The One Real Thing (Hart's Boardwalk)

SAMANTHA YOUNG

“This is a really sexy book and I loved the heroine’s journey to find herself and grow strong. Highly recommend this one.”

—
USA Today

“Will knock your socks off . . . [an] unforgettable love story.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Humor, heartbreak, drama, and passion.”

—The Reading Cafe

“Truly enjoyable . . . a really satisfying love story.”

—Dear Author

“[Samantha Young’s] enchanting couples and delicious romances make her books an autobuy.”

—Smexy Books

“Hot, bittersweet, intense . . . sensual, with witty banter, angst, heartbreaking moments, and a love story you cannot help but embrace.”

—Caffeinated Book Reviewer

“Filled with heart, passion, intensity, conflict, and emotion.”

—Literary Cravings

“[Young] is a goddess when it comes to writing hot scenes.”

—Once Upon a Twilight

“Ms. Young dives deep into the psyche of what makes a person tick emotionally. . . . The one thing you can count on from Ms. Young is some of the best, steamy, sexual chemistry.”

—Fiction Vixen

“Smart and sexy, Young writes stories that stay with you long after you flip that last page.”

—Under the Covers

“Charismatic characters, witty dialogue, blazing-hot sex scenes, and real-life issues make this book an easy one to devour. Samantha Young is not an author you should miss out on!”

—Fresh
Fiction

HERO

The On Dublin Street Series

ON DUBLIN STREET

DOWN LONDON ROAD

BEFORE JAMAICA LANE

FALL FROM INDIA PLACE

ECHOES OF SCOTLAND STREET

MOONLIGHT ON NIGHTINGALE WAY

CASTLE HILL
(novella)

UNTIL FOUNTAIN BRIDGE
(novella)

ONE KING’S WAY
(novella)

BERKLEY

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

Copyright © 2016 by Samantha Young

Excerpt from
Every Little Thing
copyright © 2016 by Samantha Young

Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

BERKLEY is a registered trademark and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Young, Samantha, author.

Title: The one real thing / Samantha Young.

Description: Berkley trade paperback edition. | New York : Berkley Books,

2016. | Series: Hart’s Boardwalk ; 1

Identifiers: LCCN 2016015219 (print) | LCCN 2016021601 (ebook) | ISBN

9781101991671 (softcover : acid-free paper) | ISBN 9781101991688 ()

Subjects: LCSH: Man-woman relationships—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Romance

/ Contemporary. | FICTION / Contemporary Women. | FICTION / Family Life. |

GSAFD: Love stories.

Classification: LCC PR6125.O943 O54 2016 (print) | LCC PR6125.O943 (ebook) |

DDC 823/.92—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016015219

Cover photograph of pier © Chris Herring / Loop Images / Corbis Images; couple about to kiss © Clarissa Leahy / Corbis Images

Cover design by Alana Colucci

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

One of my favorite feelings in the whole world is that moment I step inside a hot shower after having been caught outside in cold, lashing rain. The transformation from clothes-soaked-to-the-skin misery to soothing warmth is unlike any other. I love the resultant goose bumps and the way my whole body relaxes under the stream of warm water. In that pure, simple moment all accumulated worries just wash away with the rain.

The moment I met Cooper Lawson felt exactly like that hot shower after a very long, cold storm.

The day hadn’t started out all sunshine and clear skies. It was a little gray outside and there were definite clouds, but I still hadn’t been prepared for the sudden deluge of rain that flooded from the heavens as I was walking along the boardwalk in the seaside city of Hartwell.

My eyes darted for the closest available shelter and I dashed toward it—a closed bar that had an awning. Soaked within seconds, blinded by rain, and irritated by the icky feeling of my clothes sticking to my skin, I wasn’t really paying much attention to anything else but getting to the awning. That was why I ran smack into a hard, masculine body.

If the man’s arms hadn’t reached out to catch me I would have bounced right onto my ass.

I pushed my soaked hair out of my eyes and looked up in apology at the person I had so rudely collided with.

Warm blue eyes met mine. Blue, blue eyes. Like the Aegean Sea that surrounded Santorini. I’d vacationed there a few years back and the water there was the bluest I’d ever seen.

Once I was able to drag my gaze from the startling color of those eyes, I took in the face they were set upon. Rugged, masculine.

My eyes drifted over his broad shoulders and my head tipped back to take in his face because the guy was well over six feet tall. The hands that were still on my biceps, steadying me, were big, long fingered, and callused against my bare skin.

Despite the cold, I felt my body flush with the heat of awareness and I stepped out of the stranger’s hold.

“Sorry,” I said, slicking my wet hair back, grinning apologetically. “That rain came out of nowhere.”

He gave a brief nod as he pushed his wet dark hair back from his forehead. The blue flannel shirt he wore over a white T-shirt was soaked through, too, and I suddenly found myself staring at the way the T-shirt clung to his torso.

There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him.

I thought I heard a chortle of laughter and my eyes flew to his face, startled—and horrified at the thought of being caught ogling. There was no smirk or smile on his lips, however, although there was definitely amusement in those magnificent eyes of his. Without saying a word he reached out for the door to the quaint building and pushed. The door swung open and he stepped inside what was an empty and decidedly closed bar.

