Sunflower Alley (The Merriams Book 4) Read online

  Sunflower Alley

  by

  Ava Miles

  ~ The Merriams ~

  Connor & Louisa

  © 2020 Ava Miles

  Sign up for Ava’s Newsletter

  Ava’s Website

  Ava’s Facebook

  Ava on Goodreads

  Ava’s Twitter

  Ava’s Instagram

  International Bestselling Author Ava Miles’ acclaimed family series, The Merriams, returns with an inspiring story about a billionaire mistaken for homeless and the woman who sees the true riches inside him, in a book that'll make you feel better about the world.

  Connor Merriam has lost everything: his best friend, his family, and his high-powered job. He's so far gone he can't see any hope for the future… Until he meets Louisa.

  Louisa Evans has rebuilt everything: her family, her career, and her life. Now she’s helping people in need—and she’s happy. The last complication she needs is a man as mysterious and haunted as Connor.

  But she can't discount his goodness and is drawn by his desire to assist her goal to help more people in the world. His quiet strength is seductive. And in the rare moments he laughs, the world sparkles.

  Against all odds—and with the help of the matchmaking efforts of Connor's Aunt Clara and Uncle Arthur—they begin to fall in love. But can Connor let the past go and accept this shot at redemption? And will his family give him a second chance?

  Inspired by Ava's encounter with a billionaire and other real-life stories—and some not-so-real-life ones like a missing Julia Childs's recipe (don't we wish!)—every chapter is infused with hope and the power of love.

  To all the people in the world like my heroine, Louisa, who inspire me with their real-life examples of commitment, kindness, empathy, and love. May more rise.

  And to my divine entourage, who brings people and stories to me that remind me that the world really is a wonderful place and can be transformed at any moment with love.

  Acknowledgements

  Writing this book changed my life and expanded my ability to love.

  But it didn’t start with the first words on the page…

  It started on a cold and cloudy afternoon in a Manhattan hotel when I met a billionaire. Of course, I didn’t know he was a billionaire when he approached our table and commented how rare and wonderful it was to see people laughing and being happy in the Big Apple. Inviting him to join us changed me and sparked this book. Over the course of the afternoon, we shared our life stories about what had led us to choose happiness, and here’s where it intersects with Connor’s story. As he walked to a soup kitchen where he was volunteering, a homeless man mistook this billionaire for homeless too and told him everything was going to be all right and that things would get better. This billionaire said it was like the homeless man had seen inside him. In his heart, despite seemingly having everything, he was homeless. It prompted him to change his life and start choosing happiness and doing more good things in the world. After our encounter, I just knew I needed to write that into one of my heroes, and who better than Connor?

  I also want to thank Martha White for sharing her friend’s story that inspired part of Boxer’s back story. You see, this woman was afraid of the homeless man sitting across the street from her house, but he was pleasant to her when she’d walk her dog, so she started to say hello back to him. Amazingly, it was this man who saved her dog when her house caught on fire.

  There are two other people I have only read about that I’d also like to thank for inspiring me. Former Chicago police officer, Lisa Negro. She started serving the homeless coffee and sandwiches out of a little red wagon and has since founded an acclaimed service organization that includes Inspiration Kitchens. Her empathy and vision is beautiful, and I for one, am happy to know she and others like her are in our world. Also, Keanon Lowe, a former Oregon Ducks football player and now a high school football coach in Portland, Oregon. He disarmed a student that brought a gun inside and then hugged him when the boy broke down and said no one cared about him. That act reminded me yet again how we can bring empathy and love into a violent situation and transform it into a moment of grace and example.

  Matchmaking is a lot like investigative journalism.

  Both require relentless pursuit—

  especially when the object of inquiry is

  a man like Connor Merriam.

  The five journalistic questions reign supreme.

  The who: My nephew by my beloved wife, Clara

  The what: The newly fired CEO of Merriam Enterprises has disappeared.

  The when: A week ago

  The where: Location unknown but speculating Chicago

  The why: Best friend and cousin died in Merriam Enterprises accident with other employees; Connor blames himself and has gone wild with grief.

  Clara and I have had a lot of challenges matchmaking this next generation, but leading Connor to love will be our biggest challenge yet.

  Good thing I believe in one truth:

  When a person is in dire straits and the stakes are high, their soulmate tends to show up.

  With Connor, she is going to have to be one hell of a woman.

  Arthur Hale,

  Pulitzer Prize-Winning Journalist and Matchmaker Jedi

  Chapter 1

  He’d failed his best friend again.

  The freezing Chicago weather wasn’t numbing Connor fast enough after his brief encounter with his cousin’s widow. Neither was the bottle of Irish whiskey he’d bought at a dilapidated corner store adjacent to the run-down South Side park where he was currently sitting, defeat covering him like the falling snow. He’d ended up at the liquor store after taking a hard run to Corey’s gravesite in Oak Woods. Seeing his cousin’s shiny new tombstone again had somehow made everything worse. Not that his confrontation with Olivia, Corey’s widow, hadn’t been crushing enough.

  I don’t want you to see my sons right now.

