Sage Mathews held the lacy, barely-there panties to her waist, angling one way and then the next to best show off the simple lines. “Are these really edible? I mean, wouldn’t a guy get indigestion or, at the very least, gas?”

Alora Kingsley, Sage’s cousin, coughed in her hand, then pretended to pick at a piece of lint that was most certainly not on her bold, floral, off-the-shoulder boho blouse. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sage rolled her eyes, then looked around Blayne MacCaffrey Astor’s store. Eclectic Finds Boutique—Cape Van Buren’s premier one-stop shop for everything fun had expanded to include items that inspired a good time on the horizontal, backwards, upside down, or hanging from the rafters, depending on the level of adventure—was newly remodeled and gleaming with all things sexy. And Alora had put her hands on all of it.

“Oh, please. You two have sex-tested every lingerie style in this shop, and I know, for a fact, Maxine Van Buren cheered you on all the way. Hell, she barely let you finish before asking you to write a glowing review for Blayne’s store. I know, because she pointed them out to me in the Squeal section of the The Van Buren Tribune over breakfast this morning,” Sage accused. “I almost choked to death on my coffee, thanks to you.”

Alora snatched the panties in a huff but couldn’t hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. “It’s not my fault. My new bend-friend has been hell-bent on checking out each new style ever since Blayne added the roller derby inspired selection. Besides, the reviews were anonymous.”

“There’s nothing any more anonymous about Adora than there was about Brangelina. Even if you were secretly dating Adam,” Sage said with a pointed glare, teasing about the nickname Cape Van Buren had given to Alora and Adam when they were spotted together in the North Cove Park in a rather tight embrace. It wouldn’t normally have been noticed except Adam MacKenzie was CVB 9’s weatherman bringing wet dreams to any woman in town with a pulse.

“And I don’t think that’s what Grandpa Horace had in mind when Yelp inspired him to add the Squeal section to the Tribune.” Though, in all honesty, Sage could see how the reviews were paying off with every new customer walking into Blayne Astor’s store. Blayne had considered closing Eclectic Finds when she thought she was moving back to Glengarriff, Ireland, but Alora’s genius management and marketing skills and fresh ideas gave Blayne the security to not only keep it open but expand—that and her new life married to James Astor and living six months in the US and six in Glengarriff.

Sage could only imagine such a life.

But ever since, business had never been better. And, of course, it hadn’t hurt that Alora

had landed the hottest bachelor this side of the Atlantic. Happily ever afters all around.

Which was exactly why Sage had moved to town a few months ago. It was her turn. In her new hometown, with its history of successful love matches on the books, she couldn’t fail. When you need money, you go to a bank; when you need love, you go to Cape Van Buren.

She looked wistfully at the beautiful bra and panty sets with a critical artist’s eye. If she wanted to inspire love beyond the greeting cards she designed, she should start by showing off her best visible assets.

Alora swiped a finger over her cell. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

Sage jerked away from the seductive trance of underpants and grabbed the phone. “Crap. Yes!”

They bolted onto the sidewalks of Cape Van Buren arm in arm, like they did when they were six. Sage peeked at her friend and smiled. Every time she had come to town to stay with her grandpa, she and Alora had been attached at the hip. Some things never changed—and she was thankful.

“I’m so proud of you for getting the cartoonist position at the paper. Your grandfather would be glowing with that ear-to-ear grin of his.” Alora shook her head with an amused look on her face. “I’ve never seen another grin as big.”

Sage nodded, picturing his deeply lined, weathered face with his shock of silver whiskers and kind, brown eyes as he’d greet her with his usual, “Morning, Hershey Kiss.” All the feels washed over her, and it took a second to answer. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He would, wouldn’t he? It relieves a lot of stress. I can actually handle my rent now, working for both the paper and the greeting card company.”

Growing up, she had been sent off on the weekends to hang out with Grandpa Horace, and she had loved every minute of it. While he’d set the printing press for the Sunday paper, she’d explored each floor, had drawn in the art studio, and headed important meetings in the boardroom. And every one of her imaginary friends had been quite satisfied with the management—if she did say so herself.

