Page 17 of Claim to Fame

“Some creep took a picture of her through her living room window,” Tessa added.

“It’s not safe for her to stay in New York right now,” Jamie said.

“Poor girl,” Kyla said.

“Daemon asked if she could come stay with me and Tessa for a little while, but you know Julie’s not sleeping through the night again and our guest room is kind of an explosion of baby things.” Jamie trailed off, looking at Ethan meaningfully. “I was hoping, since Tessa’s old room is empty…”

“It would only be for a week and a half. Two tops,” Tessa said. “Just until the paparazzi frenzy dies down.”

“You’d really be helping her out. And us,” Jamie said.

Ethan dragged his hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure how good of a roommate he’d be, but at least playing host would give him a chance to take his mind off of Hannah. And if that distraction could also help out a friend in need, well, maybe that was a win-win situation he shouldn’t turn down. “When does she get here?”

Tessa flew off her chair, wrapping her arms around Ethan and squeezing tightly. “Thank you, Dad. You’re the best.”

“What am I going to do? Turn her away? I’m not a monster,” Ethan said.

“Just a recluse,” Baz said.

Gavin smirked. “Unless you count the woman in Boston.”

Chapter Five

It was colder than she’d expected. And grayer.

When Hannah had looked up the small town of Aster Bay, Rhode Island, it was all pictures of beaches and historic homes, charming shops and quaint cafes. Somehow she hadn’t realized the town’s tourism website wasn’t necessarily the best representation of what to expect in New England in March. The constant barrage of phone calls and social media notifications had made it hard to think rationally.

Rain pelted the windshield of the car Micah had hired to drive her to Rhode Island as it navigated admittedly charming streets. They drove past those same shops, including a surprising number of adult-themed businesses—a sex toy shop, a lingerie store, and a boudoir photography studio all right there in the heart of the historic downtown. The calm voice of the GPS alerted her driver to an upcoming turn as the cheery sign for Nuthatch Vineyard with its hand painted, metallic gold grapevine came into view. Daemon’s brother and sister-in-law had asked her to meet them there. Maybe they thought she could use a glass of wine after the last twenty-four hours. They wouldn’t be wrong.

At the end of a long winding road that hardly looked wide enough for two vehicles to pass at the same time, the farmhouse-style main building of the vineyard came into view. The sprawling grounds lined by tall pine trees looked even more lush and green in the spring downpour than they had on the vineyard’s website. A faux grain silo on one side of the wood-shingled building stood out like a beacon on the horizon. The gravel of the driveway and parking lot crunched beneath the tires as the car pulled in alongside the half dozen others already there.

“Do you need help with your bag?” the driver asked.

“No, thank you.” She did a last check of her hair in the rearview mirror, finger combing the frizzier bits. “It had to rain,” she muttered as she climbed out of the car. Her heels immediately sank in the muddy gravel and she swung the purse over her head, shielding her hair from the worst of the rain.

The driver followed after her, opening the trunk and handing her the handle to her small rolling suitcase. She thanked him again, then jogged across the parking lot to the safety of the front door, dragging the bag through the puddles behind her.

At least there were no photographers.

The clack of her heels and whirr of the plastic suitcase wheels on the lobby’s hardwood floor echoed in the cavernous space. At one side of the room, a spiral staircase with a shiny metal railing descended from the second floor beside French double doors of frosted glass. A wall of windows at the other end of the room overlooked the fields, rows of grapes with the bay in the distance. Oversized brown leather chairs were arranged in little seating areas throughout the space, a hallway disappearing off to the left, the walls lined with large black and white photographs: A young couple in front of the main building, the woman’s pregnant belly cradled by both of their hands and the names Louise and Henry scrawled in pencil beneath the image. Another of a handsome young man, barefoot, holding up a bundle of grapes in the field above the words “Papa, 1952.” A young girl, maybe two or three, proudly showing off a precarious stack of blocks: “Tessa’s masterpiece.”

“Hannah?”

She stiffened and turned to see a beautiful woman with dark hair and eyes watching her.No camera.

The woman pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m Tessa Chase. My husband Jamie is Daemon’s brother.”

Hannah breathed a sigh of relief and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Hannah Matthews. It’s so kind of you and your husband to take me in like this.”

“Can I get you anything? Glass of water or wine? Cupcake?” Tessa asked.

“No, thank you. I’m alright.”

“I’m sorry Jamie’s not here to greet you. There was a small mix up at his restaurant that he had to take care of.”

“I hope everything’s alright.”

“It’ll be fine. He got a large order of turnips and apparently the supplier brought him Gilfeather instead of Macomber.”

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