and headed downstairs, now ready to start the day.

  They had the beach to themselves this morning, the sun rising over Long Island Sound, making the waves twinkle and sparkle. To their east stood the headland, where the old lighthouse speared up, guarding the bluff. To the west, around another rocky headland, was the entrance to Queensbay harbor and the village that overlooked it.

  They headed to the east and Princess wanted to play so he tossed the Frisbee more than ran, but she was happy and worn out by the time they were done. It meant he only had time enough for a quick shower before heading to work. It felt good, driving along the coast road, watching the sun shimmer across the surface of the water.

  Still, something was putting his mood off, a mounting sense of disquiet he’d been feeling lately. Wondering, if this indeed was it. It wasn’t a bad it, he thought, as he drove through the impossibly charming little town of Queensbay. It was just that it was it.

  Problem was, there had been a whole string of good enough days for a while, almost a year now. Back then he had looked up from his spreadsheets and realized he didn’t need to check them every hour. Business, if not booming, was predictable with a steady growth rate. That more and more clients were seeking him out instead of the other way around.

  It should have been a good feeling. It was he assumed, what success felt like. Except it felt, day in and day out, just like regular life. He’d been pushing so hard, working so diligently toward this point he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he was here. And while Princess was a swell mutt, she wasn’t the most engaging of dinner companions. Still, she was better than Kayla, his ex. She’d only been interested in herself and in what Colby could do for her. And when he refused to play the game of fame and fortune, she’d made it clear that she was done with him.

  It had hurt, to know he had been so clearly used. For what? His connections to the rich and famous? The world of high speed car racing was full of bright lights, fast cars and people with more money than sense. For a while, Colby had bought into it all – the scene, the adrenaline rush of winning, of being adored, the women who draped themselves over you while the press snapped pictures. At the end of the day, though, fame and fortune were fickle. It was hard to keep winning time and time out. It had been almost impossible to stay on top and Colby had never regretted his decision to take a step back to evaluate what really mattered.

  It had been money. He had seen that clearly. Money drove everything and there were clearly better and more reliable ways to make it than to chance it driving a car around a track against a dozen other guys who wanted the same thing. So that’s when he had changed course – pivoted – those fancy MBAs called it. He’d taken what he was really good at – fixing cars – and his natural charm – and become a car salesman. And made more money in a three months than he’d made in three years chasing trophies.

  It had been the right decision, he knew it. His business was successful and though he didn’t miss the bright lights and cheering crowds – the lows of losing – he was missing something. Colby pushed these unsettling thoughts away as he pulled into the driveway of his shop. Classic Autosports. Stopped a moment to take it all in. Large plate glass windows gave a view to a showroom where gleaming concoctions of metal, leather, and chrome rested under the bright lights.

  Beyond the showroom, he caught glimpses of sparks from blow torches as work went on in the garage bays. This was his, all his, the result of hard work, a little bit of luck and some of his God-given charm. He knew which parent to thank for that, but didn’t think he’d ever get the chance. He parked precisely in his reserved spot and steeled himself for another day of perfectly good enough. And that’s when things started to go south.

  He walked into the office and discovered his top of the line, Italian made coffee maker, one of his most prized possessions, had shorted out, leaving him caffeine-less. Shandy, his office manager, blithely informed him that a repair man couldn’t be out for a week, and if he tried to fix it himself he would most likely void the warranty.

  Oh, and on top of that she was quitting. Effective immediately. Something about getting a job as a stand-in on a movie set. Her big break, she called it, as she packed her bag, leaving a tornado-like mess behind. He peeled off as much cash as he had handy, wished her good luck and waved her off with more relief than regret. Shandy had been easy on the eyes but couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the proper order of the alphabet, how to transfer a phone call or when not to hit reply all to an email.

  Now of course, he’d have to answer the phones himself until he found a replacement. Maybe nice and easy hadn’t been so bad after all.

  He’d resigned himself to a cup of coffee from the break room machine, one of those one cup at a tim
e things, with all the different flavors lined up in a rack. He hated it, but the customers and the guys who worked for him seemed addicted to it. It wasn’t a smooth cup of Italian espresso but it did the trick and he felt mildly less peeved as he made his way to his desk and contemplated the stack of papers on it.

