Finding Haven
Formatted by
E.M. Tippetts Book Designs
Books by T.A. Foster
Head Over Heels Collection
The Ivy Grace Spell Series
To the guys who need a little time to get lost on an island
S
ULLEN’S GROVE
. It was only one exit ahead. The burning sensation had crept to both eyes. Eight
hours of driving had that effect. There had only been one stop since Evan set off
this morning, and he had made that as quickly as possible—enough time to stretch his
legs and convince himself heading north was the right direction.
Evan rubbed his tired eyes before reaching for his cell phone.
There were ten missed calls and too many texts to count. He gripped the phone in his
fist. The tightening in his chest wrapped under his ribs and pressed against his sternum,
forcing the clamped breath he was holding to escape through his mouth.
When he saw the city’s name splayed across the sign in front of him, his hand relaxed
its hold on the phone. Ivy wouldn’t expect his call much less expect him to be only
miles from her hometown. She always talked about Sullen’s Grove as if it was the most
idyllic place in the world to grow up and live. There were oak-lined streets, artsy
shops, even a downtown waterfront where you could buy ice cream and stroll along the
boardwalk. The whole time they dated, he had never visited. Maybe that was part of
the problem. She had tried; she had invited him. So why, after all these months, was
Sullen’s Grove the one place he thought he could find safe harbor?
Pausing before making the call, he debated again whether dragging Ivy into this was
such a good idea. She would help, she would want to help, but she didn’t deserve this
mess. He tossed the phone into the open passenger’s seat, and twisted the knob on
the radio. Ivy would forgive him. Hell, she might not ever know he had driven by without
stopping.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her; she was the reason he was headed north and
east from Atlanta. She might be the only person who could understand why he had to
make a run for it. Let’s be honest, that’s what this was—an escape plan—a full-blown
sprint to find freedom. Later. He would call her later. With the Sullen’s Grove exit
two miles behind him, Evan eased into the next convenient store he spotted on the
side of the road. His legs could use another stretch.
A woman selling peaches at a makeshift produce stand smiled at him as he pulled the
brim of his baseball cap firmly over his eyes and popped the cover on the gas tank.
He didn’t think she recognized him. At least, she hadn’t reached for a cell phone.
Her attention was on restacking a basket of peaches that had fallen too far forward.
He felt the tension ease out of his shoulders. He leaned against the blue Jeep that
had become his travel companion only ten hours ago. It didn’t matter that he had paid
too much for it. Fifteen thousand dollars cash in exchange for freedom was a bargain.
Hopefully, the extra money would be enough to keep the seller from sharing the exchange
to the tabloids.
The lever clicked on the gas hose handle. Evan retrieved the nozzle and slid it back
into place on the pump. By now, the peaches were perfectly stacked. He sauntered over
to the stand.
“What can I get you?” The older woman had shifted her task from stacking peaches to
separating a sack of snap beans.
He eyed the rows of blueberries, peaches, and a carton of okra. “What do you recommend?”
The white-haired woman adjusted her visor. “You don’t sound like you’re from here.”
She cocked her head.
“No, ma’am, I’m not.” He swallowed hard, waiting for the inevitable—an autograph and
a selfie shot request. He would have to work on camouflaging his accent. It wouldn’t
be the first time he had disguised his deep Texas drawl.
She leaned over the table separating her from Evan, and placed the side of her hand
against her cheek to shield the words from any eavesdroppers. “If you won’t say anything,
I won’t say anything.” Her forehead furrowed. “These peaches are from South Carolina.
We say everything’s local, but it’s
not
.”
Evan feigned shock and winked at the lady. “Your secret is safe with me.” He reached
for one and tossed it in the air. “So, I guess I’ll take some of those illegal South
Carolina peaches.”
“Good choice.” She placed a basket on the scale and scribbled the weight and price
on a receipt. “That will be six dollars.” She picked up each peach and placed it inside
a paper bag.
His wallet was halfway around his hip when he remembered all he had was one hundred
dollar bills. “I—uh—do you take hundreds?” He pulled one of the crisp bills from his
wallet. The plan was to use only cash, that way no one would see his name on his credit
card or ask for his ID. Total anonymity was the game.
“For a basket of peaches?” The woman looked at the currency as if he had tried to
pay with yen.
