Third Time's the Charm (An Aliso Creek Novella) Read online

  an aliso creek novella

  heather b. moore

  Cover Design by Christina Marcano

  Interior Design by Heather Justesen

  Edited by Julie Wright, Melissa Marler & Sheila Staley

  Published by Mirror Press, LLC

  Copyright © 2012 by Mirror Press, LLC

  Welcome to the Aliso Creek Novella Series

  Liz, Gemma, Arie, Jess, and Drew have been best friends since creating “the Five” at Aliso Creek High School. But that was over ten years ago, and each is still trying to find that perfect someone . . . if perfect is even possible.

  In fact, Liz Carlson will settle for a normal man. A normal man with a job, that is. Married twice, then divorced twice, Liz had her rose-colored glasses fall off and shatter on the ground a long time ago. Her main focus now is raising her six-year-old daughter and surviving long days at work on her feet as a hairdresser. When Sloane Branden answers her call for help, quite literally, Liz doesn’t even give him a second glance. She has sworn off dating for as many years as it takes, and it seems that Sloane has done the same after his own tumultuous marriage. But when Liz discovers that Sloane defies every stereotypical deadbeat she has dated, she might just find room in her heart and discover the third time’s the charm.

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES:

  LOST THEN FOUND

  THE DAISY CHAIN

  ONE CHANCE

  PICTURE PERFECT

  (Found in A Timeless Romance Anthology: Spring Vacation Collection)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Other Works By Heather B. Moore

  About Heather B. Moore

  “I really don’t want to sound like a wench, but this is the third time the faucet has leaked in a few days,” Liz said over the phone, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. You can catch more flies with honey. “You’ve sent out two different guys, and both of them guaranteed it was finally fixed.”

  The man on the other end had a thick accent which was difficult to understand. He said something about holding . . .

  “Yes, I’ll hold.” Liz pulled out the rental agreement from her file cabinet that was stashed in the corner of her six-year old daughter’s room. She’d thought a two-bedroom apartment would give them plenty of space, but a few months into their lease, the apartment felt as cramped as ever.

  Liz readily admitted to herself that her shopping habit was the problem: if something was on clearance and if she or her daughter, Paisley, might need it someday, then it was too hard to pass up. As it was, Paisley’s walk-in closet was organized and stacked with bins of clearance items. Someday I’ll open an eBay store or hold a massive garage sale. Or hit the lottery and buy a mansion for all my stuff.

  But that someday was crowded out with her job at a salon and being a single mom and dating . . . well, dating up until last month. After the David-fiasco, Liz had sworn off dating for a while. Maybe until Paisley was eighteen. Wasn’t that what Dr. Laura had recommended? Married twice, then divorced twice, Liz was a bit disenchanted with the whole “making it work” thing. She had been there, done that. His—hers—ours—amounted to chaos that Liz no longer had the heart for.

  Where was Dr. Laura’s radio show now? Liz could have really used her advice on how not to get jerked around by a maintenance company. This experience was just another disappointment to add to her growing list.

  How long have I been on hold? Five minutes now?

  Liz hung up, feeling satisfied that she had done something, even if it was just hanging up on a maintenance company. Except she really wanted her sink fixed. Was that too much to ask? Before she became desperate enough to watch a how-to-fix-a-faucet-leak YouTube video, she’d take one last step—one she hesitated over.

  Not wanting to be known as the nagging renter, Liz had taken care of minor maintenance problems herself and paid out of her own pocket. She was already getting a discount on rent by agreeing to take care of the outside planters around the building. She had her florist friend and old-high school buddy, Gemma, to thank for tips on how to keep the plants and flowers alive and thriving. And the discount was the only way she could afford to upgrade from the one-bedroom to the two-bedroom.

  Liz exhaled and called the apartment administration office. She listened to the choices and pressed 3—maintenance. Great. Voice mail. She started to leave her message when a man answered.

  “This is Sloane.”

  At least this man was one she could understand. “Oh, hello, uh, Sloane.” Be nice. Be sweet. “I’m in apartment 208, and I’ve got a leaking faucet in my kitchen. The maintenance company I called didn’t fix it right.”

  “You called a maintenance company?” the man said.

  “Yeah, they actually came out twice, and I feel like I’ve been given the run-around, so now I’m calling you.” She took a much-needed breath.

  Sloane was silent for a second. “Why didn’t you call here in the first place?”

  “It was so minor that I didn’t think it would turn out to be such a big deal.”

  “You mean there’s only so much drip-drip-drip you can take?”

  Liz was startled for a moment. Then she laughed, and the man laughed too. Something pinged in her chest—he had quite a nice laugh. Stop it, she told herself. I’m supposed to be moving up in the world, not flirting with the maintenance guy. Besides, he’s probably married with three brats.

  Not that she didn’t love kids. Paisley was her entire world, but your own kid was a completely different entity than someone else’s, which probably explained failed marriage number two.

  “Hang on, I’ll see if I can get someone up there today,” he was saying.

  On hold again . . . But Liz was willing to wait for a guy who spoke English and made jokes. Surely he could also fix a sink. And today would definitely be nice.

