The One Real Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 1)

I got out of my car, glad for the streetlights that guided me (and my heavy suitcase) straight onto the boards of the boardwalk.

I stopped.

Lights lined the boardwalk and when I looked right I could see all along it. It was dark but not late enough for people to have gone inside for the night. Not quite tourist season, yet it didn’t seem to matter. The boardwalk was apparently popular with locals. It wasn’t heaving, but it was busy enough to feel alive with energy. Couples, groups of teenagers, and clusters of friends and family were laughing and talking as they strolled by the hodgepodge of architecturally different buildings. Bright Vegas-style lights glittered in the dark, announcing to the people, and to the ocean beyond, the names of the buildings housed on the boardwalk.

Waves crashed gently behind me and I turned to look out at the dark sea.

Was there anything more relaxing in this world than the sound of the surf? My body seemed to melt under its spell and just like that I felt exhaustion hit me.

It was only nine o’clock in the evening, but I was ready for bed.

On that thought, I turned left and looked up at Hart’s Inn. It was a large version of the houses I’d passed—white-painted shingle siding, gorgeous wraparound porch, and blue-painted shutters on the windows. I knew from the photos I’d seen on the Internet that there was even a widow’s walk on top of the building.

Rather than a bright neon sign, there was a beautiful hand-painted sign that rose up by the porch. A light had been attached to it so that it was lit up in the dark.

Lights glowed from behind the windows and I felt myself drawn to the warmth of them like a clichéd little moth. I was so damn tired.

I hauled my suitcase up the porch stairs and pushed open one of the beautiful double doors with its stained glass window inset. An old-fashioned bell tinkled above me, announcing my arrival.

A grand staircase rose ahead of me and a cute waiting area and reception desk lay to my left. To my right was a sitting area with a beautiful open fireplace. Bookshelves packed with reading material lined the walls on either side of the fireplace. Everywhere I looked there were signs the inn was all about quality and comfort, which was one of the reasons I’d decided to stay there rather than at the more contemporary Paradise Sands Hotel just down the boardwalk.

Beyond the reading nook area, a large archway led into a dining area, and from what I could see it looked pretty busy that night. I wondered how long it would take the manager to notice my arrival. At that thought, I immediately homed in on the waiting area and its comfortable-looking chesterfield sofa.

I’d just rest my legs and possibly my eyes.

“I thought I heard the bell!” a cheery voice called out, jolting me, and I turned from my journey to couch heaven and watched as an attractive redhead hurried toward me. She was smiling brightly and held out her hand as she reached me. “I’m Bailey Hartwell. You must be Jessica Huntington. Welcome to Hart’s Inn.”

I took her hand and managed a tired smile. “Thank you. Your inn is lovely.”

She beamed at my sincerity and even in my tiredness it nearly knocked me over. Bailey Hartwell was pretty, with deep auburn curls that tumbled to the middle of her back. Her light green eyes were tip tilted, giving them an almost feline quality, and she had a cute button nose with a smattering of freckles over it. Pretty. Adorable even. But her smile was her best feature. It was so warm I had no choice but to smile in return. She was about my height, but in her skinny jeans and tight green thermal I could see she was more slender than me.

I curbed my envy at her elegant figure, blaming the flare of jealousy on my exhaustion. It had nothing to do with being a normal female with insecurities like everyone else. Nope. Not. At. All.

Bailey’s smile wilted. “Oh, jeez, you’re tuckered out, sweetie. Let’s get you checked in and to your room.”

I loved her.

“Thank you.”

As she checked me in, Bailey informed me, “Breakfast runs from seven to ten a.m. We serve hot food and Continental and, best of all, great coffee.”

I smiled at that. “Sounds like heaven.”

Smiling back at me, she took my suitcase from my hands and I marveled at the way she hauled it up the stairs like it weighed nothing, considering it was probably heavier than she was.

“I’m so excited to have you here for three weeks,” she said as she climbed, her breathing coming a little shorter, suggesting she was human after all. “I hardly ever get guests for that long. You’ll feel like family by the end of your vacation, I have no doubt.” She laughed and it sounded so musical I started to wonder if maybe Bailey Hartwell was part fairy.

I suddenly pictured her with little glittery wings on her back.

“I need sleep,” I muttered.

“Sorry?” she said as she came to a stop at a door on the second floor.

“Nothing.” I shook my head and followed her inside the room.

As she put my suitcase by the bed I stared in awe.

Decorated in a contemporary style with a nautical theme, the room was beautiful. But I barely took in the soft furnishings, the huge four-poster bed covered in inviting scatter cushions, or the living room area. I was too busy staring at the French doors that led out to a small balcony facing the sea.

“It’s the best room in the inn,” she said. “I thought you should have it since you’re staying three weeks. I originally had you in another room, but we had a cancellation for this room for the week so I was able to bump you into here.” out of my car, glad for the streetlights that guided me (and my heavy suitcase) straight onto the boards of the boardwalk.

