511 Kissme Lane Read online

  511 Kissme Lane

  Abby Knox

  Copyright © 2021 by Abby Knox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Cover Designer: Cormar Covers

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More by Abby Knox

  Chapter 1

  Adalee

  Don’t you hate it when your dreams incorporate what’s happening in the real world?

  Today, before I was totally awake, my alarm clock played the part of a tornado drill at school. So you would think I’d be happy to wake up from a dream like that.

  But you would be wrong.

  See, this morning was my first exciting dream in a long time.

  Okay, I admit it. I had a sex dream. That by itself is no big deal. But the sex dream was about my best friend, Hudson.

  I know what you’re thinking: if you spend a lot of time with someone, you’re bound to have a sex dream sooner or later.

  That may be true. But what does it mean when you don’t want to wake up from a sex dream about your best friend?

  “If you must know the details…well, you’re just out of luck. You’re my children; I can’t share that with you. The neighbors will hear me, and then they’ll call CPS on me. Or the humane society. Or something.

  “Anyway, never you mind that. You get the picture, don’t you? The bottom line is? I just need to forget it and get on with my day.

  “We simply forget about dreams as the day wears on, don’t we?”

  Peanut, Butter, and Jelly stare back at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind. Or they’re just waiting for me to feed them. It’s hard to tell with cats. Their faces don’t give you much, except perpetual adorableness.

  “All right, kids. Here you go.”

  I fill each of their bowls with cat food and then flip the switch on my hotel-room-sized coffee maker and set about making lunch.

  First, for Hudson: a great big foot-long sub. And I’m not talking Wonder Bread and cold cuts. This is homemade whole-wheat bread and fresh roasted chicken. Because I care about his heart. I pack an extra one for Hudson’s newest employee as well.

  I’ve been bringing Hudson lunch every day since Frenchie’s Ferris Wheel started to turn a profit.

  I’m not rich by any stretch—I live in a small Airstream trailer in the Cherry Falls RV park on Kissme Lane, close to the marina where Hudson works and just down the road from my beach-front Ferris wheel. But I make enough to get by and keep myself and the kids fed.

  After I’ve packed all the goodies into a cooler, I say goodbye to the kids with hugs and kisses. “Be good for your grandma.”

  I hop into my pink convertible VW bug, put in my latest mix CD of love songs, and crank my stereo. Just then, Justin from next door saunters over with his two pugs, and I roll down my window.

  I lean out and observe him as he signs the words. I’m learning, so he very kindly goes slow with me. “Tell your mom, if she can walk my dogs today, I’d appreciate it.”

  I sign back to him, “I’ll tell her. She’ll be here to look after the cats and give Peanut his injections.” Justin and some of the neighbors will let her walk their dogs while they’re at work, too. “If you need anything, just knock on the door.”

  He nods, and we high-five each other, and then I speak to the pugs. “We’re going to give my mom a chance, okay? Try not to give her too much of a hard time on the leashes?” The pair simply look back at me with that familiar pug-like expression.

  And with that send-off, I’m on my way to the marina.

  I don’t have to bring lunch to Hudson every day, but I enjoy it. It’s become part of my daily ritual. Besides, I know he would never remember to take a break to eat something healthy if it weren’t for me.

  The drive up Kissme Lane as I head toward the water is pretty today—it’s pretty every day—but something about the way the sun is sparkling off the waves lifts my heart. It gives me the feeling that something good is about to happen.

  I try to tell my heart it has nothing to do with that dream I had about Hudson this morning—the one in which he breathed sweet, sultry words in my ear while his hand skimmed over my nipples over and over until I wet myself. That’s never going to happen; you’re just horny.

  Still, my stomach does a backflip when I turn the wheel and drive up to the parking area at the marina.

  The sea breeze and the sailboats bobbing in the water make me smile. I don’t particularly enjoy boating, as I get deathly seasick out on the waves, but the sight of them makes me happy. Lots of boats mean lots more income for Hudson, who runs the place. More income means he can hire more people and also save money for the log cabin he wants to build in the woods on the hill above the inlet. It’s a big dream, but Hudson thinks big. That’s just one of the things I love about him.

  I get a view of the top of the wooded hill as I tromp up the dock to the shed where I usually find him this time of day. I only hope and pray some greedy developer doesn’t snatch up that land. Cherry Falls is the most beautiful seaside town that is still totally original and populated by mom-and-pop stores, charming homes, and locally owned attractions. We’re sort of a best-kept secret, and I would love to keep it that way. Even though my business relies on tourism, I make enough, and I have no interest in selling to anyone.

