Series: Copper Valley Fireballs #2
Release Date: September 3, 2020
seated in the hall of lame.
modeling in shampoo commercials. I once jammed my own finger while stirring
cookie dough, and sometimes I forget shampoo is a thing.
talk about how many times that’s happened), it’s clear he’s exactly the man I
girlfriend to get a meddling grandmother off his back.
Luca Rossi will ever be is the next man to leave me at the altar.
featuring a grumpy athlete, a jilted bride, a fake relationship, and the
world’s laziest cat. It stands alone and comes complete with sibling rivalry,
the world’s most awkward shower scene, and a sweetly satisfying happily ever
weird to be sitting on the doorstep of the man I cyberstalked after his whole love sucks speech after my failed
wedding. But I won’t apologize for waiting for Luca here at what I think is his
house, because you don’t get what you need in life if you don’t go for it.
Dogzilla and I should be waiting in my car instead? At least that way, I could
turn on the radio while we wait. And the air conditioning.
to the car when a clunker chugs around the corner, one headlight out, and turns
into the driveway.
definitely the wrong house.
the porch of a stranger’s house, hoping that’s a woman driving, because if it’s
a woman, at least I know I won’t be in danger.
love with her at first sight, I mean.
off, and while I don’t often trespass at midnight, I have this feeling that
jumping up with Dogzilla and making a run for it right now is exactly the wrong
move. A well-timed, “Oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else,”
will give us all a laugh, I’ll take my cat and leave, and then two complete
strangers will have a weird story to tell their friends over margaritas—or an
iced tea, in my case—and huh.
an excellent meet-cute for my friend Dorothea’s next steamy romance novel. I’ll
have to drop her a note too.
the car is still sitting in it, and the figure illuminated by the street light
looks too big to be a woman.
head against the steering wheel?
house of a nutjob, all bets are off.
run, Dogzilla,” I whisper.
doesn’t move, and instead snores in my lap.
anyway, since it’s not like I can count on her to follow alone when I take off
running at full-steam.
happen all that often, if we’re being honest here. I’m a writer, not a runner.
Dogzilla, and when Luca looks my way, I give him a finger wave and a smile.
bright enough for me to see what he’s saying, but his lips are definitely
moving, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s wearing the same long-suffering
expression my father usually has when I tell him I’m engaged.
remarkably similar to the expression Luca was wearing when he recognized me at
Duggan Field earlier today too.
to ambush him at work, I swear. I was curious about the ballpark—I’m curious
about a lot of things—so when I caught wind on social media of a writer
organization that was touring the park, it was easy enough to get here in time
today to join the group.
fascinating to see where the players work out, to smell the chairs the
announcers sit in, what it feels like to stand in the dugout, and hear how many
light bulbs have to be replaced every day.
a creak as the car door swings open, and I suddenly desperately need to know
why Luca Rossi, millionaire sports star, lives on a grocery store clerk’s
things my ex-fiancé Kyle liked about me.
are you between me and my bed, and I’m not asking out loud because I don’t honestly
want to know.
lot of experience understanding people because I write good characters, or I
have a lot of experience with frustrating men after five failed engagements.
relationship with my father.
Great game tonight. That catch you made in center field was like—”
where I didn’t move, the one where I stepped three feet to my left, or the one
where I had to take two steps back?”
had an easy game. “How did you know where the ball was going to be? That’s
like—it’s like you’re psychic.”
being a professional.” He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, opens them,
eyeballs Dogzilla in my arms, and then sighs again. “To what do I owe the
pleasure of your company tonight?”
excuse for not forging ahead. I didn’t come all this way to chicken out.
“You remember the last time we saw each other?”
afternoon in the clubhouse?”
your hat, but I meant the time…before that.”
distance between us with three casual steps. “Nope.”
momentarily speechless as a waft of something delicious teases my nose.
momentarily. A quick recovery is a gift. Or possibly a defense mechanism.
“The time we were together…in that town…with that big monument…and the
thing that didn’t—”
to block it from my memory.”
Thank you. That’s very kind of you. Sorry. I didn’t realize—”
wouldn’t want to remember your ruined wedding, that you like to redecorate
people with dessert, and that your ex-fiancé is the first man that my mother’s
dated in three years and I might have to start calling him Stepdad?”
because yeah, still not over seeing Jerry lock lips with a woman who could’ve
been my mother, and hearing that it might actually be going somewhere is salt
in the wound.
Henri, I don’t remember the last time we were together. At least, I won’t, once
I get inside and pour myself a large enough vodka tonic. Care for one?”
momentarily speechless. “Um, I’m kinda allergic—”
when one of his brows rises infinitesimally, and then I gasp. Of course he
knows I’m allergic. We had an entire conversation about it. “Are you trying to send me to the hospital?”
Preferably without the sad panda thoughts I’d finally managed to shake before
you showed up today.”
was a hint.”
with the subtle.”
over his mouth and looks up at the sky, and I’m certain he’s not stifling a
ahead. “I’m here because I need your help.”
pay the price for my sins,” he mutters.
sins are, but my google searches were very
really would be the last person on earth I’d turn to for help.
want money or anything like that. And I’d rather no one know I’m here, so I’m
not after your fame either, though I wouldn’t mind some tips on how to get my
hair as good as yours always is. I’ve tried Kangapoo before, and—wait. Sorry.
Off-topic. I need you to teach me how to not fall in love.”
Bestselling author who writes romantic comedies that will make tears run down
your leg. When she’s not reading, writing or sleeping, she’s being crowned
employee of the month as a stay-at-home mom and housewife trying to prepare her
adorable demon spawn to be productive members of society, all the while
fantasizing about long walks on the beach with hot chocolate chip cookies.