Make You Mine

MAKE YOU MINE FIREWEED HARBOR SERIES J.H. CROIX CONTENTS 1. Haven 2. Rhys 3. Haven 4. Rhys 5. Rhys 6. Haven 7. Rhys 8. Rhys 9. Haven 10. Rhys 11. Haven 12. Haven 13. Rhys 14. Haven 15. Rhys 16. Rhys 17. Haven 18. Rhys 19. Haven 20. Rhys 21. Haven 22. Haven 23. Rhys 24. Rhys 25. Haven 26. Haven 27. Haven 28. Rhys 29. Haven 30. Rhys 31. Haven 32. Rhys 33. Rhys 34. Rhys 35. Haven 36. Rhys 37. Haven 38. Rhys 39. Haven 40. Rhys Epilogue Find My Books Acknowledgments About the Author This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 J.H. Croix All rights reserved. Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs 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. Created with Vellum Chapter One HAVEN With my boyfriend, Rhys, working late, I’d settled in for the evening. I had a glass of my favorite wine and my laptop on my lap. I felt like I was finally catching my stride again on rebuilding my online business for artsy cards and invitations. I planned to keep my extra job as a barista for the time being, primarily because I wanted to build up a cushion of savings for myself, but I also enjoyed it. There was an ebb and flow to the busyness of every day when I was there. I also felt like it was helping me get my groove back with returning to my hometown. Fireweed Harbor, Alaska, was a bustling small town, and it had been a full decade since I’d lived here. It was nice to be in the pulse of town at the café. I cocked my head to the side as I adjusted the layout of my website. My business, With Love, had nearly crashed and burned after my ex-boyfriend stealthily re-routed my earnings into his bank account. Like an idiot, I had trusted him to help me. After almost eight months, my stock of handmade wedding invitations and other cards was building again. I had expanded into offering digitized cards for larger orders and had established a solid presence on several of the artsy online websites. I enjoyed plunking around on the backend of my website. Today, I was uploading a line of stickers. I hadn’t realized stickers could be a booming business, but I’d designed a few on a whim and discovered people loved them. Although I spent many nights over at Rhys’s place, I tried to spend enough nights here so that I didn’t trick myself into thinking we were further along as a couple. I felt like we were in a good place, but I needed time, and I wanted to take it slow. We lived next door to each other, so it made taking things slow a little challenging sometimes. Our re-meeting last summer happened after I mistook his place next door for mine. The mini cape-style houses matched with dark gray siding and plum trim on the outside, giving a cheerful touch. The downstairs was open and airy with light-colored hardwood flooring and a peaked ceiling with windows that looked out onto a street that offered a view of the town’s harbor. My lease was due for renewal this upcoming summer, and I wondered occasionally what to do about that. Rhys was my landlord. He’d pointed out time and again that he didn’t consider himself my landlord. His family’s property management company, a tiny branch of his family’s international corporation, technically handled my lease. I kept reminding him that he was the CEO of Fireweed Industries, a billion-dollar corporation. Fireweed Industries was owned and run by the Cannon family. The Cannon family was Fireweed Harbor royalty. All because they started Fireweed Winery a generation ago and spun that success into many investments and expansions. TL/DR: my boyfriend was a billionaire. Startled by a knock on the door, I eyed the door skeptically. After a moment, I uncurled my legs, sliding my laptop to the side before standing and padding to the door in my socks. I swung it open to find a woman standing there. She thrust a manila envelope at me. “Excuse me?” I prompted. The envelope was already in my hands. I had reflexively taken it from her. “Consider yourself served,” she said before turning and walking briskly down the stairs. “For what?” I called. She didn’t answer, climbing in a car and driving off. I let out a sigh as I closed the door, locking it for good measure. I walked over to the kitchen counter, sliding my thumb along the seal of the envelope to open it. Seconds later, I was staring down at some official-looking papers that were not addressed to me. They were for Rhys. The two small matching homes we lived in were next door to each other, so it was easy enough to confuse them. I’d confused them myself when I originally moved in. Uneasiness slithered down my spine as I stared at the papers with a sense of mistrust spinning in my chest. These papers were a demand for child support, claiming that Rhys Cannon owed years of back support. “What is this?” I whispered to myself. I felt sick to my stomach. How in the hell could he lie to me about the fact that he had a child? Even worse, trying to avoid paying child support? It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it. I couldn’t even read anymore. With fury driving me, I stuffed the papers back in the envelope, put on my shoes, and marched out the front door down the walkway