  Hearing that had made him feel worse than being fired by his family a week ago.

  “Max and Joseph are my godsons, for Christ’s sake.” He was talking to himself like a crazy person, but who the hell cared? No one was out in the snowstorm but him. He took a pull of the whiskey.

  How had it come to this? He’d gone to visit Olivia and the kids, only to discover their South Side neighborhood had fallen into alarming disrepair. He’d come across a couple of needles and enough unsavory characters to give him nightmares. Olivia had turned him down flat when he’d offered to buy her a house in a safer neighborhood like Lincoln Park. Sure, the home she lived in had belonged to his grandparents. But what were happy memories compared with safety? On Corey’s wedding day, Connor had promised to take care of his family should anything happen to him. He intended to carry through on that promise.

  But what had Olivia done? Turned him down flat. She’d insisted they wouldn’t give up on their neighborhood.

  “She’s the crazy one,” he muttered to himself, lifting the bottle to his lips and welcoming the harsh burn in his mouth.

  Who was she kidding? The neighborhood had deteriorated so much he didn’t recognize it, and he’d gone to the University of Chicago in the adjacent neighborhood, Hyde Park. Even back then, everyone had known not to venture too far from the campus, but this part of South Side had never looked so dangerous. He couldn’t fathom why Corey hadn’t noticed. Of course, his cousin had spent most of his time on a Merriam offshore oil rig for the company Connor no longer ran.

  I don’t want my boys following you around like my husband did. Look where that got him.

  Everyone kept telling him he wasn’t at fault for the deaths at the oil rig. Hell, hadn’t he tried to convince himsel f of that? Not Olivia. Truth be told, he’d welcomed the lash. Hadn’t he been president of Merriam Enterprises at the time? Couldn’t he have reinforced the steel on the rig? He should have done something…

  All he’d done lately was fail, and people kept getting hurt. Olivia hadn’t pulled any punches.

  I don’t trust you or your judgment right now, Connor. I won’t have my boys getting hurt by being around you.

  He wanted to crush the whiskey bottle in his hands.

  Someone in the family must have told her what had happened with Michaela. His sister had nearly died in Kenya, on an assignment he’d sent her on. His poor handling of the situation had only worsened matters. One of many bad calls he’d made since Corey’s death. Truth was, he’d deserved to be fired for conduct unbecoming, which was why he’d driven his family to do it.

  Getting fired had felt like rock bottom at the time, but he’d fallen even deeper into a pit of hopelessness. He’d thought making good on his promise to Corey would help fill the emptiness inside him. But how could he take care of Corey’s family when Olivia wouldn’t let him? When she wouldn’t even let him see those wonderful boys who looked so much like his best friend? What if something happened to them while walking these gritty streets?

  No. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. He was Connor Merriam, a freaking billionaire, someone Forbes had called “a visionary leader of our time.”

  He’d find a way to fulfill his promise to Corey.

  If he didn’t, he had nothing left.

  “Hey, buddy!” he heard someone call out.

  Snow wetting his face, he took a long pull on the bottle. He used to think people just drank out of paper sacks to disguise the alcohol, but he realized now they had another purpose—the paper gave a person something to grip in freezing conditions. The bottle would be wet and slippery otherwise in his numb hands.

  “Man, it’s snowing like crazy out here,” he heard again. “You got somewhere to go?”

  A big black man in a puffy black jacket with shoulders the size of a forklift bent over in front of Connor, a dark stocking hat on his enormous head.

  “Get the fuck away from me.”

  “Not looking to hurt you.” The man stood back and held up his giant gloved hands. “Just a concerned citizen. It’s six degrees out with snow coming down hard. You’re wearing next to nothing and drinking in a park. I’m not about to let you freeze to death.”

  Freeze to death? He was boiling on the inside with anger and guilt. “Still a free country last I looked. Buzz off.”

  “Hard case, huh?” The big guy cracked his neck. “Fine then. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  Connor didn’t bother to follow the man’s progress. Taking another pull on the bottle, he stared out across the park. The snow was quickly covering the cracked sidewalks—ankle busters, Grandpa Noah used to call them—and God knows what other trash on the ground.

  His grandparents would be appalled. Back when Grandma Anna and Grandpa Noah were young, their church had helped pull the community together. Grandma Anna had taught at the Catholic school, working with the legendary pastor, Father Shaughnessy, and the church had helped feed, school, and clothe the local kids. But according to Connor’s Weatherby cousins, the new pastor hadn’t filled his shoes, nor had the one who came after him. Diminished attendance and church scandals had helped seal the church’s decline.

  Like religion ever helped a damn thing, anyway. Connor wasn’t a religious man and sure as hell wasn’t going to worship a God who didn’t take care of his flock. Corey had been a churchgoer when he wasn’t on a rig in the ocean, and where had that gotten him?

  “Boxer here tells me you’re a tough guy,” a feminine voice said, a vein of steel in it.

