Page 229 of The Havenport Collection

Prologue

Eliza

January

“ Y ou will find your soulmate.” She began to hum, gripping my hands even tighter. “The energy.” She repeated, “The energy is so strong. I think it will be soon.”

I couldn’t tell if it was the delicious Binnacle Brewing IPA I had consumed while waiting in the cold or all the incense filling this tiny hut, but I was disoriented.

I stared at her plump, kindly face, taking in each freckle and wrinkle and the sparkle of her green eyes. “Are you sure, Miss Cleo?”

She nodded, concentrating deeply. She continued to hold my hands and hum quietly to herself. My friends had talked me into a palm reading. Not my usual speed, but in the spirit of fun I paid my twenty dollars and figured I’d give it a try.

Miss Cleo sat at a small table, garbed in her usual glittery robes, and a knit hat covered in sparkly stars and moons sat over her tight gray curls.

She gently caressed my palm again and sighed.

I took a moment to compose myself, looking around her brightly decorated hut.

The world’s tiniest wood stove stood in the corner, steadily pumping out heat which, combined with the incense, was making me dizzy. I shifted on the purple velvet couch.

“Oh yes. He will knock you off your feet,” she said softly, squeezing my hands. “And I see the ocean. Wild and untamed, lapping at the shore.”

At this point I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. My feet? The ocean? We were surrounded by ocean in Havenport. This was officially the most bizarre palm reading in history.

Not to mention the fact that I was not in the market for a soulmate.

I didn’t even believe in the concept. I was proudly single and pretty settled on it as a lifestyle choice.

I wasn’t one of those girls—you know, the pretty, polite, soft-spoken ones who married their college sweetheart and then drove around town in luxury SUVs dropping their perfectly dressed children off at enriching activities.

Nope. Not me. I was more of the dance on the bar, watch the sunrise, and then fall down a Netflix rabbit hole kind of gal.

I wasn’t getting chosen first in the gym class that was late-twenties dating. I wasn’t going to snag a handsome husband with a corner office anytime soon.

“One more time,” I pleaded. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I am looking at your love line,” she said, gently running her purple-manicured finger along the palm of my hand. “It is deep and long, showing me that you will have one great love in your life.”

“And the Mount of Venus shows me you are a deeply sexual and passionate person.”

She switched back to my left hand, looking more closely as the fairy lights flickered around her.

“And you have a very specific energy, dear.” She leaned back in her chair, pushing one of her tight gray curls behind her ear. “A bit intense, a bit silly, but passionate.”

She wasn’t wrong about me, at least. Granted, she had lived in this town since before I was born, so I didn’t think it was her cosmic gifts telling her that I was a passionate person.

“Ooh. And he will declare himself—publicly,” she said, satisfied with herself. “A big, loud love for you. Oh yes. I can see it now.”

I snorted. Most of the men I had dated wouldn’t have bothered crossing the street to get my attention. I had never been one of those girls who inspired the big public displays of affection.

But before I could interrupt, she seized my hands again. Forcefully squeezing them, she exclaimed, “I think you’ve already met him!”

“Shit,” I muttered. “An ex?” That would be a terrible cosmic joke. My exes were a veritable murderers’ row of commitment phobes, narcissists, and men-children.

“No. Not that. Someone you don’t know. But you’ve met.” She sat silently for a moment, holding my hands, her eyes clenched shut. “He’s here.” She opened her eyes. “I can feel the connection. He’s here tonight. You need to go find him.”

I let myself out of Ms. Cleo’s hut, feeling dumb and twenty dollars poorer.

I had been hoping for some career advice, maybe an indication that day shifts were in my future.

Or an awesome new job. Or maybe that I would win an all-expense-paid vacation to some tropical destination.

Not this. Not some sexy soulmate dangled in front of me like a carrot.

“How was it?” Meadow asked. “She is kind of amazing.”

“What did she tell you?” Juniper added, grabbing my arm.

I felt weird divulging the contents of my psychic reading. Was that a thing? Psychic patient confidentiality? Probably not, but I didn’t feel much like talking. “Eh.” I shrugged. “I need a drink.”

Gina, ever the skeptic, grabbed my elbow and steered me toward the beer tent while the twins headed to grab some food.

While waiting in the endless line, I rubbed my hands together, hoping to generate some more warmth.

I was bundled up in all my bulkiest winter clothes—after all, it was about fifteen degrees outside.

But it was never enough. I was the sort of person who was always cold, always moving, always fidgeting for warmth.

I wore sweatshirts in the summer and owned several pairs of fleece-lined leggings. Despite my proud lineage of New Englanders, I was not remotely tough when it came to winter.

Gina put her arm around me, hugging me close for warmth. “Of course you’re cold already.”

I stuck my tongue out at her. Unlike me, Gina looked cute in her all black ensemble, long down coat, cute fluffy boots, and her inky dark hair spilling artfully around her shoulders. She was quiet, self-possessed, and only wore black. Basically the complete opposite of me.

I looked around again, taking in the sights and sounds of the event.

The annual Havenport Christmas Tree Burn was the highlight of an otherwise dismal January. Every year, volunteers and firefighters collected the town’s discarded Christmas trees and built a massive bonfire out of them.

