Capturing You
Maple Grove
Book 1
Katana Collins
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Date of Publication: 12/16/14
ISBN:
ASIN:
Word Count: 72,000
Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde
Book Description:
After discovering she's infertile, Lydia Ryder has all but convinced herself that she doesn't need children or a family to be happy. All she needs is her camera, her passport, and a damn good manicure. And maybe, maybe a sexy male travel companion. But when her job as a magazine photographer lands her in the small town of Maple Grove, NH, a precocious ten year old and her single father barge into Lydia's life, turning what she thinks she wants onto its head. In this town full of happily ever afters, Lydia finds herself wishing for things she had sworn off long ago...
When Cameron Tripp's wife passed away from heart disease, he thought he'd never find love again. He certainly never would have expected a woman like Lydia Ryder to waltz into his life and awaken his dormant heart and libido. But despite his better judgment, Cam finds himself drawn to the vivacious and argumentative outsider. He quickly learns that, like him, she knows all about misplaced trust, heartbreak, and how quickly a family can fall apart if you let it.
Prologue
The
edge of the heavy card stock bit into Lydia Ryder's palm as she gripped the
pamphlets. Numbness crept up her body, beginning with her toes until it nearly
swallowed her.
“There
are alternatives when and if you're ready to be a mother. Premature ovarian
failure doesn't necessarily mean you can't have children. There are plenty of
options. In vitro, adoption... ” Dr. Seaver's voice faded into the recesses of
Lydia's mind. Even though the doctor only stood only a few feet away, it may as
well have been miles.
Lydia
stared, hypnotized by the pamphlet in her hand. Coping with Infertility...
She
wasn’t even thirty years old, too focused on her photojournalism career to
consider a serious relationship, much less a family. Hell, she didn't even know
if she wanted children, and yet here she was—with nature making the
choice for her.
“Depression
can be very common in the wake of a discovery like this. I'm referring you to a
therapist—someone you can talk to. And in the meantime, we'll start you on estrogen
therapy. You'll feel a lot better once your hormones are balanced. Lydia...are
you listening?”
She
jumped at the weight of Dr. Seaver's palm on her shoulder. With rapid fire
blinks, she raised her gaze to the gynecologist. “Yes. Yes, I'm listening.
Thank you, Dr. Seaver.”
She
pushed off of the exam table, hiking her leather camera bag and laptop case
onto her shoulder and draping her blazer over an arm. Taking the prescriptions
the doctor held out, Lydia tucked it into her purse along with the folded
pamphlet.
There was another few minutes of
chatting, but she could barely focus enough to listen. It was as though she was
submerged in water, straining to hear those above her.
When she left the building, the roar of New York City traffic was like white noise, as comforting as the sound of waves crashing or crickets chirping.
When she left the building, the roar of New York City traffic was like white noise, as comforting as the sound of waves crashing or crickets chirping.
The
prescriptions and pamphlet—merely three pieces of paper—weighed heavy in her
purse. It was a boulder on her shoulder. Moisture welled in her eyes, the tears
burning like acid, but she blinked them back. She would not mourn. She would
not cry over something she never had and didn't know she even wanted.
With
a glance at her watch, she felt the relief that she wasn't yet late for Noah
Tripp's press conference. She passed by a Newsstand off of Hudson, that
horrible article that her name was now attached to sat front and center,
nestled between People and Us Weekly. Noah Blue: Hot Actor, Cold Heart. She
cringed at the cover; at the differences between the portrait she took—a smiling
Noah against a simple white backdrop, paralleled against the dingy, dark photo
that the ghost writer found of him drunk at a club.
It
was her first ever mainstream magazine article. She understood why the Daily
View wanted one of their veterans ghosting her. But did they have to so
utterly botch her article? Not to mention the fact that they used off the
record information. By the time Lydia had read the new copy, the article
had already gone to print and it was too late. The ghost writer claimed that it
would be their word against Noah's.
She
pushed on, ignoring that queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. To make
matters worse, a rival magazine, City Star, saw the Noah Blue article
and liked it so much that they offered her a full time job.
She
hadn't said no, but she also hadn't said yes. Gotcha journalism and TMZ
reporting was the last thing she had expected her life to become when she
graduated with her BFA in photography and writing. Her throat tightened, sweat
forming beneath her button down shirt with June's hot sun beating down on her.