  He looked at the message Shandy had left on top, weighted down with a die-cast model of a 1976 Ford Thunderbird that he’d built himself. He swore, running a hand through his close-cropped light brown hair as he read what she’d written there, in all caps: ALFIE LANDAU NEEDS TO SPEAK WITH YOU RIGHT AWAY.

  Colby crumpled the slip of paper with Alfie’s number on it and threw it in the waste basket. He knew the number by heart, just as he knew why Alfie was calling. He had recently agreed to purchase a beautiful 1964 Jaguar convertible, in veritable mint condition and Colby knew Alfie usually second-guessed himself. That was until Colby praised his brilliance and good taste over an expensive steak and an even more expensive bottle of wine. At which point, Alfie would write Colby a check on the spot and all was well.

  Alfie was one of his best clients, high maintenance but reliable. And since Colby had paid for the Jaguar upfront, snagging it before another avid collector swooped in, this quarter’s profit margin relied heavily on Alfie writing that check. There was no getting out of giving Alfie the VIP treatment.

  He was going to tell Shandy to call Alfie back, tell him he was traveling but would love to take him to dinner at the Osprey Arms real soon. Then he remembered he’d have to do it himself and swore again.

  Colby leaned back in his chair. It was leather and dark wood, like most of the office, a décor meant to conjure up an image of taste and sophistication. He would have preferred something a little more modern and streamlined but he had to admit, most of the clients seemed perfectly happy here, especially after he produced a bottle of single malt from a specially built bar cabinet and offered a toast to their good taste. Selling classic cars was selling a fantasy, no doubt about it and most who came here were ready to buy into the whole thing. It was a far cry from how he’d grown up but he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

  He leaned forward, took a sip of his coffee and decided that the stack of paperwork would have to wait. He glanced over the calendar on his computer, assessing the work schedule for today. They were backed up, no way could they get it all done, not even if they hustled into overtime. Nope they’d need an extra hand in there. Colby couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face as he realized what it meant.

  He stepped out onto the floor of the showroom and breathed deep. It smelled of oiled leather, rubber tires and motor oil, a combination that never failed to please him.

  Still the real magic happened in the garage space behind the showroom. More thick glass separated the show room from the garage, so there was a full view of the work stations. Colby had wanted all the guys – and truth be told, it was almost always men – who came in to get a glimpse at the alchemy and skill that went into turning these old hunks of metal into the gleaming chrome and enamel beauties they coveted.

  Colby entered the locker room, a decent sized space where the mechanics could keep a change of clothes, shower and throw their dirty clothes into a laundry basket. He popped open his locker and saw his grease stained Carhartt coverall hanging there. Washing never quite got it clean, but it didn’t matter. He stripped off his dress slacks, boots, blazer and button down and stepped into the work clothes, pulling a beat up pair of boots out of the bottom of the locker and shoving his feet into them.

  Perhaps the day was starting to look up, he thought, as he headed over to a 1974 Corvette with its hood up and engine half out. This one was a total rebuild, a messy, dirty job, just the kind he liked. He took a moment, breathing it all in before he got started.

  #

  Colby was knee-deep in refurbishing a grimy carburetor for the ’Vette. It was messy and complicated, but he was loving it. He didn’t often get to work on the cars he bought anymore, since he now had to spend his time hunting them down, dealing with buyers and sellers, doing all the things it took to run a business rather than actually doing the work the business was known for.

  When one of the guys pushed the swinging glass door of the garage open and called his name—twice—with a loud, insistent voice pitched to rise above the blaring noise of the one and only local country station, he was so involved in what he was doing that he hit his head on the shelf above the counter where he was working.

  “You got a call,” Joe told him with his usual verbal precision.

  “Who is it?” he asked, rubbing his head where he had hit, forgetting he had oil-streaked hands. He’d neglected to wear gloves and knew it would be hell to scrub off the grime, but it had felt good to get his hands dirty.

  “Mrs. Eleanor DeWitt,” Joe said. His disapproval was silent but deadly.

  “Tell her I’m traveling.” It had worked on Alfie Landau; he could only hope it would work on Eleanor, too.

  “She said she’s tried your cell phone and that you’re not picking up.”

  “Tell her I’m traveling,” Colby repeated. His phone, face down on the countertop next to him, had vibrated with calls on and off throughout the day, but he had ignored them.

