A LITTLE TWIST

  BE STILL

  TIA LOUISE

  CONTENTS

  A Little Twist

  Playlist

  Prologue

  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

  A Little Taste

  Chapter 1

  Make You Mine

  Prologue

  Books by Tia Louise

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Little Twist

  Copyright © TLM Productions LLC, 2023

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Cover design by Lori Jackson Design.

  Photography by Wander Aguiar.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author.

  Created with Vellum

  A LITTLE TWIST

  BY TIA LOUISE

  I never said I was engaged to Alex Stone (a.k.a., the richest man in Eureka)…

  My douchey ex just assumed I was, and I didn’t correct him.

  You see, I was having a moment.

  I was out of work, out of money, and Alex had just offered me a lifeline by hiring me to be his live-in nanny for a month.

  So when Drake the douche started going on about what a hot mess I am at my best friend’s wedding, I kind of let him believe we were a thing.

  I never said the word fiancé, and I definitely never expected Alex to play along.

  Alex Stone is one of those list-topping, billionaire businessmen-types.

  He’s controlled, formal, and never makes a bad decision.

  He’s also tall, dark, and brutally handsome, with smokey hazel eyes, wavy brown hair, and a bod that will melt your brain.

  (A detail I happen to know after accidentally catching him just out of the shower naked.)

  The plan is he’ll secretly be my fake fiancé for the night, no harm done.

  But when the douche stays longer than the wedding, our “engagement” stops being a secret.

  And when Alex decides there are things we should know how to do if we’re engaged, like making out and sleeping together, my lie really gets out of control.

  Because it’s one thing to be fake engaged to the hottest, richest man in town, who also happens to be your live-in boss.

  It’s a little twist to find yourself falling in love with him.

  (A LITTLE TWIST is a steamy small-town, single-dad/nanny romance with a fake engagement twist. No cheating. No cliffhangers.)

  PLAYLIST

  I Have a Dream - from “Mamma Mia!”

  The Steps - HAIM

  Forever - HAIM

  All the Small Things - blink-182

  Higher Ground - Red Hot Chili Peppers

  Paper Rings - Taylor Swift

  Fergalicious - Fergie, will.i.am

  Castle on a Cloud - Isabelle Allen

  About You - The 1975

  Not Strong Enough - boygenius, etc.

  Leaning on You - HAIM

  Fernando - ABBA

  Listen on Spotify (link)

  “But I found my family… I found the way home.”

  -Caroline B. Cooney

  For my readers, my friends, my daughters,

  and Mr. TL, may love surround you.

  PROLOGUE

  ALEX

  SIXTEEN YEARS AGO

  “Patricia, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Reverend Shepherd clasps my mother’s hand, smiling warmly into her eyes before moving to my dad. “Andrew, Gladys and I are praying for you all.”

  “Thank you, Jim.” My dad shakes the older man’s hand, his arm around my mom’s narrow shoulder as she clutches a cloth handkerchief to her nose.

  I’m standing between my older brother Aiden and my younger brother Adam in a navy suit that makes my neck itch, in front of a stinky flower arrangement.

  Stargazers, my mom called them when she lined us up in row. “What a lovely arrangement of stargazers,” she’d observed, her nose red from crying.

  Stinkgazers is more like it. They’re making the pressure in my head worse. Looking over my shoulder, I notice a narrow door with a green Exit sign above it, and I wonder if there’s any way I can get the hell out of here.

  Aiden’s jaw is fixed, and at twenty, he only has one year left at Annapolis, the US Naval Academy in Maryland. With his dark suit, short hair, and perfect posture, he already has the look of a future Marine, stoic and unflinching. I guess that’ll be me in three more years, when I graduate from high school and follow in his footsteps.

  Adam, by contrast, is dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and khakis. His brown hair is a little too long, and it curls around his ears in waves that are bleached caramel from spending all summer surfing.

  He’s doing his best to fight his tears, roughly wiping away any strays that make it onto his cheeks. But he’s only thirteen. He can still get away with crying.

  Not me. At fifteen, I’m a young man now. At least, that’s what Dad said when he’d helped me with my necktie. The implication being, men don’t cry. The only problem is when I see Pop lying in that casket, stone cold and unmoving, it pits my stomach and tightens my throat.

  He’s too thin. His skin is the wrong color, and he never wore suits. He said we had that in common. We’d rather be in our waders fishing in the brackish marsh.