  He turned his head in its direction to see a woman standing in the amber light. A blast of heat punched through his numbness as he looked at her. She was standing beside his bench, five foot nothing, in a red parka with a soggy navy stocking hat covering her long black hair. Maybe the cold was getting to him, but she looked like Rihanna’s doppelganger with her caramel skin, arched brows, and full lips.

  She had his attention.

  Her accent was pure South Side and those wide-set, captivating eyes were locked on him with a directness he rarely saw. Most people hesitated to challenge him, whether in the business world or his own family. It was why he’d earned the nickname of the Big Bad Wolf. Her high cheekbones bespoke beauty while the pointy chin signaled strength. The big black man he’d met earlier stood behind her protectively. Were they a couple? And what the hell were they doing out here in a snowstorm, least of all talking to him?

  “What’s it to you?” Connor shot back.

  She sat down on the snow-covered bench next to him and folded her hands in her lap, her entire demeanor calm while her eyes—golden, he could see now—roved over his face. “You think it’s ‘tough’ to get frostbite or die from exposure? I can promise you it hurts like hell.”

  He laughed, happy to play devil’s advocate. “It won’t hurt if you die.”

  “You looking to die?” she asked in that same serious tone.

  Since he didn’t have a flip response, he blew out a breath, the cold freezing it in front of his face.

  “Things that bad, huh?” she asked, placing her gloved hand on his thinly clothed arm.

  Her touch shocked him. He was a stranger sitting in a run-down park drinking from a bottle. Why did she care what became of him? “You some do-gooder who’s got nothing better to do on Friday night?”

  Something dropped onto his legs. “It’s just a blanket,” the woman said. “I’m Louisa, by the way, and this is my friend, Boxer. Do you have someplace we can take you?”

  He thought of the motel room he was staying in only a few blocks away. A snowy street was cleaner and more inviting than that shithole, but it was serving its purpose. The owner took cash and didn’t require a credit card for amenities—because there were none. It didn’t make for a comfortable stay, but his tech-savvy brother, Flynn, couldn’t track him there. Other places would have accepted cash too, but this one had another advantage: no one would ever think to look for him there. He was too ashamed to see his family.

  “I’m fine.” He pushed the soft blanket back to her and took another long pull from the whiskey. “Got my friend Jameson here. Don’t need anything else.”

  She worried her rosebud of a mouth. “Jameson, huh? I have two glasses back where I work. Why don’t you come back with me, and we’ll have a drink?”

  He was sure he smirked. “You looking for a little slumming on Friday night? Like the bums in a park, do you?”

  “You’ll want to watch your tone, man,” Boxer said.

  Louisa shook her head at her friend. “He’s only testing me. How about this, tough guy? If I can guess why you’re sitting in this park drinking in a snowstorm, you’ll come with Boxer and me to where it’s warm.”

  She was negotiating with him? Connor Merriam loved a good negotiation, and he hadn’t done it since being fired. It had been a disarming transition for a man accustomed to twenty-hour workdays. Each day loomed long and empty, and even though it had only been a week, his mind was already itching for a challenge. “You have to guess at least five things about me out of seven. If you don’t, you walk away.” Then he had a thought. “And you won’t call the police on me.” He didn’t want to go back in just yet—despite the weather—and he certainly didn’t need the hassle.

  “So you’re smarter than you look.” She nodded. “You’re on. How about this? You just lost your job and don’t have a line on anything new.”

  His cold lips forced a half-smile. Was he that obvious? “Score one for Ms. Goody Two-Shoes.”

  “Second, you can’t go home,” she added.

  The kick to his guts was sure and swift. “No, I can’t.” After the board meeting, he’d driven home to pack a few things and grab some cash, and then headed straight for Chicago, storing his car in an underground garage downtown. He’d promised hims elf he wasn’t going home until he did something right. He felt pretty far off the mark just now.

  “Three, you don’t have any family you can go to.”

  His throat thickened with grief, hearing that hard truth out loud. He had six younger siblings that he couldn’t look in the eye right now, and his parents… He’d let them all down. They’d pushed at him to get help, telling him the grief had skewed his thinking. But who could possibly help him? Nothing could bring Corey back. Nor could some therapist undo the decisions he’d made that had led to Michaela almost dying.

  “Four, you’re staying at Ferguson’s Motel,” Louisa said, her hand still on his arm.

  Surprise stole his breath for a moment. “How did you—?”

  “Cash only and not far from this park or the liquor store that sells Jameson,” she said. “There’s another liquor store to the south, but it doesn’t sell Jameson.”

  “You that big of a Jameson fan?” he asked.

  “I drink it when I watch Notre Dame play,” she said. “Now, that’s four I’ve gotten right so far.”

  He handed her the bottle. “Since you like it so much.”

  She laughed but pushed it back at him, and he noticed a small hole in her right glove. “The Irish aren’t playing right now. I’m superstitious.”

  He shook his head. “An Irish fan and a superstitious one at that. God help me.”

  “So you don’t like the Fighting Irish?” she asked. “I won’t hold that against you. Boxer doesn’t either, but I still love him.”

  He glanced at the man still standing behind her. Snow covered his shoulders, but he hadn’t moved from his protective stance. “He only your friend?”