But now? These medical bills were going to add up if she didn't get on a better
insurance plan. And how often did photographers get the opportunity for
salaried jobs with paid vacation and sick days? It was a good opportunity; even
if she only did it for a short time to pay off some bills. Lydia pushed her
eyes to the ground, watching carefully as she huffed down the city sidewalk
toward the press conference. The building was just ahead—a tall, corporate looking
building that was plopped right in the middle of the West Village's old city
charm.
She
froze, waiting at the stop light from across the street as city traffic whizzed
by. She blinked as dark hair, olive skin and dimples came into view. Noah Blue.
Standing just outside the building talking to another man. Oh, God, she felt
sick about what had happened. The Daily View using that story about his
sister-in-law's funeral was just appalling. And even though the magazine's
lawyers had warned her to stay far away from him, she just couldn't. She owed
him an explanation; an apology.
The
light turned green and she rushed forward as Noah walked into the coffee shop
that was in the lobby of the building. Her laptop and camera bag bumped her hip
with each bouncing step. What the hell was she even going to say? What could
she say?
She
shook the doubtful feelings away. It didn't matter. She needed to apologize;
even if it opened herself up to a lawsuit. She needed to look this man in
the eyes and tell him that she had nothing to do with that story—but
even still, that she was sorry.
She
pushed through the glass doors as the familiar smell of heady arabica wafted by
her. Scanning the bustling cafe, she looked for those signature blue eyes and
dimples that made Noah Blue Tripp famous. How did he manage to disappear so
quickly? There was a huge line of people waiting to place their orders. Then
again, he was a star...maybe they let him through to the front of the line? She
weaved her way through the crowd, just in time to see a glimpse of Noah getting
on the elevators in the lobby.
Damn.
But maybe it was better this way. She didn't even want to go to this press
conference—she knew exactly what happened with that article. What else was
there to learn?
That
nauseous feeling flooded her core once more and she leaned against the wall
beside the restroom door. Was it the hormones Dr. Seaver had injected her with
today? Or was that her stupid conscience rearing its head? Either way, it felt
horrible. She felt horrible.
Pushing
off the wall, Lydia turned and reached for the bathroom door just as it swung
open. Abroad-shouldered man in a plain white T-shirt and perfectly fitted jeans
barreled toward her. He didn't look up as he shook his hands of water. Defined
muscles pushed against the shirt in the most delicious way, and she stood
frozen to the floor as he collided with her. Her ankles wobbled over the pencil
thin heels she wore, and she yelped, stumbling backwards as a strong hand
darted out, steadying her just in time.
She
began an apology as he said, “I'm so sorry,” His voice boomed over hers, and
her mouth went dry at his tone—one hundred percent masculine and utterly
delicious. She could dip that voice in chocolate and eat it for dessert.
He
smiled. A genuine smile from a stranger in New York was not a common thing. Two
dimples formed on either side of his mouth. Heat raced across her body, and
Lydia's skin tightened under his gaze as it swept her face.
His
chest was heavy with each breath and she watched as his expression shifted into
something more melancholy, reminding her of where she'd just come from. She
placed a palm on her purse, remembering the pamphlet.
“My
fault,” he said as he dropped his hand from her elbow. She'd barely noticed he
had still been touching her—it felt that comfortable, like his hands were
simply meant to be on her body.
A
heaviness sat in her belly as a thought hit her hard like a bucket of ice
water. Dating—meeting men...it would never be that easy, flirty thing again.
Sooner or later, if things got serious, she'd need to have the infertility
conversation. She was suddenly very thankful that his hand was nowhere on her
anymore.
Shrugging,
she gave him a small smile. But even as she lifted the corners of her lips, she
could feel the quivering sob forming in her chest. Like a striking match, it
started small, but given the circumstance could quickly form into a roaring
fire.
His
jaw tightened as he swallowed and creases settled across his sun-weathered
face. “You can do this,” he said, almost as though he knew; as though he
understood.
Her
fake smile sagged, and for the first time all day, Lydia allowed herself to
feel the full weight—the full sadness of her loss. She didn't bother brushing
off the runaway tear.
