His 30-Day Guarantee

What was in the small print?

When Gray Reiss, one of the founders of a prominent computer hardware company, asks Astra Maris for a date, she’s reluctant to get involved again so soon after her painful divorce. Despite her misgivings, she finds herself accepting the challenge when he comes to her with a deal: She agrees to try him out—date him for thirty days—and then, if she decides he’s not to her taste, she can walk away. Astra has to admit he’s darn near perfect, if odd—handsome, successful, with a sense of humor…and the deal intrigues her. But there’s something he’s not telling her, and that makes her wonder, having walked away from a marriage with a charming, lying philanderer. Can Astra trust Gray Reiss?

His Thirty-Day Guarantee

Eilis Flynn

Sometimes a proposition comes with a guarantee

HIS THIRTY-DAY GUARANTEE

By Eilis Flynn

Flynn Books Words & Ideas

Copyright 2007, 2017 Eilis Flynn

Photo by Shutterstock.com

ISBN: 978-1370780518

Smashwords Edition

This ebook may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book with anyone else, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novella was based on the original unpublished novel Thirty-Day Guarantee, written in 1986, not to be confused with the graphic novella Thirty-Day Guarantee, also based on that novel, published in 2007 by Arrow Publications. This version has been extensively rewritten and re-edited from the original novel but is an original work.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission, except for excerpts used in reviews of this story.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

http://www.eilisflynn.com

For Mike

Chapter One

The sky was blue. No, wait, it was gray. No, wait… Astra Maris shook her head as she swiped at her hair. It was late spring in Seattle, and not surprisingly, she was dodging fat drops of rain when she wasn’t enjoying bright sunshine.

The University District Street Fair was used to changeable weather, held as it was the weekend before Memorial Day. But that didn’t stop the thousands of festival-goers or the vendors. Regulars to the event knew to wear rain slickers with hoods or, if forced to, carry umbrellas. She hadn’t made it to the street fair in a few years, and she discovered as she looked around that she had missed it.

She wandered down the street crowded with vendors and pedestrians before she finally saw what she was looking for and made a beeline for it. This particular honey vendor was her favorite, and the one thing she always looked for when she attended the event. Her newly ex-husband, Teddy, hadn’t ever liked the street fair, claiming he had had his pocket picked the one time he’d attended. Knowing Teddy, however, Astra couldn’t help but suspect that he had been the one trying the pick pocketing, but of course that would still have been too involved an activity. More likely he would have had someone else do the crime. Possibly one of his less-bright, less-motivated graduate students.

Teddy. What a mistake. She wasn’t going to make a mistake like that again. When she’d first met him, she’d still been reeling from the unexpected deaths of her parents. On first impression he wasn’t her type, but she’d changed her mind when he lavished attention on her when she was feeling lost and mourning the loss of her mother and father. The quick rush, the push to get married, and then…

She shook her head. She had a life to rebuild. It wouldn’t hurt to start off with getting reacquainted with her favorite things, and that included this sprawling, congested, cheerful street fair.

Dr. Maris! Haven’t seen you in a while, the honey vendor at the Honey Galore pushcart said, pushing up his ball cap and his sunglasses to get a better look at her. The guy’s corn rows clicked as he leaned forward, greeting her with a grin. How are you doing?

Better, Astra answered, answering his grin with one of her own. How’s business, Bob? Ready to go back to grad school yet? Bob had been one of her students as an undergraduate a few years ago but discovered that the prospects of a career in linguistical anthropology were less than sparkling after he started graduate school. In contrast, as he had explained to Astra when she had run into him at a local movie theater, the prospects of making a living selling varietal honeys to a select clientele willing to pay through the nose were excellent and lucrative.

He laughed. I’ve found my niche, Doc, he informed her. Honey’s hot, so to speak. I’ve got two stores now, three pushcarts, and a couple of kiosks at all-weather farmers’ markets. I’ve got a signup sheet for email specials and recipes, if you’re interested.

Good for you! I might be asking you for a job one of these days, she said, laughing. She promptly signed up on the clipboard. She was pleased to see that the sheet was almost completely filled.

