Amie Denman - Under The Boardwalk

Everyone’s counting on him

With the sudden death of his father, Jack Hamilton finds himself running the family amusement park, Starlight Point. His first job? Balance the books, and that means raising the rent for vendors like baker Augusta Murphy.

Gus won’t accept the new contract...not without a fight. She rallies the other vendors and sets out to negotiate with Jack. At least, she tries. How do you play hardball with a man who’s charming and kind and still grieving? Gus needs to figure it out fast, because the closer she gets to Jack, the more she risks losing everything.

Fifteen seconds went by. Or twenty. It was hard to keep track.

Her feelings were like the cotton candy they sold in bags on the midway. Delicious but delicate. They would melt away in a second.

She released him and stepped back, pushing him away with light fingers.

“What are you doing, Jack?”

“Unless I’m dreaming, that was a hug. And it was the best part of my day.”

“We can’t,” she said.

“We were.”

She held her hand up in a stop-the-car gesture. “This was a mistake. It’s late. We’re both giddy and tired.”

“Didn’t feel like a mistake to me,” Jack said.

“Hugging the boss is a mistake for me. Tomorrow morning you’re the man who owns all this and I’m just a vendor for the summer.”

“So?”

She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but vendors aren’t exactly in the first-class cabins on your ship.”

Dear Reader,

Thank you for picking up Under the Boardwalk. I hope you enjoy it! This book is dear to my heart because I love amusement parks, the sound of a carousel and summer love. During four summers back in college, I worked at an amusement park just like Starlight Point. While there, I grew up, had fun, indulged my crazy passion for roller coasters and met the love of my life. I still live near the park that inspired Starlight Point, and my husband and I enjoy going there with our children. I’m happy they love roller coasters, too!

I hope reading this book evokes a happy memory of sunshine, carousels and cake. I plan to bring you more stories from Starlight Point in the near future. In the meantime, please visit me at amiedenman.com, find me on Twitter, @amiedenman, or email me at author@amiedenman.com.

Happy reading,

Amie Denman

Under the Boardwalk

Amie Denman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

AMIE DENMAN lives in a small town in her native Ohio with her husband and sons. She is the author of seven published contemporary romances—all of which take place by the water. Reading books was her favorite escape as a child, and growing up four houses away from the community library encouraged her addiction. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys gardening, biking and going for walks with her husband. The helpless victim of a lifetime of curiosity, she’s been known to chase fire trucks on her bicycle just to see what’s going on. Amie believes that everything is fun: especially roller coasters, wedding cake and falling in love. You can find Amie on Twitter, @amiedenman.

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To my sons, Joseph and David, who love sunshine and roller coasters as much as I do.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

GUS BACKED HER van down the narrow kitchen driveway at Bay Pavilion Banquet Hall. She was blocking an older SUV parked illegally along the waterfront, but she didn’t have time to feel guilty about it. The wedding reception was two hours away, just enough time to stack the cake and pipe it to perfection.

She pulled on her apron, an embroidered cake with a glossy bride and groom covering the top half. Two small bells stitched to the upper straps jingled when she walked.

The early-evening sun slanted off her van’s elaborate paint job. Every square inch was pink. Aunt Augusta’s Bakery swirled in gold metallic lettering across an ornate wedding cake. When she’d pulled in with the new van a few weeks ago, her employees had raised their eyebrows and clamped their mouths shut. All except her aunt Augusta. She had snapped a picture with her cell phone and beamed it to her entire list of contacts.

Gus loaded three round cakes on a steel cart, propped open the double side doors to the reception room with her foot and rolled through. When she hurried back for the other two layers, a long shadow darkened the blacktop on the other side of the open van door.

“Cake coming through,” she called out. “Make way or suffer the consequences.”

She expected to see a catering staffer as she folded the door shut and swung around the side of the van. Instead, a tall man wearing a half wet-suit stood there dripping onto the asphalt. He clutched an oar as if he were preparing to vanquish the mighty pink van.

Gus looked him over from head to toe. Dark brown hair shoved back from his face. Deep brown eyes. High forehead. An amazing four inches taller than her five foot eleven. Slim, athletic build. Huge ticked-off frown.

She stopped the cart, stepped in front of it and grabbed a rubber spatula from her apron pocket. Holding the cooking utensil in front of her, she spread her feet and locked eyes with the wet-suit man.

His lips twitched and his shoulders relaxed.

“I’m pretty good with this spatula,” Gus said, her small grin matching his. “You should save yourself and run while you have the chance.”

“I’m thinking,” he said.

“About putting down the oar and holding those kitchen doors for me?”

“Nope. About the last time I ran away from a woman wielding a spoon.”

“It’s not a spoon,” she said, twirling the spatula in a figure eight.

“My mother’s was,” he said, stepping back a few inches but still clutching his oar. “A wooden spoon. And she was looking to teach me a lesson with it.”

“Cooking lesson?”

He laughed. “I wish. My mother can’t cook. It was more of a manners lesson. I’d made fun of my grandmother’s ugly couch, and my mother made sure I couldn’t sit on it for a week.”

“I like your mother already,” Gus said, “and I’m sure you have excellent manners as a result of her instruction.” She tucked the spatula back in her pocket, and the movement made the wedding bells on her apron jingle. “Does this mean you plan to hold the doors for me?”

He eyed the cake painted on the side of the van and then his gaze swung to the cart behind her.

“Does it come with free cake?”

“Sorry. This one’s for the bride and groom.”