I stopped.

Lights lined the boardwalk and when I looked right I could see all along it. It was dark but not late enough for people to have gone inside for the night. Not quite tourist season, yet it didn’t seem to matter. The boardwalk was apparently popular with locals. It wasn’t heaving, but it was busy enough to feel alive with energy. Couples, groups of teenagers, and clusters of friends and family were laughing and talking as they strolled by the hodgepodge of architecturally different buildings. Bright Vegas-style lights glittered in the dark, announcing to the people, and to the ocean beyond, the names of the buildings housed on the boardwalk.

Waves crashed gently behind me and I turned to look out at the dark sea.

Was there anything more relaxing in this world than the sound of the surf? My body seemed to melt under its spell and just like that I felt exhaustion hit me.

It was only nine o’clock in the evening, but I was ready for bed.

On that thought, I turned left and looked up at Hart’s Inn. It was a large version of the houses I’d passed—white-painted shingle siding, gorgeous wraparound porch, and blue-painted shutters on the windows. I knew from the photos I’d seen on the Internet that there was even a widow’s walk on top of the building.

Rather than a bright neon sign, there was a beautiful hand-painted sign that rose up by the porch. A light had been attached to it so that it was lit up in the dark.

Lights glowed from behind the windows and I felt myself drawn to the warmth of them like a clichéd little moth. I was so damn tired.

I hauled my suitcase up the porch stairs and pushed open one of the beautiful double doors with its stained glass window inset. An old-fashioned bell tinkled above me, announcing my arrival.

A grand staircase rose ahead of me and a cute waiting area and reception desk lay to my left. To my right was a sitting area with a beautiful open fireplace. Bookshelves packed with reading material lined the walls on either side of the fireplace. Everywhere I looked there were signs the inn was all about quality and comfort, which was one of the reasons I’d decided to stay there rather than at the more contemporary Paradise Sands Hotel just down the boardwalk.

Beyond the reading nook area, a large archway led into a dining area, and from what I could see it looked pretty busy that night. I wondered how long it would take the manager to notice my arrival. At that thought, I immediately homed in on the waiting area and its comfortable-looking chesterfield sofa.

I’d just rest my legs and possibly my eyes.

“I thought I heard the bell!” a cheery voice called out, jolting me, and I turned from my journey to couch heaven and watched as an attractive redhead hurried toward me. She was smiling brightly and held out her hand as she reached me. “I’m Bailey Hartwell. You must be Jessica Huntington. Welcome to Hart’s Inn.”

I took her hand and managed a tired smile. “Thank you. Your inn is lovely.”

She beamed at my sincerity and even in my tiredness it nearly knocked me over. Bailey Hartwell was pretty, with deep auburn curls that tumbled to the middle of her back. Her light green eyes were tip tilted, giving them an almost feline quality, and she had a cute button nose with a smattering of freckles over it. Pretty. Adorable even. But her smile was her best feature. It was so warm I had no choice but to smile in return. She was about my height, but in her skinny jeans and tight green thermal I could see she was more slender than me.

I curbed my envy at her elegant figure, blaming the flare of jealousy on my exhaustion. It had nothing to do with being a normal female with insecurities like everyone else. Nope. Not. At. All.

Bailey’s smile wilted. “Oh, jeez, you’re tuckered out, sweetie. Let’s get you checked in and to your room.”

I loved her.

“Thank you.”

As she checked me in, Bailey informed me, “Breakfast runs from seven to ten a.m. We serve hot food and Continental and, best of all, great coffee.”

I smiled at that. “Sounds like heaven.”

Smiling back at me, she took my suitcase from my hands and I marveled at the way she hauled it up the stairs like it weighed nothing, considering it was probably heavier than she was.

“I’m so excited to have you here for three weeks,” she said as she climbed, her breathing coming a little shorter, suggesting she was human after all. “I hardly ever get guests for that long. You’ll feel like family by the end of your vacation, I have no doubt.” She laughed and it sounded so musical I started to wonder if maybe Bailey Hartwell was part fairy.

I suddenly pictured her with little glittery wings on her back.

“I need sleep,” I muttered.

“Sorry?” she said as she came to a stop at a door on the second floor.

“Nothing.” I shook my head and followed her inside the room.

As she put my suitcase by the bed I stared in awe.

Decorated in a contemporary style with a nautical theme, the room was beautiful. But I barely took in the soft furnishings, the huge four-poster bed covered in inviting scatter cushions, or the living room area. I was too busy staring at the French doors that led out to a small balcony facing the sea.

“It’s the best room in the inn,” she said. “I thought you should have it since you’re staying three weeks. I originally had you in another room, but we had a cancellation for this room for the week so I was able to bump you into here.”