We’ll find a place for you, Doc, talking about the anthropological meaning behind honey or something. Looking for your favorite? Let’s see, what was it—don’t tell me—

The rows and rows of honeys, all in shades of golds and yellows and reds and even violets, glowed in their Mason jars even in the uncertain sunlight of the afternoon. Astra was pleased to see Bob had expanded his offering of wares since the last time she had stopped at his honeycart, including honey ice cream, beeswax candles, soaps, and even honey soda pops.

She looked over the collection of honey products until she finally spied a familiar label. Aha! There it is, she said, pointing to the very top edge of the display case. Daffodil honey.

Her favorite brand of honey wasn’t one of the most popular, she knew. You’re lucky, Bob informed her as he reached for a jar of the stuff. I actually had a run on those. Those are the last two I have here. Sort of your hair color, come to think of it, he added. Sort of goldish, sort of light brown.

She laughed. Not the first time I’ve heard that, she said, flipping her slightly wet hair away from her face. And I’ll take both. After she paid, she watched as he wiped a light layer of dust off the tops and deftly slipped the jars into a brown paper bag. You have the best. You have to expect to have your customers clamoring for your specialties, she told him as she accepted the bag.

"Your lips to God’s ears, Doc—look out!"

Astra started to turn, but too late. Whoa!

The next thing she knew, she was getting shoved to the side when someone fell on her. The next thing she knew after that, she was on the ground.

I’m so sorry, miss! Are you all right? she heard. Can you sit up?

She looked up.

The man who had knocked her down was hovering over her, concern written all over his face. Next to him on the ground—was that—

She blinked. Was that a unicycle? No, I’m not all right, she snapped, the scrapes on her palms and knees starting to burn and tingle. This is not a bicycle trail, you know. Or a unicycle trail! It’s pedestrians only, and it’s the street fair! Do you know how many people come to these things? Typical man, she fumed. Inconsiderate, oblivious to anyone else!

She shifted and started to sit up when she felt something sticky under her hands. And she knew what it had to be. Oh no!

As if on cue, the clumsy man and Bob almost simultaneously turned to look. Near Astra’s hand lay the brown paper bag that she had just paid for. What was left of it was oozing and leaking, and when she picked it up, a telltale tinkling told her what she already had guessed. My honey!

The man who had knocked her down looked properly contrite when he glanced at the seeping bag. I’m really sorry. Can I buy you another jar?

Astra, trying to control her irritation, shot him a look designed to discourage. At least it worked on her students. No. Thank you. Those were the last ones, you said, right? she asked the honey vendor.

Bob nodded, wincing. That I had here. Sorry, Doc. Are you okay?

She sighed and looked at the bag sadly. I’m fine. Can you give me a call or drop me a line if you have any more at the shop? It’s my favorite, and it is so hard to find. Bob took the bag from her and tossed it into his trashcan as she rummaged through her purse and came up with her business card, a little dented and feathered at the edges, but still readable. She scribbled her personal email address on the back.

Meanwhile, the man with the unicycle was, if nothing else, persistent. Are you sure I can’t replace that for you, Ms.—?

No, Astra said, trying to be as clear as possible without hitting the man over the head. Although it was still a temptation. That’s not necessary. And you should have been looking where you were going, anyway.

I looked. I just couldn’t stop. He grinned, for all the hint of guilt in the ingratiating smile.

Aw, hell. He might have been a clumsy oaf, but he was cute. She had to make it a point to not look below the neck, but his charcoal-colored eyes and annoyingly sexy smile weren’t helping things any.

No, Astra, she reminded herself. Stay away from cute guys. They’re full of themselves and lazy to boot.

But he looked familiar somehow. Do I know you from somewhere? Are you one of my students? She had taught a few introductory night courses. He could have been in the larger classes.

He grinned. No, I’m pretty sure I’d remember if you were my teacher.

Astra’s immediate thought was a similar one: I’d remember you if you were my student. He was about her age, but he certainly didn’t dress like it. He might have been the worst-dressed man she’d met, and considering she was a professor at a major research university, that was saying something. His flowered aloha shirt, with missing buttons and the edges frayed, was outdone only by the torn, discolored jeans he wore and ragged sneakers with his toes sticking out at the tip. His