  “Okay, so 208?” His voice came back on the line.

  “Yeah, I’m going into work in about an hour, but I can leave the door unlocked.”

  “No problem,” he said. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

  He was coming over now? Great service. She should have called the office in the first place. Liz shut the door to Paisley’s room and scanned the living room and kitchen. They looked more decent than usual. Not that Liz was neglectful, but by the time she recovered from being on her feet all day and then helped Paisley with homework, all she wanted to do was veg in front of the TV or read until she got too tired to focus.

  A knock on the door startled her. That was fast. She hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a clip to secure her curly, red hair back from her face. She didn’t have time to check her appearance, so she went to the front door and opened it. The man standing there definitely wasn’t a maintenance man. Maybe he had the wrong door. He wore a button-down shirt and tie, with khaki pants. But he held a clipboard in his hand, and when his blue-gray eyes met hers, he said, “Elizabeth Carlson?”

  “Liz,” she said automatically, surprised when the man extended his hand.

  “Sloane Branden.”

  She shook his hand, staring at him. “As in Branden Apartments?”

  His mouth lifted into a smile, his gaze steady on hers. She felt something flutter in her stomach but promptly ignored it.

  “Yep. That’s me,” he said. “Sorry that I’m not the regular maintenance guy. He had a family emergency today, and since I was in the office when you called—”

/>   “Oh, no problem,” Liz said, flushing. She opened the door and stepped aside. He passed by her easily and turned left toward the kitchen. She couldn’t help but assess the man who owned a string of apartment complexes. Not overly tall, maybe 5’11”, definitely fit, but not in the I-am-a-tri-athlete way.

  I am so not checking him out . . .

  Sloane turned, and she glanced away.

  “Have you had problems with the sink in the past?” The light in the kitchen made his sandy-blond hair look blonder.

  “Only this week.”

  He nodded and crouched down to look into the cupboard under the sink. Liz definitely wasn’t looking now. But she could still talk to him. “So you dabble in both commercial real estate and plumbing?”

  He chuckled, and the warmth of his laughter buzzed through Liz just as it had over the phone. She folded her arms and leaned against the kitchen table. She was glad that at least she’d wiped it down after Paisley left for school this morning.

  “We all have to start somewhere, right?” he said.

  “Right.” Liz smiled, admiring his back and the breadth of his shoulders, noticing he didn’t wear a wedding ring. Then she frowned at herself. She had to admit it—she appreciated a good-looking man—but she didn’t care for all the sticky-relationship stuff.

  She’d been out with enough good-looking men after her first divorce to have really learned her lesson. She’d married Nick at twenty-three. When she found out she was pregnant, she was fully prepared to be a single mom. But Nick had declared his undying devotion for her, and they married in one of those corny ceremonies on Laguna Beach.

  She had arrived at the ceremony with her Aliso Creek High School friends, Arie, Gemma, Drew, and Jess—affectionately called “the Five”—and Nick came with his half-stoned band buddies.

  Paisley had been born six months later, and three months after that, she found Nick high with another woman in their bed. Their bed. That was the worst. Liz had burned the bedding and junked the mattress, box spring and all.

  “I think I found it.” Sloane’s voice interrupted Liz’s thoughts.

  He twisted and smiled up at her.

  Wow. Great smile. He was a braces-kid. Liz breathed. “Oh? What’s wrong?”

  “The pipe has started to erode. So even if they replaced the trap coupling, the leak would come back eventually.”

  “So, I need a new pipe?”

  “Yep.” Sloane stood, brushing off his hands. He tested the faucet. “I’ll run and grab the part today and have it done by this afternoon.”

  “Are you sure?” Liz asked. This guy owned the whole complex. Why should he be running to the parts store? “I could pick up the pipe on the way to work. Then maybe the maintenance guy can put it in tomorrow.”

  Sloane drew his brows together as he gazed at her. “I’m pretty picky about my pipes.”

  Liz didn’t know what to say. Then he laughed. She relaxed, although she wasn’t sure if this meant he wanted her to get the pipe. “So, what do I ask for?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Really. I’ve got it.” He walked out of the kitchen.

  Liz followed. “I feel really bad about this. I mean, you probably have a million things to do.”

  He turned, and Liz found that he was standing much closer to her than anticipated. At this range, she could smell something musky—aftershave? Cologne? No, it was too subtle to be cologne.

  “I’m actually being quite selfish here,” Sloane said, making no effort to put distance between them. “I’m trying to avoid a family dinner tonight, and if I take care of this ‘emergency’ for you, then yes, it will put me behind schedule, which also means I’ll have a legitimate excuse not to go to the dinner.”

  This was not what Liz expected to hear. “So basically, I’m messing up your entire day?”

  His eyes glinted with amusement. “Basically yes. But maybe we can blame the maintenance guy.”

  “All right. That sounds better than blaming me,” Liz said, letting a smile escape.

  Sloane smiled back. “I’d never blame you. In fact, I’d like to thank you.” His eyes looked her up and down. “You may have quite possibly saved my sanity.”

  Why is he looking at me like that? What am I wearing? Did I even brush my teeth? “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been credited with that.”

