Until You

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Until You

Copyright © 2018 by Kendra Mei Chailyn

ISBN: 978-1-68361-223-0

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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Hi there,

Thank you so much for taking a chance on me. It is always humbling to know others wish to see what goes on my head. I really do hope you enjoy Calista and Hudson as much as I have enjoyed writing them. I have always loved living in Ontario, Canada because it is so diverse here and the small towns are absolutely breath-taking. My hope is that you will enjoy this book and little glimpses of my city.

Hugs,

Kendra Mei

Until You

Calista Drummond has it all. A doting boyfriend, an amazing best friend, money, and social media fame. When the truth about her boyfriend comes out, Calista is left reeling. Unsure what to do, she leaves Toronto for the small town of Fallings. All she wants to do is hide.

Wealthy contractor Hudson Carrick loves the peace and quiet. That's why he didn’t last in the big city. In a small town, he has his family, friends, and the lake as his solace. After his marriage falls apart, he resolves himself to the single life. When he meets Calista, he cannot understand why she would venture to such a place as Fallings.

But nature has a way of bringing people together, and if Calista doesn't burn down Hudson's cottage first, they just might be able to heal each other.

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Until You…

by

Kendra Mei Chailyn

Chapter One

Calista

Well, that’s that.

In one swoop, one breath, I’d lost my future husband and my best friend.

No. Trust me. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.

What happened to me seemed like the plot of a horrid porno, and I thought I could wake up and merely flip off the television. But there was no waking up, and I rarely turned on the idiot box anyway. My face plastered all over the entertainment channels happened way too often.

Every time I allowed myself to think about what had happened over the past few days, I kept coming back to the same conclusion—this couldn’t possibly be my life. This must be what one of those Real Housewives shows was made of. I thought I had everything under control—everything on this nice little schedule.

By twenty-seven, I’d marry the man of my dreams. My best friend, of course, would be my maid of honor. After all, we’d spent years splashing besties 4 life on everything we’d ever signed our whole lives. We had those annoying heart-shaped necklaces with a pendant that could be broken in half with best on one side and friend on the other. We’d shared clothes, secrets, laughter together. How could this woman I’d spent my whole life with hurt me so deeply?

Back to my plan.

By twenty-nine, after giving myself a little alone time with my husband to travel and the like, I’d be pregnant with our first child. By the time thirty-two rolled around, I’d have given him a boy and a girl, and we’d have a lovely little house on the lake somewhere.

Oh yes, I had everything planned.

Well—shit.

I sat across from my brother and slouched in my seat. After two years, my relationship with Baxter Cartwell had finally come to an end. I frowned. I made it sound like we had mutually decided we didn’t like the path our being together had been on so we decided, mutually, to end things.

Hell. Was I kidding? It was more like the atomic bomb being dropped. Our relationship had ended in a vast, mushroom-cloud catastrophe!

I wanted a ring, and he wanted to screw everything with a pulse, including my so-called best friend. See? I told you—the script to a porno…or a horribly-acted soap opera people watched to see just how big a train wreck it could be.

So, after I threw a glass full of Chateau Margaux into his face, staining his pristine white Hugo Boss shirt, I impolitely and loudly told him to go to hell and take his sluts with him. Afterward, I stormed for the exit. The other guests gasped haughtily as I stomped my size eights by them, but they loved a show, right?

I’m quite sure I’m not welcome back in that establishment, especially after I made a point of slamming the door hard behind me as I left. But I didn’t care.

The next morning, the confrontation was all over the front pages of Toronto’s newspapers. I switched on the television to catch some news to find the incident had been filmed. Of course it was. With a frown, I flipped off the TV and set about my day.

Ugh—too much media attention. A woman can’t even drown a man with wine in peace.

Are you sure it’s over? my older brother Dominic asked. I mean, the last time you broke up, you swore up and down you’d never go back to him. It lasted a week and a half.

I rolled my eyes. Of course I’m sure. Sleeping with Macy was the ultimate betrayal. One I can’t forgive.

I believed those words wholeheartedly. Best friends could share everything: clothes, the same mug, a spoon while binging on Netflix and eating ice-cream from the container, but not a man.

Never a man.

How could Macy believe I would be okay with that? And you want to know the kicker? She thought she’d done me a favor!

Oo-kay? Dominic tilted his head. How so?

By showing me the trash Baxter really is. I mean, she could have just come to me and told me.

Would you have believed her?

I groaned and rose, smoothing my hair down. At the window, I crossed my arms and stared through the glass at the city below. Toronto was a beautiful place—but it could also become too much at times. From sirens wailing, to streetcars speeding to and fro, to zombies rushing about in power suits with cell phones glued to their ears. Then again, I was one of those zombies. Running one of Toronto’s most popular little PR firms wasn’t exactly easy.

I have to get out of here, Dom, I whispered. I think I’m going to snap and kill the next person who jams a camera in my face to ask about my split with Baxter.

Dominic laughed. I can imagine.

No. I’m serious. They were waiting outside my condo. Security called the cops, so they moved onto the sidewalk outside the gates. Once I got out there, the fucking flashes—all the damn light! Do they realize how dangerous it is to have something flashing in the eyes?

They do. They don’t care. It’s all about who can sell the biggest scoop.

I sighed.

I hear Paris is nice this time of year. Dominic’s voice rang soft, reassuring.

Ugh. Just what I need. To escape one metropolitan zoo for another. I shifted on my feet to level my gaze on him. An idea struck me then. Maybe I’ll go north.

He blinked at me. North? Um…Norway? Greenland?

No. Northern Ontario. I mean, people are always talking about how beautiful these little towns north of us are—maybe I should pack a bag and head to one. They won’t care who I am or what I do. I can get some peace and quiet, sitting on a lawn chair by the lake with a book.

Um….

What?

Sweetie, you know I adore you, right? And when I say this, it’s with all the love and adoration I feel for you in the world.

Spit it out, I said drolly.

You wouldn’t survive in the north.

I blinked at him, irritation brimming inside me. Oh? And what do you mean by that?

Well, for one, some of these small towns don’t exactly have full-functioning networks. You wouldn’t survive without Facebook and Instagram and don’t get me started on Snapchat. You’re the one who is late for a meeting, forgets her cell on charge, and goes back for it.

I have a business to run! It’s not like I could have missed any of those calls!

Okay, what about your fifty gazillion Instagram posts a day? What you’re wearing—post. What you’re eating—post. What you’re looking at—post. Listening to a band—insta-live!

I can totally live off the grid—or, rather, partially off the grid! I lifted my chin.

Dominic sighed. I know you want to get over Baxter. He rose and walked to stand before me. He took my shoulders in his large hands and forced me to tilt my head back to see his eyes. But jetting off to the middle of God’s Nowhere isn’t the way to go about it. If you’re going to take time away, Cuba, Jamaica, Ireland, London—hell, Maine….

That’s not what I want. I walked around him to flop back onto the sofa. Sliding down, I stretched my feet out before me until my ankles were under the coffee table.

Could you at least pick a town with at least a phone signal and the Internet?

We don’t live in the Middle Ages, Dom. I’m sure all these little places have some connection. I’ll have to make do.

Cali, you’re running away. You’re young. At twenty-five, I didn’t know what I wanted out of a relationship. You can’t give up on love yet.

"I’m not running away, and my age has nothing to do with it." How dare he? "I—I need peace and quiet, and we both know I’m not going to find