The Kiss Code: A Man of the Month Club Novella: A Small-Town Won't Let Her Go Romance Read online

  THE KISS CODE

  A MAN OF THE MONTH CLUB NOVELLA

  LAYNE DANIELS

  © 2022, Layne Daniels

  The Kiss Code

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Brynn Paulin (also a seriously amazing author, go check her out, for real)

  Cover by Cormar Covers

  Special thanks to Natalie Arthur for being my ride or die babe. Couldn’t do this without you!

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  About the Author

  Dear Reader,

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Also by Layne Daniels

  MAN OF THE MONTH CLUB 2022

  THE KISS CODE

  I’m not about this 'small town everybody knows my business' life. At least, not when it comes to the part about my love life. So when the one night stand I picked up at a convention across the country follows me home, it’s a problem.

  No one in my life knew about the side hustle I was at the convention for. They all thought I was traveling to escape the grief of my father’s passing. That was by design. Now my secret’s out and everyone’s bombarding me with expectations.

  It’s impossible to keep my Big Mad in place when every time I turn around, the man of my dreams is here trying to make it up to me. I’m still gonna give it my best effort.

  Layne is a USA Today Bestselling Author, a long time reader of steamy romance, and began writing her own stories in December of 2020. Her favorite books to read are about Daddy Doms, strong alpha men who fall in love with fierce women, and sex positive living. When she’s not writing, she’s wrangling her family of jocks into some semblance of chill, running a business, getting ALL the tattoos, and living her love-at-first-sight fairytale with Mr. Mine.

  You can sign up for my monthly newsletter here- Layne Daniels Monthly Newsletter

  DEAR READER,

  “It is you I love. I spent so much of my life guarding my heart. I guarded it so well that I could behave as though I didn’t have one at all. Even now, it is a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing. But it is yours.” - Holly Black

  Dear Reader,

  A fun fact about me is that growing up, my family moved around almost nonstop. Part of that meant never learning how to stand still and exist inside a circle of love. It wasn’t until the first time my husband and I fought, shortly after our wedding, that I learned what it meant to exist with your heart being guarded and protected by someone else. Harmony reminds me a lot of how I was as a young woman. Loving and kind, but guarded and unwilling to trust the people around her to be gentle with her tender heart.

  And if there’s a little bit of Mr. Mine peeking through in Nolan’s personality, well I hope you’ll forgive a girl in love from seeing her real life hero find a place between the pages, too.

  I hope this summer is treating you all fantastically, and that you’re able to celebrate World Kiss Day (July 6th) every year with all the best kisses in the world. Whether they’re from a partner(s), tiny humans who depend on you, friends, or doggos.

  Until next time,

  XoXo,

  Layne

  CHAPTER ONE

  Harmony Hammond

  Fucking Sycamore Mountain. No matter how many times I tell myself I’m getting out of this damn town, it slips around my neck like a noose to keep me close. I’m too strangled by family obligation and duty to walk away.

  I could deal with that if dear old dad hadn’t been so mule-headed about accepting any of my ideas or plans for modernization. I made my first suggestion to improve the family business, Hammond Distillery, when I was only twelve.

  He’d made it perfectly clear he wouldn’t take me seriously then, and that never changed. Right up until he keeled over a few months ago.

  Don’t get me wrong; I loved my father. I love my family. What I don’t love is having to hide my brains and talents because our father was convinced Hammond Distillery belonged on the shoulders of my older brother, Ryland.

  The same brother who ran off to Charleston the first chance he got and didn’t come back until after our dad was dead. I know Ry would take me seriously if I offered my help. Especially since the company’s been in the hands of my bestie, his brand new wife, for years.

  Magnolia got into running Hammond because it was a tie to Ryland while he was gone. The whole town believes I’ve turned my back on the business because our dad wanted Ry to come home and take over.

  I never wanted Magnolia’s job, and I don’t want Ryland’s now.

  Old habits are hard to break, and I’ve been keeping my skills a secret for so long now I wouldn’t even know where to start. Magnolia doesn’t even know the full extent of what I’ve been working on, and we’ve been best friends for eons.

  Now that she’s married to Ryland, I know I’d hurt both of them if they ever find out what I’ve been hiding. I just didn’t know how to open up about what I’ve been working on, and now, it’s too late. There are things in motion that guarantee I can’t let them find out what I’ve been up to.

  Sitting alone with my back to the crowd at Pour Decisions on a Thursday evening isn’t my usual jam, but it’s been a weird week.

  It used to be I’d have Magnolia here with me while I figure out what to do with the newest developments. Since my brother came home this spring and the two finally got over themselves enough to admit they’re both gonzo for each other, I’ve been flying solo more often than not.