Oh.

Okay for some,
I thought, staring glumly out at the way the rain pounded the boardwalk, turning the boards slick and slippery. I wondered how long I’d be stuck there.

“You can wait out there if you want. Or not.”

The deep voice brought my head back around. The blue-eyed, rugged, flannel guy was staring at me.

I peered past him at the empty bar, unsure if he was allowed to be in there. “Are you sure it’s alright?”

He merely nodded, not giving me the explanation I sought for why it was alright.

I stared back at the rain and then back into the dry bar.

Stay out here shivering in the rain or step inside an empty bar with a strange man?

The stranger noted my indecision and somehow he managed to laugh at me without moving his mouth.

It was the laughter-filled eyes that decided me.

I nodded and strode past him. Water dripped onto the hardwood floors, but since there was already a puddle forming around the blue-eyed, rugged, flannel guy’s feet I didn’t let it bother me too much.

His boots squeaked and squished on the floor as he passed me; the momentary flare of heat from his body as he brushed by caused a delicious shiver to ripple down my spine.

“Tea? Coffee? Hot cocoa?” he called out without looking back.

He was about to disappear through a door that had
Staff Only
written on it, giving me little time to decide. “Hot cocoa,” I blurted out.

I took a seat at a nearby table, grimacing at the squish of my clothes as I sat. I was definitely going to leave a butt-shaped puddle there when I stood up.

The door behind me banged open again and I turned around to see BRF (blue-eyed, rugged, flannel) Guy coming toward me with a white towel in his hand. He handed it to me without a word.

“Thanks,” I said, bemused when he just nodded and headed back through the Staff Only door. “A man of few words,” I murmured.

His monosyllabic nature was kind of refreshing, actually. I knew a lot of men who loved the sound of their own voice.

I wrapped the towel around the ends of my blond hair and squeezed the water out of it. Once I had rung as much of the water from my hair as I could, I swiped the towel over my cheeks, only to gasp in horror at the black stains left on it.

Fumbling through my purse for my compact, I flushed with
embarrassment when I saw my reflection. I had scary black-smeared eyes and mascara streaks down my cheeks.

No wonder BRF Guy had been laughing at me.

I used the towel to scrub off the mascara, then, completely mortified, I slammed my compact shut. I now had no makeup on, I was flushed red like a teenager, and my hair was flat and wet.

The bar guy wasn’t exactly my type. Still, he was definitely attractive in his rough-around-the-edges way and, well, it was just never nice to feel like a sloppy mess in front of a man with eyes that piercing.

The door behind me banged open again and BRF Guy strode in with two steaming mugs in his hands.

As soon as he put one into mine, goose bumps rose up my arm at the delicious rush of heat against my chilled skin. “Thank you.”

He nodded and slipped into the seat across from me. I studied him as he braced an ankle over his knee and sipped at his coffee. He was casual, completely relaxed, despite the fact that his clothes were wet. And like me he was wearing jeans. Wet denim felt nasty against bare skin—a man-made chafe monster.

“Do you work here?” I said after a really long few minutes of silence passed between us.

He didn’t seem bothered by the silence. In fact, he seemed completely at ease in the company of a stranger.

He nodded.

“You’re a bartender here?”

“I own the place.”

I looked around at the bar. It was traditional décor with dark walnut everywhere—the long bar, the tables and chairs, even the floor. The lights of three large brass chandeliers broke up the darkness, while wall-mounted green library lamps along the back wall gave the booths there a cozy, almost romantic vibe. There was a small stage near the front door and just across from the booths were three stairs that led up onto a raised dais where two pool tables sat. Two huge flat-screen televisions, one above the bar and one above the pool tables, made me think it was part sports bar.

There was a large jukebox, beside the stage, that was currently silent.

“Nice place.”

BRF Guy nodded.

“What’s the bar called?”

“Cooper’s.”

“Are you Cooper?”

His eyes smiled. “Are you a detective?”

“A doctor, actually.”

I was pretty sure I saw a flicker of interest. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Smart lady.”

“I’d hope so.” I grinned.

Laughter danced in his eyes as he raised his mug for another sip.

Weirdly, I found myself settling into a comfortable silence with him. We sipped at our hot drinks as a lovely easiness fell between us. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that kind of calm contentedness with anyone, let alone a stranger.

A little slice of peace.

Finally, as I came to the end of my cocoa, BRF Guy / possibly Cooper spoke. “You’re not from Hartwell.”

“No, I’m not.”

“What brings you to Hart’s Boardwalk, Doc?”

I realized then how much I liked the sound of his voice. It was deep with a little huskiness in it.

I thought about his question before responding. What had brought me there was complicated.

“At the moment the rain brought me
here
,” I said coyly. “I’m kind of glad it did.”

He put his mug down on the table and stared at me for a long beat. I returned his perusal, my cheeks warming under the heat of his regard. Suddenly he reached across the table, offering me his hand. “Cooper Lawson.”

I smiled and placed my small hand in his. “Jessica Huntington.”

“Nice to meet you, Doc.”