But even more significant, Grandpa had introduced her to the Sunday comics. And he had been the first to give her a hard kick in the seat, telling her to go after her dreams when her parents had wanted her to do something more practical. Now, she was the cartoonist at The Van Buren Tribune, an associate product designer of Share the Love greeting cards, and she would save her grandfather’s legacy, if it was the last thing she did—with the help of the new consultant the board was bringing in, of course.

Her grandfather had put a board together—headed by his best friend, Banon Edwards—to oversee the running of the paper after he’d first fallen ill. And now, a stroll across Van Buren Blvd brought them to the The Van Buren Tribune and the meeting that would introduce Sage to her knight in shining armor. Ever since her grandfather had passed a little over a year ago, the paper’s revenue had been in a steady decline, kind of like the breasts of Cape Van Buren’s geriatric sector until introduced to the magic of wearing a sexy bra by Maxine—if she could snag a judge at the age of grandmother, then there was hope for them all.

The board had decided to bring in an expert to try to save the newspaper, and Sage’s job. She just hoped he was up to the task. The thrill of possibilities beat a steady da,dum, da, dum in her chest.

She grinned as they walked, breathing in the salty, ocean breeze. “I just know today is going to be one for the books. There’s love in the air, Alora, and not just from the activities in your underpants.”

Alora’s eyes widened in a pained expression. “Sage. Oh, my God. I swear, if—”

Sage shot up her hand to stop her. “Whoa.”

Alora’s gaze followed the direction of Sage’s, then fell on the same delightful distraction that had made the rude interruption so necessary. “Holy shit.” A sleek, black Chevy Impala—the kind they drooled over on Supernatural, not the modern-day mundane model spotted in every elementary school’s kiss-and-ride line—cruised by, then took a left just past the fire station.

Sage placed a hand to her heart. “I mean…”

“That’s an understatement,” Alora agreed.

Driving the sexy-ass car was a sexier-ass man. Wind-swept light brown hair framed the classic straight nose and square jaw found on every superhero known to women’s dreams. Full lips crooked up at one corner as bright blue eyes lit on Sage, whisking over her from head to toe with obvious interest.

Suddenly, Sage needed a fan—in March.

“Did those eyes just say, ‘take me to bed,’ or am I imagining things?” she whispered.

“You’re not crazy.” Alora agreed, echoing the tone.

“Do you think that’s him?”

Alora nudged her to get moving. “If it is, your job just got a whole heck of a lot hotter.” She pulled back. “Why are we whispering?”

A small wave of goosebumps washed over Sage’s skin as her Masters of Fine Arts degree colored her perspective. “Because you always whisper in the presence of a Da Vinci.”

Her cousin performed a mock gag and grabbed her by the arm. “Ohmygod, come on. You can’t meet your new boyfriend-in-shining-armor unless we get your ass over to the paper.”

Parker Edwards did a quick study of the leggy brunette on the street corner and whistled with pure biological appreciation. If that was what he could expect while taking care of this job in Tiny Town, Maine, then this trip was definitely pointed in the same direction as his…

He shook his head and adjusted in the worn-in-just-right leather seat of his baby. That was exactly the kind of thinking that would get his ass sent back to New York and his grandfather to disown him, once and for all.

Time to man-up and earn the reputation he had for being the best. And even that was still in question by Banon James Edwards I. Being named as one of the Top 100 Internet Innovators didn’t mean a thing to the pretentious old bastard. Of course, the man couldn’t sing the praises of his name sake loud enough. His older brother was solidly positioned in the family business like the finishing block of the ultimate Tetris game. As the heir, he was a master at towing the accepted family line. But Parker felt sorry for him. He never saw a smile on his brother’s face.

Parking his car as far away from other cars as he could in the too-narrow parking lot of The Van Buren Tribune, he scanned the clean lines of the print press building. It stood as tall as the Cape Van Buren Fire Station but only a third of the length. Half of the roof rose on a slight, rounded incline and the other shot up on a flat line at a forty-five-degree angle. The walls were floor-to-ceiling glass, giving outsiders an unobstructed view in—and there it was, the telltale sign of a small town. Everyone’s business was dinner conversation and secrets were as common as hookers on the corner of Garden Parkway SW and Town Square Drive by the police station.