  Don’t get me wrong; I’m thrilled for them both. It's definitely not what I’m looking for in my own life. Still, in most people’s minds, love isn’t the same four letter curse word that it is in mine.

  Personally, I’ve got plans to be the cool auntie who lives alone and does whatever she wants until the day they toss dirt on my casket.

  Morbid? Possibly. Truth is truth, though. Some birds just aren’t meant to be caged, no matter how gilded the bars surrounding them might be.

  It’s me. I’m ‘some birds’.

  “Hey, Harmie! Haven’t seen you out and about lately. Where have you been hiding?” The arm slung around my neck smells like Tommy Hilfiger cologne.

  Exactly the way it did when we were in high school a half dozen years ago. When I turn my head to answer, there’s Will Foster, smiling and drunk and all in my personal space, exactly the way he was back then, too.

  Like everything else in this town, Will never changes.

  “For shit’s sake, Willie. Stay out of my bubble and stop calling me Harmie.” Even this conversation is the same one we repeat each time he spots me. Calling me “Harmie” is an absolutely annoying reminder of our shared childhood.

  Nothing changes around here and I’m never going to be free of this place.

  I dreamed of flying away into the great big world after high school. At that point, our dad had made it abundantly clear he’d never look at me as a successor to take over Hammond Distillery. It was always only gonna be Ry.

  Then Ryland ran away to Charleston and abandoned us all. I understood why he left, even if I didn’t agree with his decision. His choices limited mine, though. We couldn’t both desert our dad and the family legacy.

  Instead of heading off to college to become the next tech genius to rule the cyber universe, I stayed here. Whatever his reasoning, Dad pulled in Mags to be his right hand. And I stayed here, two steps behind them. The only difference was, he leaned on Magnolia instead of Ryland. I think he figured if one of his kids turned their back on the daily legacy, there was nothing stopping the other kid from doing the same.

  It would have been easy to hate on Mags for becoming my dad’s right hand. In a different reality, I would have been angrier maybe. By the time Ry took off and dad was left with no successor, the die was already cast making it certain I’d never fit in his shoes. I’d sowed the seeds of being unbothered by his constant disregard for my ideas and plans. Once Ry left, there was no way our father would have even considered me as an option to take his place.

  Magnolia had been hanging around, learning the ropes of the place since we were kids. They saw eye to eye on all the things my dad and I butted heads about, and Mags knew I’d probably take off if I had to cram myself into my father’s ideals.

  What might have looked like a betrayal was more like a rescue mission. Salvaging what relationship I was able to cobble together with dear old Dad, protecting the Hammond legacy, and holding space for my idiot brother to pull his head out of his ass.

  So I stayed here. Woke up every day and showed up to help out as a Jill-of-All-Trades around the place. Whether it was helping on the line where the bottles were labeled,
filled, and sealed or working the counter at the cigar bar. It didn’t make any difference to me what I spent my days on. I proved with every one that passed I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Or at least, I wasn’t staying anywhere. My life, my real life, begins and ends when I log onto my computer systems every night to chase my dreams. I’ve been designing custom apps for businesses across the country for years now, since I was twenty and I’m twenty-seven now. I use a pseudonym and run all the work through an online company that handles the business end of things and funnels work my way.

  The Hammond family coffers may be deep, but it’s been years since I relied on that money to make my way in life. People around here, my family included, can continue to believe I lack goals and aspirations. It’s no skin off my nose.

  I guess I ignored Will long enough because he wanders away without further encouragement.

  I take in a fresh breath of cologne-free air and thank the good sense of my teenage self that I never dated any of the local boys. I can just imagine how much more annoying it would be to see all these guys from my childhood if I also had the memories of sucking face or worse, hooking up with any of them.

  I’m no purity princess, even if nobody around here sees me dating. I just take the opportunity to get my needs met when I travel. With no expectations of forever and no need to face reminders of the past all over town, vacation flings have been working fine for me since my first solo trip. I went to Chicago to sign the contracts for the original app design I sold when I was twenty.

  It’s never been a problem finding someone to spend the time with or to walk away from when it’s time. That’s a bit of a fib. It was never a problem before I went to the TechTonic Code Load Conference three months ago in Vegas. The event was held in a massive convention center so large it was able to host not only our nerd gathering but a second event at the same time. A tattoo convention, no less.

  While the TechTonic crowd was all khakis and button-down shirt wearing computer programmers, the tattoo convention…wasn’t. Instead of quiet intellectuals browsing from booth to booth to take in futuristic technology and prototypes, the other end of the center was bright colors, loud humming machines, and sexy bodies everywhere.

  Cutting loose with an artist from a booth on the tattoo event side of the building had been a wild adventure that felt like a huge break from even my dual-sided life. One beyond maintaining the reputation as the aimless Hammond Whiskey princess by day and secret code ninja when the sun goes down.