  Even when he was so sick with cancer he couldn’t get out of bed, I’d sit beside him, and he’d close his eyes. He’d ask me if I could see the redfish swimming in the reeds. I’d hold his hand and say I could. He’d remind me how important it was to be patient, to wait for the fish to come to me, don’t rush them. Good things come to those who wait.

  Now he’s gone.

  I like to imagine he’s found the best fishing hole in heaven, and he’s hanging out with all of Jesus’s friends, who were also fishermen—as he liked to remind me when Mam-mam would give him a hard time for fishing on Sunday instead of going to God’s house. He’s probably up there swapping stories and comparing lures.

  Pop wouldn’t want me to be here trying not to cry. He’d want me to be out by the water, at our favorite spot, taking in the sunshine and smiling over our memories. He’d say you have to have the clouds, the overcast days, to catch the biggest fish. You don’t catch anything on sunny days.

  Reverend Shepherd has gone to the back of the room, and Aiden has joined my dad and our uncles around the casket. They’re going to carry it out of the church. Adam has his arm around Mom’s waist, and the two of them have moved closer to the aisle.

  I take a step back, in the direction of that door, as the organ music starts and the men reverently lift my grandfather’s casket off the stand. They take another step forward, and I take another step back. Again and again, we move until the entire group is at the top of the aisle, and my hand is on the cold metal barrier leading out of the small sanctuary.

  The minute I step out into the muggy afternoon, I start to run. First Presbyterian Church of Eureka, South Carolina, population 3,002, is on the side of town closest to the old neighborhoods, where my family lives. It was designed to be “walkable,” but my mom says it’s too hot and humid to walk to church in heels.

  I run the short distance to the house, and when I get inside, I toss my slick leather loafers in my bedroom, along with my stiff blazer and starched white shirt and tie. Slacks go next, and I snatch a pair of swim trunks off a pile of clean clothes in the corner I was supposed to put away.

  In less than ten minutes, I’m riding my bike through the palmettos, out to the closest body of water. Sticking to the dirt paths, my tires thump hollowly over small, wooden footbridges, splash in shallow creeks, and crunch over wet gravel.

  When I finally make it to the start of the little lagoon that leads out to the ocean, I abandon my bike and my Vans and take off on bare feet.

  In the shade of the Walter pines, it’s cooler. The air is still thick with briny moisture, but the pungent odor of lilies is finally out of my nose, replaced with the scent of pine straw and the ocean.

  I follow the familiar path as my mind fills with memories of Pop. I can see his calloused fingers attaching the fly to his line and sharing his old stories and wisdom.

/>   “The only place you find success coming before work is in the dictionary,” he once told me.

  He’d worked hard all his life as a contractor, but his true joys were his family, fishing, and the smoky bourbon he brewed in our family’s distillery.

  He’d just started teaching me how to make it. Looks like I’ll have to figure out the rest on my own. A hot tear lands on my cheek, and I didn’t realize I was crying. I only felt the knot between my shoulders, the ache at the base of my throat, the pain in my chest from longing for days I’ll never have again.

  The sun shines brightly past the edge of the trees, but I stop short of the water. I stay in the shadows, leaning my head against my forearm as more tears fall. I’m not ugly-crying. I’m just letting the emotion drain from my eyes, my own private memorial to the old man who was my best friend.

  Cicadas screech louder. The water ripples past, and I inhale a shaky breath. I’m finding calm when I hear a voice that stills my thoughts. It’s sweet and clear as a bell, and like a soothing balm, it quiets my sorrow.

  Swallowing a breath, I take a step closer, behind the black trunk of a massive live oak tree to get a better look, and what I see almost knocks me on my ass.

  The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen is floating on her back in the clear water. Her eyes are closed, and her dark hair floats around her like a mermaid. Only, she doesn’t have any clam shells, and my teenage dick jumps to life at the sight of tight, pink nipples. Shit.

  Reaching down, I try to calm my erection. It’s been happening at all kinds of unexpected and embarrassing times these days. I avert my eyes, forcing my brain to think of tobacco juice, stepping on a nail, failing algebra—anything to make my boner go away.

  I should go away, but she’s still singing the song I sort of recognize, and I can’t seem to move.

  “I believe in angels…” Her voice goes perfectly high, and it’s so pure, I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.

  I’m not at the little lagoon, I’m in freakin’ heaven. Glancing to the side, I don’t see Pop anywhere, so maybe it’s more of a teenage fantasy. I’ve found a beautiful, naked angel in the water singing like a siren.