  As I make my way up the dock, I wave to Gavin Banks, Hudson’s latest hire. Gavin grew up in foster care and has been working hard to carve out a life for himself. At the moment, Gavin appears to be doing some restoration work on a cool old sailboat. He reaches up and catches the extra sandwich that I toss to him, then points me in Hudson’s direction.

  I find my best friend in the tool shed, covered in sweat and grease, just as I thought I would.

  “Your boss really ought to provide you with air conditioning,” I joke.

  Hudson whirls around, and when he sees me, his face lights up. He wraps me up in a hug, and I enjoy the scent of hard work that permeates his shirt. There’s no doubt he’s the boss around this place: he’s strong, rugged, and tanned from years of work outside.

  “You should talk,” he jokes. “Lady who works outside all day every day even in a hundred-degree weather.”

  I laugh. “That’s not true. When it gets that hot, I don’t run the wheel until after sundown. Otherwise, the metal lap bars are too hot to the touch.”

  He kisses the top of my head and takes the cooler out of my hand.

  “Always thinking of others,” he says.

  “Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t,” I say.

  He unzips the cooler. “No meatballs today?”

  “Meatballs are a treat. I can’t let you eat garbage every day.”

  He shoves the end of the sandwich in his mouth and smiles at me
. Through a mouthful of food, he mumbles, “I’d be lost without you, Frenchie.”

  I’d be revolted if it were anyone but Hudson. I’m so used to this, as we’ve been eating at the same table since primary school.

  “Where are the kids?” Hudson asks, referring to the neighbor’s pugs. Sometimes Justin’s pugs tag along with me to work. Our neighborhood is kind of unique in that we all look out for each other’s animals, and dogs often roam from house to house for love and treats. But the season is quickly becoming too hot to keep pugs outside for long.

  “Well, try not to freak out, but my mom is watching them, along with the cats.”

  Hudson slowly chews and swallows his food before replying to this. I know what he’s thinking. But he’s trying to be diplomatic. His eyebrows raised in surprise, he asks, “You think that’s a good idea?”

  I take a deep breath. “I know. But she’s really trying. If she can do something as simple as taking care of my cats, she can maybe walk some of my neighbors’ dogs, and then she can have a real employment reference when she’s trying for other jobs.”

  He nods thoughtfully. I know he’s protective of me. “Just be careful.”

  “I am.”

  “I’m not going to lie; I don’t trust her,” he says.

  I nod in understanding, remembering the last time we spent any time with my mom, Jenny.

  That was shortly before she ended up in rehab. She’s a good person, but she’s totally unreliable when she relapses and drinks. And she relapses a lot.

  “I’ll be on my guard. At least she’s not asking to stay in my trailer with me.”

  “Where would she sleep anyway? In the wheel well?”

  I chuckle. “She’s small enough; she probably could.”

  We both laugh at this image, and then something passes between us. I feel Hudson’s protectiveness even stronger today. I’m reminded of my dream this morning. The sight of him and his rough, calloused hands working on a boat engine triggered more details from the dream as soon as I walked into the shed. I don’t have the wherewithal to keep from blushing around him, and the air around us feels different to me.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re expecting chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes when all you have is a chicken sandwich and chips and homemade cookies?”

  He looks at me like there’s something important he wants to say and then hesitates.

  Just then, my phone dings. I’ve got a text message.

  “I’m sorry, I gotta look at this.”

  He nods, and I pull out my phone and see the words on the screen:

  “Hi, Adalee. Peanut got out.”

  I shout, “Already?!”

  My mother. I welcomed her back into my life on condition she would stay sober, and if she’s not able to simply go get him—he’s a fat cat and doesn’t run that fast—then something is wrong. I’m worried she may be impaired. Again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Hudson’s face is concerned and compassionate. That’s one of the things I love about him. He always puts me first, even though he’s super busy with the marina. And when I say “love,” obviously, I just mean platonic love.

  Any other kind of affection between the two of us would only complicate things.

  “I’m sorry, I gotta go. Peanut got out.”

  He squeezes me tight and pecks me on the forehead, and I inhale his scent of sea air.

  I’m reminded that Hudson always has my back, and I’m off to tackle this challenge with a spring in my step.

  Chapter 2

  Hudson

  The sun on my face, the rhythm of the waves, and a good sandwich are all I need to get by.

  At least until today. Something feels different with Adalee around, and I don’t know what it is.

  She’s my best friend, so of course, I want her around. I’ve secretly pined for her for years, but not until today, if I’m not mistaken, have I ever got the sense that I had a shot.

  Something is changing in the air; I can feel it.

  Every time she walks away, there’s a void that can’t be filled. Today it’s the same, but there’s an electric charge that goes along with it. When I watch her take off to see what chaos her mother has caused, again, I realize what that electricity means. Hope.

  For the first time, I feel like there was a signal from her. Or maybe a whisper of a signal.