  Joe just glared at him. Joe had worked for him the longest, maybe knew him the best. Also knew that Eleanor had been calling persistently for the last few weeks and that Colby was just as persistently dodging her.

  “She wants to have dinner with you on Thursday,” Joe said.

  Colby sighed and this time, resisted the urge to rub his grease-covered hands through his hair in frustration.

  “Fine. Tell her I can make lunch,” he said. Eleanor wasn’t going to let this go. He’d have to deal with her head on, as much as he hated the idea.

  “Ok,” Joe said and disappeared for a moment before coming back into the garage. Things would have been fine then, Colby thought. He’d dodged two major crises and was having fun working, getting his hands dirty, making the guys listen to his country music station. Of course just before closing time it had to happen. There was a grinding of metal against metal, a sound that registered dimly in the back of Colby’s mind and then more acutely when there was a loud crash followed by an agonizing howl of pain.

  Colby turned quickly and ran over to where Joe was curled up on the floor, his hand clutched tightly to him. It had to be one of those days.

  Chapter 2

  Tory Somers’ day started off according to plan, just as expected. She had woken up to her alarm and the launching of dawn light, which peeked through the sheer curtains that covered her bedroom window. She rose from bed, saw that the sun was pushing its way above the hills to the east of the harbor, suffusing the sky with a pinkish hue and making the water of Queensbay Harbor sparkle as if the day was just waiting for something magical to happen. Too bad she didn’t believe in magic, knew instead the sparkle was simply a combination of water and light, a prism effect in action.

  She stretched, taking a look around her bedroom. It hadn’t gotten old, the feeling that, finally, she was in her own place, not her childhood bedroom in her parents’ charming center hall Colonial, but her very own apartment with her very own living room, one and a half bathrooms, a kitchenette and a balcony with a view of the water. Where she was free to come and go as she pleased. It had made sense to live with her parents for a while, after the break up, to save money while she focused on her career. Just as now it made sense to be on her own. All part of her plan.

  She relished every minute of her freedom as she headed out for her daily run, showered, ate breakfast and made a cup of coffee to go. She left her apartment in the Annex, next to Queensbay’s one and only hotel, the Osprey Arms, to go to work. The Annex was a brick building with white trim and a porch that ran around the entire first floor. Soon it would house retail shops, with conference rooms planned for the second floor. The third floor held apartments, only two occupied at the moment, and one belonged all to her. She gave a little wave to her window
as she headed across the parking lot to where her most prized possession, her hunter green Mini Cooper, awaited her.

  She placed the cardboard box she’d been carrying, her briefcase and her bag in the passenger seat and hopped in, revving the engine and opening the window. It was spring, technically, since that was what the calendar said, and she caught sight of pale yellow buds on a forsythia bush, as sure a sign as any that winter was well and truly over. Still, spring came slowly to the New England coast, and she was glad she had worn a blazer over her blouse and stylish-enough-for-work jeans.

  The streets of Queensbay Village were empty this early, the old-fashioned iron and gaslight streetlamps flicking off as she drove past them. The only signs of life were at the Golden Pear, her favorite deli. There, through the large plate glass windows that looked into the shop, she could see villagers were already lined up for their coffee and muffins. Tory thought about stopping, but she wanted to get into work early.

  The rest of the village was sleepy-looking in the morning light, the sun just starting to light up the charming mix of styles, from the Colonial era clapboard-sided houses and shops, to the more modern Victorians with their fanciful trim work and bright colors. Queensbay, like many a town along the New England coast, had seen its fortunes rise and fall, just like the tides in the harbor it sat watch over. Now, once again, its fortune was on the rise, and many of the buildings which had fallen into disrepair had been refurbished and refinished. The whole town glowed in anticipation of what could be.

  Tory loved it, loved being here. Ok, so it hadn’t quite been her plan to return to her hometown after college, or stay so long, but she had found that plans needed to be flexible. Lately, though, Tory was starting to feel as if her plan needed a little updating. She was over what had happened, had moved on, but still career-wise, she had been working her current job for almost five years, an eternity these days, and while things were good, she had started to feel like her life needed a bit of a jumpstart. She didn’t want to think about leaving Queensbay, but she couldn’t deny the fact that maybe it was time to look elsewhere.