  His smile turned into a grin. “Add it to your list of good deeds for the day.”

  Liz laughed. “Done.” I’m flirting with him! Why am I flirting with Sloane Branden? He needs to leave. Now. She slid around him and opened the door. “Thanks again, Sloane.”

  “No problem.” He fished his wallet out of his back pocket and took out a card. “Call me at this number if it happens again.”

  Liz took the card. It had his office number and his cell phone number on it. Before she could say anything else, he’d taken off. She stood at the doorway for a moment, staring after him.

  “How old is this guy?” Liz’s friend, Gemma, asked over the phone.

  “I don’t know. Maybe thirty—same age as us.” Liz exhaled. “I’m only calling and telling you so that you can tell me to stay away from him.”

  Gemma laughed. “And he’s for sure not married?”

  “I said you’re not supposed to encourage me!” Liz groaned. “Because he was totally sweet, not to mention good-looking, and . . .”

  “Has a job?” Gemma teased.

  “Yes! But that doesn’t mean anything, at least not anymore. I’m done dating for the next twelve years.” Liz pulled into the parking lot of the salon. She was early, so she stopped and leaned back in her seat. One of her splurges from her last paycheck was getting a Bluetooth. It was a god-send, especially for important conversations like this.

  After Nick, it took until Paisley was about one year old for Liz to even look at another man. Well, she’d been looking at Garrett for about three months—cutting his hair—before she realized that she’d agreed to have coffee with him after work one day. It had seemed so easy to date him. They’d gotten to know each other slowly over haircut appointments. They each had a kid from a previous marriage, and they were equally broke.

  Pooling their resources together made total sense at the same time, until Liz realized that Garrett expected her to be the full-time mom to his kid, the intermediary with his hellish ex-wife, and the perfect daughter-in-law to his parents, not to mention the working-woman and the do-it-all homemaker after work while he gamed with his on-line friends.

  She’d muscled through for three years. The worst part of the divorce was giving up Max, Garrett’s eight-year-old son. He had ADHD, and Liz felt as though she had a better handle on it than Max’s mother. The kid had tried Liz’s patience to the hilt, but she’d truly loved Max. However the guilt of losing Max dissipated somewhat when Liz learned about a year ago that Garrett had gotten back together with his ex. Weird. And that’s when Liz started dating David—a total rebound guy.

  With the charming David on her mind, Liz renewed her plea to Gemma. “If I text you ‘911,’ you must call me immediately and be prepared to talk me out of whatever I’m in the middle of doing or thinking.”

  Gemma laughed again. “Sounds like a plan, Liz. If I’m a minute or two late calling you back during your emergency, just know decent guys still exist—guys with jobs, guys without a ton of baggage, and guys who might actually treat you good.”

  “Well, until one of those guys walks into my life, I’m not holding my breath,” Liz grumbled. “I didn’t have much luck at Aliso Creek High, and I don’t have much luck now.”

  A car pulled up to the salon, and Liz recognized Julie Peterson, a cranky widow who came in each Thursday morning at ten o’clock sharp. If Liz weren’t there to greet her, Liz’s tip would be cut in half.

  “Gotta go, Gem. Thanks a million!” Liz said, then disconnected. Just as Mrs. Peterson entered the front of the salon, Liz hurried around to the back entrance. She came through the back room with a smile on her face and greeted her faithful customer.
r />   Mrs. Peterson took her place at the hair washing station. “You put too much curl in it last week.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Liz said, her thoughts straying back to Sloane’s friendliness, efficiency, and his . . . realness. Who would have thought he had issues with his family? I guess money doesn’t buy everything.

  The phone in her pocket buzzed, but Liz waited until Mrs. Peterson was under the dryer before checking her messages. Only Gemma and Arie bothered to text her. Jess, their other “Five” girlfriend from Aliso Creek High, was lucky to even keep track of a cell phone. And Drew, the only male in their group, was busy traveling the country shooting photography sessions for national modeling magazines. Liz was the only one still in the general area of Aliso Creek.

  Hi Liz. It’s Sloane Branden. Got your number from your file. The pipe was out of stock—you know how picky I am—but it should be in tomorrow morning. I’ll bring it by then. Sorry you have to listen to dripping another night.

  Liz scrolled to the end of the text, then back to the top again. First, she had to process that Sloane had texted her, and that he’d gone to the effort of looking up her number to text her. Then she had to process the fact that little tingles had started in her stomach.

  She was tempted to 911-text Gemma, but then she decided she wasn’t in any danger. Sloane wasn’t even in the room. Should I text him back? She stared at the screen for a moment until the salon phone rang, bringing her back to reality. While Josi, the lady at the front desk, answered the phone, Liz texted: Thanks for the update. I guess I can’t talk you out of doing the job yourself. So I’ll see you in the morning.

  SEND.

  Her heart hammered. She should have just stopped at update instead of being so conversational and referring to what they’d talked about earlier. She slipped the phone into her pocket and walked over to Mrs. Peterson. The woman had her eyes closed and was probably asleep by the way her chin was lowered halfway to her chest. It wouldn’t hurt to let the woman have a short snooze.