  Walking away from that weekend, from Nolan Michaels, had been difficult. I can’t pretend it hadn’t been. He’d asked me to stay in touch. I’d smiled and said sure, though I’d known I wouldn’t call the number he’d programmed into my phone.

  I press my thumb over the ink Nolan gave me as a gift that weekend. A snippet of binary code he’d shaped into the outline of a bottle of whiskey that hides behind the waistband of my jeans.

  Weird week aside, sitting here at Pour Decisions is my best hope at hearing if the gossip about a new tattoo studio, supposedly owned by some hotshot inker with a waitlist two years long, really is opening right down the street.

  I really do need to know if it’s true. Because the last time I heard anything about a tattooer with a two-year long waitlist, who was looking for a place to open up a new location, was when Nolan Michaels had been announced as convention champion.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nolan Michaels

  Did I buy myself out of both a lease for studio space and an apartment in Baton Rouge so I could chase a woman I spent a single weekend with to her tiny North Carolina mountain town? Yup.

  Am I convinced it’s the smartest move I’ve ever made? Fuck no. Have I ever been so convinced I met the other half of my soul and needed to do whatever it takes to be with her? Nope. Never before has anyone stirred my soul so completely.

  Harmony Hammond ghosted me three months ago after a weekend spent together, which made every single experience of my entire life feel completely colorless. Every success, challenge overcome, happiness or relationship. All buried under the weight of how much more I feel now that I’ve met her.

  The truck pulling up outside is loaded with the furnishings and supplies necessary to begin seeing clients in two weeks. I’ve got a lot to do between now and then, but I’m not letting that stop me from exploring the area a bit.

  Maybe seeing if I can accidentally on purpose run into little Ms. “ghosts a guy while he’s passed out from hours of being fucked into oblivion” Harmony Hammond.

  I don’t have a solid plan for when I track her down. During our weekend together, she’d mentioned family ties keep her chained in Sycamore Mountain.

  I figured if the mountain won’t come to Michaels, then Michaels must go to the mountain. Lucky for me, the mountain comes complete with a bustling downtown area I’m told is undergoing a booming growth of new residents and businesses, so my shop won’t stick out like a sore thumb.

  A knock on the door reminds me I don’t really have time to plot and plan the moment when I finally get Harmony back in my sights.

  The woman on the other side of the glass isn’t the burly moving company worker I expected. She’s a tiny older lady in a matching velour zip-up workout suit that perfectly matches her vivid fuchsia lipstick and eyeshadow. The only thing brighter than her lips and lids is the blue-rinsed floofy hair that haloes around her head.

  “Young man, I have been informed this establishment is intended to be a tattoo parlor!” Her wide smile doesn’t line up with the sharpness in her tone, and I’m uncertain whether I’m being welcomed to town or scolded.

  “Ma’am, that’s true. My shop is called Ink Lore, and in a few weeks, I’ll begin seeing clients who travel from all over for their appointments here. I expect it’ll be a benefit to the local economy to have an influx of short-term guests coming.” I leave aside the young man comment, but I can hear the defensiveness in my tone.

  At thirty-six, I’m hardly young. Then again, she’s probably got wrinkles older than I am, so I’m not of a mind to contradict her.

  “Ah, a fancy shop, I see. You gonna have any of those television-type folks sniffing around here? I watched that Ink Champions show every single season it was on the television. And you know what? I always told myself if I ever met a tattoo artist face-to-face, I was gonna get myself a tattoo to memorialize my husband, Frank. May he rest in peace.”

  It's been so long since I’ve taken on a client who hasn’t waited the years for their turn that I can hardly remember what it was like taking walk-ins and doing flash.

  Of course, Harmony and the piece I gave her is the exception. But the Sahara Desert would have to freeze over and turn into Santa’s workshop before I’d miss any opportunity to put my mark on my dream girl.

  “Well, I don’t have everything set up just yet, Ms.…”

  “Norris. Zelda Norris. I was the town librarian until I retired a few years ago. And you’re new to Sycamore Mountain. What brings you here, and when can I get a tattoo from you? I’ve got virgin skin, you know.” Her laugh is robust and brings an answering grin to my face.

  I’d worried a tattoo shop in a small town like this wouldn’t be welcomed, but if Ms. Norris is an example to go by, things will be just fine. Makes me want to grab my machine from the lockbox in the back of my Jeep and offer to ink her up, right here and now.

  “Well, ma’am, you see, it’s a bit of a funny story. I met this girl—”

  “Who is she? I’m sure I know her! I know this whole town. You can tell me. I’m no gossip.”

  I’m a thousand percent sure what I’m about to admit to Zelda Norris will actually hit the wires and be spread about town in ninety seconds. Nobody claims not to be a gossip unless they are one.