  A splash draws my eyes involuntarily to the inlet. She’s on her stomach now, and her hands part the water in front of her as she swims. I can’t see her body anymore, thank God, and I’m doing my best to forget the sight of her perfectly small breasts and tight nipples.

  Dammit. I’ll never get rid of my woody this way, but I’m scared if I move, she’ll see me. Still, I’ve got to get out of here.

  I take one step, and of course, it’s the wrong one. The ground gives way with the sharp crack of branches, and I slide around the oak tree I’d been hugging, splashing into the shallow water at the base.

  The girl behind me screams, and I squeeze my eyes shut, not moving from where my stomach is pressed to the tree. My feet are in the water, and I listen as she scampers into the brush.

  “Who’s there?” Her voice is sharp. “What are you, some kind of Peeping Tom?”

  Busted. I release the tree and take a careful step backwards, doing my best not to fall. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”

  When I hear her stomping in my direction, I turn carefully. Thankfully, she’s clothed now, but the dress she pulled on clings to her wet body in a way that makes my stomach tight. Her wet hair hangs in thick locks over her chest, and when our eyes meet, it’s a punch to the stomach.

  Cass Dixon moved to Eureka to live with her aunt Carol at the beginning of the summer. I noticed her the first day she arrived at the Pak-n-Save, and she stopped me in my tracks.

  She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen with long, dark hair and almond-shaped blue eyes. She’s tall for a girl, but she has an easy way of moving, like a dancer.

  “Hey, Cass.” I’m doing my best to be casual, but it’s the first time we’ve ever spoken.

  “What are you doing out here, Alex Stone?” Her hands go to her hips, and she’s sassy. She tilts her head to the side. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a funeral?”

  “I ran away.”

  “How come?”

  Shrugging, I look down, shame and guilt twisting together into a knot in my stomach. “I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to remember my grandpa like he always was. Not like… that.”

  Her full lips press together, and she nods, walking over to sit on a log moldering away at the water’s edge. “I get that.”

  Her feet are in the water, and I walk over to sit beside her. “You do?”

  We’re not looking at each other. We’re just sitting side by side, watching the tiny ripples of water rolling in and around the cove.

  Her shoulders move up and down. “I’ve never lost anybody I can remember, but I think if I did, I wouldn’t want to see them dead.”

  The word stings a little, but she’s right. “It was all wrong. The flowers and the music, even his clothes—it wasn’t anything he would’ve liked.”

  Our feet move like white fish in the currents. The soft ripple of water surrounds us, and insect noises fill the air. It’s a comforting place, and being here feels safe, familiar. Sitting beside Cass feels familiar, even if we’ve never talked before. She’s easy, like an old soul I’ve always known.

  “What was he like?” Her voice is gentle.

  My hands are in my lap, and I think about the old man. “He liked to fish and tell stories. He built houses and made whiskey. He asked me what I thought about things, and he really listened.”

  It sounds dumb, but with Aiden being the oldest, he always talks to Dad. Adam is the youngest, and everybody talks to him. Pop was the one who made a point of talking to me, like it was important to him to know how I felt about things.

  A slim hand covers mine, and my eyes flash to where she’s touching me. “I’m sorry he died.”

  Glancing up, I study her pretty face. “You have a really good voice.”

  She smiles, full lips parting over straight white teeth, and a pinpoint dimple is at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks. I love to sing.”

  “What was that song?”

  “‘I Have a Dream.’ It’s from the Broadway musical Mamma Mia.” She tilts her head, taking her hand from mine. “Technically, it’s an Abba song, but I love Broadway best.”

  “Have you ever been?”

  She shakes her head. “Maybe one day I’ll go. I’d love to see Phantom or Wicked… I wish I’d gotten to see West Side Story, but it’s gone now.”

  Nodding, I’m not sure how to respond. I’ve never known anybody who knew so much about Broadway shows. “Why are you living with your aunt?” Her brow furrows, and I quickly explain. “I was just wondering what happened to your parents.”

  “Oh.” Her voice goes quiet again. “My mom couldn’t take care of us anymore, so Aunt Carol asked if I wanted to come stay with her.”

  “Us?”

  “My little sister Jemima and me.”

  Again, I’m not sure what to say. I’ve never known anybody who didn’t live with their parents. “I’m sorry.”

  Her chin lifts, and she smiles. “It’s okay. Some people aren’t cut out to be parents, I guess. That’s what Carol said. As much as they try, they can’t get it together. Or keep it together.” She adds the last part under her breath. “Doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me. Or even that she doesn’t like me.”