Evan smiled, realizing the predicament they were both in. He hadn’t bothered to bring
anything with him other than a duffle bag and his phone. The longer he stood there,
the more he wanted to try one of those infamous peaches. Sure, he was only twenty
yards from the convenient store, but he wasn’t about to undo all of the hard work
that had gone into perfecting his sculpted form for a bag of greasy chips.
“How ‘bout this, darlin’? You keep the change, and I’ll take two baskets of peaches.”
He placed the bill next to the register.
“Oh, I can’t take that.” The pitch in her voice climbed an octave.
Evan didn’t give her a second chance to argue. He grabbed another basket, dumped the
fruit into the paper bag, and strolled back to the Jeep. He cranked the ignition and
maneuvered onto the highway, giving the produce lady a wave.
The Jeep was headed east. Now that Sullen’s Grove was in his rearview mirror, Evan
wasn’t sure where the road would take him. Eventually, he would run out of road—the
ocean was just hours in front of him. He reached into the paper sack and seized the
first peach. As he bit into the soft, fuzzy fruit, a trickle of juice ran down his
chin. He wiped the nectar from his face with the back of his hand. Settling his athletic
frame into his seat, he felt the resemblance of a smile creeping across his lips.
Something about not having a destination felt better than having one.
T
HE NIGHT’S
darkness wrapped the air and sank into every open space. Other than a few blinking
lots on the horizon, it was dark. Evan rolled his shoulders up and back. All the muscles
in his arms were tight from twelve hours of driving. The ferry ride was advertised
as fifty-five minutes long, so he stepped from the Jeep and strolled to the side of
the vessel loaded with cars.
He had made the last voyage of the night. The ferry service stopped at midnight. He
intended to stay in the last coastal village he found at the southern tip of the Outer
Banks, but when the road ran out, the waterway could take him one more leg. The extra
distance was like the last drink he couldn’t turn down. He needed it.
The salt air whipped past him as he leaned against the railing. How had his life come
to this? He was running. Running from everyone, everything. He shoved his hands in
his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. There had to be a way to get back
in control.
It had never been this bad before. The hoop kept moving. He had convinced himself
that eventually the novelty of Evan Carlson would wear off. Following the once college
quarterback now movie star would become boring and mundane as soon as the next big
star was discovered. But five years later, it still hadn’t happened. He glanced over
his shoulder, a regular habit whenever he was in public. The couple in the adjacent
car was trying to soothe a fussy baby. They hadn’t reached for their phones, yet.
In the beginning, it was fun, even exciting when he made the cover of a magazine.
It was the same kind of rush when he threw a winning touchdown. He didn’t want to
admit to anyone now that at the time he got a kick out of being named the World’s
Sexiest Bachelor. All of that seemed stupid, ridiculous, and shallow. He kicked the
side of railing with his boot.
The captain pulled the horn on the ferry as it approached the dock. The sound echoed
over the water. Evan retraced his steps to his vehicle, and waited for the crew to
motion him onto the shore. Maybe he had read too many scripts or played too many roles,
but as the ramp lowered and he pressed his foot on the gas, he had the strange sensation
that a new movie had begun.
T
HERE WERE
six miles between the ferry dock and the main village of Perry Island. Evan couldn’t
see anything except sand dunes as he followed the cars in front of him.
It was now one in the morning, and he had managed almost sixteen hours without talking
to his agent, publicist, stylist, trainer, or assistant. That was a record first.
The music on the radio had turned to static. He searched for a station that could
spread its waves this far into the outer edges of North Carolina. His eyes burned,
but the cool air from the open window felt soothing as he drove.
Evan slowed the Jeep as he rolled into the village. Nothing was open, or at least
from the street, he couldn’t see any lights. The car in front of him turned into the
gravel parking lot of the Windsheer Inn. He pulled to the side and watched as the
driver walked to the door, grabbed an envelope from a drop box, and retrieve a pair
of keys. That was how that guy had a room. Dammit
.
He hadn’t thought to call ahead to make reservations. He snorted. He hadn’t thought
ahead about any of this.
Somewhere in the middle of the drive from the ferry dock, he remembered passing a
campground. He pulled hard on the steering wheel until he had performed a U-turn,
sending him back on the beach road.
Along the ocean side of the island was a campground. Just like everywhere else, it
was thrown into utter darkness. Evan pulled to an open spot and cut the engine on
the Jeep. His lungs filled with a deep inhale of salty air as the waves pounded on
the shore in front of him.