  If it worked out, I would never let her regret giving me a chance. I think about her when she’s gone, and whenever she returns, she lights up my soul. This morning, for instance, Adalee was only here for about five minutes, but my whole entire mood changed when she walked up the dock. I could hear her footsteps before I saw her. I know her so well; she’s so familiar to me that I can even tell just by listening if it’s her or not.

  Her hair was pulled back in that high ponytail that she always wears when she’s on her way to work the Ferris wheel. What was unusual was that I had the urge to reach out and tuck a loose strand behind her ear. Her winged eyeliner has a little bit of sparkle in it today, bringing out the blue in her eyes.

  Her lips looked a little pinker, too. She’s adorable no matter what makeup she wears or doesn’t wear, but I feel like she did a little bit extra today for some reason.

  Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me.

  That would be the case if my body wasn’t suddenly reacting to the sight of bare skin below the knot in her button-up shirt. She had it cinched up like she always does with that shirt, but it was just a smidge higher today. I have seen her belly button a million times. Usually, not a big deal, but today the urge was more intense than ever to slip my arms around her waist and feel that skin against mine.

  She’s your best friend, for Pete’s sake. Calm down and try not to fuck it up.

  She’d probably hit me upside the head if she knew the images floating through my mind right now. She’d be right to hit me upside the head.

  We love each other too much to screw up this perfect friendship. I would never want to lose this comfortable vibe between the two of us. She’s a rare jewel, and I wouldn’t want to lose her.

  As I resume my work repairing this boat motor, my mind wanders toward all the useless hypotheticals.

  How would I feel if Frenchie started dating someone because I didn’t take my shot? The figurative flames that begin shooting from my ears give me all the answer I need. I would immediately find fault and yeet him into the sun.

  Well, dummy. You can’t base an entire relationship on how jealous you would feel. That can’t be healthy.

  But looking at this objectively, my instincts, I know what I have to do.

  I have to do everything in my power to keep her in my life.

  It could be that I’m confusing protectiveness for affection for Adalee. She doesn’t have a lot to give, but she gives and gives some more to anyone who asks.

  When her mom, Jenny, announced she was moving back to Cherry Falls, I was wary. Frenchie lives in a small Airstream trailer with her cats, It doesn’t look like much, but it’s perfect for her.

  Her mom doesn’t like me much because I convinced Adalee to keep her distance. Draw a boundary. Her mom could visit, but she could not live with her.

  Turns out that was the right decision since she can’t even be in that Airstream for five minutes without losing an overweight cat.

  I’m rooting for her mom; I really am. Just not at the expense of Adalee. She is and always has been my number one ride or die.

  I watch her walk away down the dock with my head full of worry. My legs have the itch to ditch work and go help her with Peanut and with her mom.

  As the guy who runs the marina, I could spontaneously take off and leave Gavin to handle things. But Captain Jack — the owner of the biggest boat in the marina and responsible for a good chunk of the marina’s income — said he needs to talk to me about something today. I already missed seeing Captain Jack last week when I came in late so I
could help Adalee get her mom settled in her new subsidized apartment. She didn’t ask me to, but I knew there would be drama, and I knew she needed backup.

  Peanut is a fat little diabetic cat who won’t get far, as most people in the RV park look out for Adalee.

  Turns out I’m not the only one who’s overprotective of her.

  I finish my lunch and send Frenchie a text to let me know if she needs my help with her mom or Peanut. I can’t leave work, but I might be able to send a friend to help.

  I polish off my lunch with the cookies she brought me, and they taste even better than usual. I’ve gotten so used to Frenchie’s cooking that I can tell which cookies are from the Nestle roll house recipe and which are original.

  These cookies were baked with something else today. These cookies were baked with love. Yes. It’s definitely long overdue for Hudson Green to shoot his shot.

  Chapter 3

  Adalee

  “Mom, he’s right here. Look.”

  Peanut is hanging out underneath my Airstream with one of Justin’s pugs, Dexter, who looks like he’s snacking on one of his Greenies.

  But to my horror, I realize it’s not that. It’s a cable. The cable to my television, to be specific.

  “Oh shit. Dexter!”

  With a grunt, I lift both animals out from under the trailer and grumpily open the door. Setting Peanut down in his bed, I turn to my mom, who is frustratedly trying to access my Netflix account.

  “You didn’t also notice that Dexter was outside without a leash.”

  Absently, mom informs me that after she’d texted me, she’d recruited the pugs to try to help lure Peanut out from under the RV. I pinch the bridge of my nose, and Dexter lovingly licks my face. “Relax. All these neighborhood dogs are so spoiled they never leave the RV Park. I’ve been watching them visit each other’s houses, like a canine assisted living facility.”