The
man stepped to the side. Slowly, she reached for the doorknob, pausing just
before she opened it. “Thank you,” she answered, looking up into his bright
blue eyes once more. She smiled, warmed by the kindness of this stranger,
before closing the door behind her.
After
splashing some cold water on her cheeks and taking a moment to collect herself,
she exited the bathroom and moved to the end of the long line. Somehow, the crowd was comforting. And
even though there wasn't a single friend in the coffee shop, Lydia felt far
less alone in the presence of strangers.
Two
people ahead of her, she saw the man from the bathroom. Just as she looked up
and caught his eye, he turned his head back toward the menu board. Lydia
exhaled a silent breath. Of course he wasn't interested in her, not in that
way. No man wanted to date a crying woman.
“Mommy!
Mommy! I want a blueberry muffin!”
The
child's voice came from directly behind her and cut right through to her heart.
With a stiff spine, she turned to find a little girl with light brown hair,
ruddy cheeks, and light eyes. Heat flushed across Lydia's face, and her chest
expanded with a held breath that felt like a bubble lodged just to the right of
her heart.
“Is
that how you ask for things?” the mother asked, her voice razor sharp.
The
little girl groaned, and the next thing Lydia knew, the kid was stomping and
thrashing her limbs around. Her screams pierced through the low, chattering hum
of the café.
The
mother gave a weary sigh and somehow managed to talk over the screams. “You
have until three. One—two—”
Lydia
shifted, looking to the board uncomfortably. What do you do in this situation?
Pretend like it wasn't happening? Ignore the tantrum? Hardly any of Lydia's
friends had kids yet—she could count on one hand the number of times she held a
baby. The noise abruptly stopped.
“Now
apologize to mommy.”
Mommy.
Mom. Mother. Mama. Lydia clamped her eyes shut, squeezing as hard as she could
as though this subtle movement could completely eradicate any thoughts of
children or motherhood from her mind.
“Kids,”
the man in front of her murmured with a snort. “Who needs 'em, right?”
Lydia's
eyes snapped open, excitement pulsing in her brain. Was bathroom guy talking to
her again? But instead, she was met with the gaze of a different man directly
in front of her. He was handsome in a much different way than the guy from
earlier. Kids, who needs 'em. Was he kidding? She scanned his body—he
was in great shape, even if a little pretentious in the way his shirt was
rolled just perfectly to the elbow.
Lydia
gave a polite smile. “Right. Who needs them,” she answered. She could barely
read her own inflection. Was that sarcasm? Hesitancy? Hell if she knew her own
thoughts anymore. And she felt suddenly exhausted.
“No,
I'm serious.” He spun to face her. His gaze flicked down to the child before
meeting Lydia's once more. “The planet is far too populated as it is.”
Lydia
swallowed hard, her throat burning. She considered that statement for a moment.
She supposed he wasn't wrong about that.
His
eyebrows lifted. “Don't get me wrong. Kids are cute and fun for like, an hour.
But I love my life. I'm fulfilled by my job, my friends, romance...I don't need
a kid to satisfy some weird biological clock.”
Up
until an hour ago at the doctor's office, Lydia had been pretty pleased with
her life, too. She didn't love her new gig freelancing for trashy magazines
specifically, but she loved photographing and reporting. She loved her friends
and the freedom to date as she pleased. Maybe this would be okay. Lydia's
breath became heavy, and she examined the men in front of her. Both offered her
exactly what she needed to hear in a moment that she needed clarity more than
anything. Two very different sets of advice...advice they hadn't even realized
they were giving. “Thank you,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
There were plenty of men who didn't want children. She didn't have to be
destitute of love and relationships just because she couldn't have kids.
He
gave her an odd look, confusion marring his handsome features.
“Sorry,
mommy,” the little voice whimpered. “May I please have a blueberry
muffin?”
There
was a rustle as the woman peeked beyond Lydia at the glass case. At least seven
people were ahead of Lydia, and there was only one muffin left. Lydia hoped she
was gone before the next tantrum started.
“I
swear,” the guy said, “there should be an area where kids are strictly not
allowed.”
Lydia
felt a small smile flick at the corners of her mouth. “There is. It's called a
bar.”