This being Havenport, it turned into a winter festival, complete with live music, a charity auction, and an ice sculpture competition. Despite the weather, I loved it. It was one of the things I had missed most about my hometown and one of the reasons I jumped at the chance to move back last year.

As much as I enjoyed city life in Boston, there was no place like Havenport. Even if I was freezing my nips off in this horrendous weather.

By the time we got to the front of the line, I was dying for another beer. I would warm up much quicker with more alcohol in my bloodstream, and Binnacle made delicious beer.

Gina and I made small talk with Liam Quinn, the ridiculously gorgeous brewmaster, while his wife, Cece, filled our glasses.

I didn’t know them well—they had been a few years ahead of us in school—but they were one of Havenport’s great love stories.

I admired the way they worked together, sneaking glances at one another as they poured beers.

It was adorable. Oh shit, that reminds me—aren’t I supposed to be looking for a soulmate?

I scanned the crowd suspiciously. As if I didn’t have enough to do. I would have to put it on my to-do list and add some calendar reminders and alarms. That’s how I managed most things in my life with ADHD. I could see it now. 1:15p.m. take vitamins; 1:30 water plants; 3:10p.m. search for soulmate?

And how was I supposed to know him when I saw him? What if I was really tired from a long shift and missed him? What if he drove by me on the street?

What if I find him at the grocery store?

Did that mean I’d have to be doing my hair and makeup to run errands now?

Did I have to look soulmate ready at all times?

Because I was rarely soulmate ready. In fact, I’d say I was only looking really good about ten percent of the time.

Working nights had made me a bit lazy in the hair and makeup department, and all my cute shoes had not seen the light of day in the better part of a year.

Damn. I should have saved the twenty dollars.

This just felt like more pressure, more expectations, and more work.

I had enough trouble managing to be an adult most days, now add in soulmate-finding pressure.

My brain began to spin, my thoughts quickening and blurring as my pulse accelerated.

I wanted to go home and curl up under a blanket, but I couldn’t abandon my friends.

I took a few deep breaths, focused on the physical sensation of being out in the cold, and attempted to quiet my mind. It would have to do for now.

Gina and I headed back to meet the twins at the picnic area.

I had a beer in each hand and was standing on my tiptoes, scanning the crowd for them.

I spotted them and turned quickly to tell Gina when I felt a hard shove.

I lost my footing on the frozen ground and started to fall.

Before I hit the ground, I was hauled back up to my feet by a pair of strong hands. “Hey,” I heard a deep voice yell.

I panicked, and muscle memory took over. I felt my shoulders jerk and immediately stomped on the man’s foot as hard as I could. Just as my Krav Maga teacher, Yael, had taught me.

He released me immediately. “Shit.”

I took a step back, putting as much space as I could between me and the man. He was bent over, and I took a moment to survey the damage. My coat and snow pants were covered with beer, but I was otherwise okay.

“What the hell was that for?” he growled, standing up to his full height. He was a big bear of a man and seemed vaguely familiar.

“You attacked me,” I spat, backing further away.

“You can’t be serious. You walked right into me and I grabbed you to keep me from falling.”

He stepped closer, and the light from the bonfire illuminated his face. I found myself staring up into one of the most classically beautiful faces I had ever seen. Long dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a thick layer of stubble scowled at me from underneath a knit hat. It was Matteo Rossi.

“You should watch where you’re going,” he snapped. His scowl was infamous, his bad mood perpetual. I’d been to his restaurant a few times, and although he made delicious food, his social skills were lacking.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling stupid. He wasn’t attacking me. He was trying to save me from my own clumsiness. It was a good thing it was so dark; my face was burning with embarrassment. Just like me, to take out an innocent bystander while wandering around a festival.

I took a moment to study him up close. He wore a chef coat over a down parka, but all those layers did nothing to hide the lanky frame and broad shoulders beneath.

He also wore a clear “don’t fuck with me” scowl.

I wasn’t sure I had ever seen the man smile.

Not that I knew him well—he was way older than me—but I saw him around town and had been to his restaurant a few times to pick up takeout.

We stood, locked in an intense stare for a few minutes before I heard Gina’s voice.

“Ugh. Matteo,” Gina chided. “Please don’t maim my friends.

I will so tell Nonna.” Gina came from an enormous Italian family.

It was impossible to keep track of her dozens of cousins.

But I would be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed Matteo on a few occasions.

He was superhot in a bad boy sort of way.

“She walked into me,” he said coolly, still holding my gaze. Despite the low temperatures and the fact that my coat was covered with beer, I felt warm, almost flushed. I stood there, dumbstruck and more than a little turned on, until Gina shoved me. “Let’s go find our friends.”

I nodded, still staring at Matteo. His scowl had transformed into something else. Something hungry and intense and dangerously sexy. My entire body was on high alert.

“Are you okay?” Gina asked, leading me toward our friends. “You look flushed.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. I was blushing and stammering from the encounter with Matteo. His hard body up against mine, his deep, masculine voice in my ear, the way he yelled at me—it was all making me feel a bit faint.

I headed back toward the bonfire, feeling confused, embarrassed, and more than a little bit turned on. What had just happened? Had we shared a moment? And what did it mean? I felt different, and I gasped. What if Miss Cleo had been right? Could that grumpy man-bear be my soulmate?