They didn’t exist.

He couldn’t see Cape Van Buren’s badged bad-asses allowing one hint of impropriety in front of their department building—and wasn’t that a damn shame?

Sighing, he slid his large frame from his car. Well, for the next week, he was stuck in Tiny Town with the task of saving the newspaper from closing down. Should be a fairly straight forward gig, but an important one. The owner had been one of his grandfather’s best friends. They’d grown up together, but Banon had moved away, only to come back after Horace had died.

The old man would never have placed the job in Parker’s hands, but the board said otherwise. Now, his grandfather would finally have to admit his grandson’s success.

As Parker made his way inside, he thought he caught another glimpse of those mile-long legs through the glass and shook his head. When he glanced back, there were no legs in sight. Must have been a dream, but like his grandfather always said, Get your head out of your ass, boy.

The man was so supportive.

Parker pulled open the heavy glass double doors of the paper and blinked twice.

Apparently, his imagination was keener than he’d given it credit for. The long legs in question were planted squarely, supporting the biggest welcome sign he’d ever seen. And a set of the kindest eyes he’d ever had the privilege of witnessing peeked at him from around one side like a kid asking Santa for a new pony.

The sign was an incredible rendition of the The Van Buren Tribune building with the sun’s reflection off the many glass windows. But the safety net drawn underneath in a webbing that spelled “Edwards” almost made him miss the step up and fall flat on his face. He righted himself with a cool brush of his shirt front and cleared his throat as an uncomfortable prickly sensation settled along his spine. He recognized it and didn’t like it one bit.

Expectation.

Gritting his teeth, he forced out a smile that probably looked as strained as it felt. The leggy brunette moved the sign to the side and, with a jab of her thumb and a grin, said, “See what I did there?”

God help him. She thought the web with his name spelled in it was clever.

Another woman with a crazy halo of brown curls, and a decidedly better read on the situation, stood close by with narrowed eyes. “This doesn’t look good, Sage.”

Staring straight at him with a dreamy smile on her face, the woman called Sage whispered, “The hell it doesn’t.” Then, she snapped her mouth shut and dropped the sign.

Ignoring her own whispered statement—which Parker found all too interesting despite the warning bells clanging in his head—she stepped forward with a dreamy-eyed look on her face and thrust out her hand.

“Welcome to the The Van Buren Tribune. I’m Sage Mathews, the cartoonist and granddaughter to the late Horace Rosewater. I have such great ideas for you.” She jerked her chin in the direction of her companion. “And Alora, here, is a marketing genius. I know we can get this thing turned around.”

With a looming dread, he took her hand, surprised when she squeezed firmly. There was nothing that drove him crazier than a limp-dick handshake. But with the feel of her silky palm against his—as loudly as his brain told him to steer clear of this too-eager brunette beauty with the elevated expectations, and the never-knew-a-stranger smile—his body told him that one thing was already for certain, nothing about this woman had ever caused anything to go limp.

Which could be a problem.

The other woman stepped up, extending her hand and breaking the weird over-the-rainbow spell he’d been under. “I’m Adora...er, I mean, Alora…Kingsley.” She was so tiny, he had a hard time figuring out how she supported such a mop of curls without toppling over.

He raised a brow. “You don’t know?”

Funny, her handshake was pleasant enough but not distracting in the least. Feeling a bit more himself, he released her, enjoying the furrow in her brow.

“Not enough coffee...” She waved her hands in dismissal. “Anyway. Not important. I’m Sage’s cousin. Well, second cousin.” She looked at Sage. “How does it work?”

Sage stared at her for a second, then shook her head with a WTF look in her eyes. “I don’t know, however many cousins it works out to when my grandfather is your grandmother’s husband’s sister’s late husband…second? Third?”

He watched them in wonder over familial genetics. Until hearing the two talk, he’d never pair the long legs to heaven with the petite bohemian firecracker as cousins any day. Listening to the two blather on left no room for confusion, but his head was still spinning.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he swallowed a sigh. He had a sinking feeling Sage Mathews was going to be a much bigger problem than his grandfather any day.

If the saccharine look of hope in his welcome party’s eyes was any indication, Tiny Town just got a helluva lot more complicated.