Ahead
of them, she heard the quiet snort of a laugh from the bathroom guy.
The
man in front of her grinned, his gaze traveling the length of her body. “I'd
drink to that.” He slipped a hand into his front pocket as the line lurched
forward. “I'm Jason.”
“Lydia.”
Brushing her hand to her clavicle. Rolling her neck to each side, she tried to
ignore the noise as the little girl's whining behind her grew louder once more.
To be fair, the line was taking forever.
The
line moved again, and they were nearly to the front. From his back pocket, he
pulled out a business card handing it to Lydia. His smile softened, crinkling
around striking eyes. “Lydia, I hope I'm not being too forward...but I'd love
to take you out to dinner. Call me sometime.”
He
didn't wait for her answer before turning to one of the open baristas. The man
from the bathroom finished paying and crossed toward Lydia. His bright blue
gaze met hers and for a moment, everything stood still. She swallowed, taking
the final opportunity to memorize the way his dark hair curled around his ears;
it looked like he had been running his hands through it all day. Angled
features and stubble dusted along his chiseled jaw. A grin lifted his face, and
those damn dimples flanked another breathtaking smile.
And
he was headed directly for her.
He
paused at Lydia's shoulder, so close that she could smell the traces of cedar
and smokiness on him—like a campfire. Something heavy buzzed between them as he
held her gaze. Warmth seethed through her body and despite this heat, she
shivered.
Blinking,
he brushed by her, crouching in front of the little girl, holding out the last
blueberry muffin. He grinned wider, looking up at her mother. “Here ya go.” He
dropped it into her hand with a wink. “Blueberry muffins are my little girl's
favorite, too.”
Lydia's
stomach knotted as smile lines creased his face and though he looked tired, he
also had a peace to him that she didn't find very often in Manhattan residents.
“Be a good girl for your mommy, okay?” He pushed off his knees, standing once
more as the mother thanked him.
With
a final look at Lydia, he left the coffee shop. Without saying another word to
her. Heat and embarrassment rose like high tide from her belly. But for what
exactly? She hadn't done anything wrong. She gulped. Or had she?
Stepping
up to the counter, Lydia ordered her tall, sugar-free, soy vanilla latte as
memories of her mom and her shitty childhood consumed her thoughts. Looking on
the bright side, at least now she wouldn't end up pregnant with a baby she didn't
want like her own mother had. She couldn't do that to any child. And maybe she didn't
want one. Maybe that parental gene was absent in her family. And this was
nature's way of taking care of the decision for her.
Lydia
sipped her latte, savoring the warm flavor. Its comforting steam billowed
around her mouth, and she sighed. This was okay—she was okay. She didn't
know the first thing about kids or babies. And if she changed her mind...well,
just like Dr. Seaver said, she had options. In the meantime, she needed to find
a way to pay for these medical bills.
Through
the window, she watched as the man walked confidently down the street, sipping
out of his to-go cup.
She
lifted a chin and reached into her purse for the pamphlet, dropping it into the
trash along with the referral for a therapist. This was a good thing, Lydia
thought as she rested a hand to the door.
“I
love you, Mommy.”
Lydia's
belly tightened, and her grip froze on the handle. You can do this, she
repeated to herself, grabbing her cell phone and dialing.
“Yes, hi, Mara? This is Lydia Ryder. I would like to
formally accept your offer with the City Star. I can start next Monday.”
About the Author:
Katana Collins Katana Collins splits her time evenly between photographing boudoir portraits and writing steam-your-glasses romances. Between navigating life as a small business owner, a first-time homeowner, and a newlywed, Kat is in a constant state of "OHMYGODINEEDCOFFEENOW."
She is the author of the Soul Stripper trilogy, Wicked Exposure, and the graphic novel, Cafe Racer, co-written with Sean Murphy.
She and her comic book artist husband commute back and forth as they please between Brooklyn, NY and Portland, ME with their ever-growing family of rescue animals (up to two dogs and a cat and still counting!). She can usually be found hunched over her laptop in a cafe, guzzling gallons of coffee, and wearing fabulous (albeit sometimes impractical) shoes.
Visit her on the web at www.katanacollins.com , on Twitter @katanacollins, or find her on Facebook www.facebook.com/KatanaCollins
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