✰ Bianca ✰ Janeane ✰
• 1 July 2021
• Standalone Sexy Small-Town Romance
Who knew falling in love with my fake girlfriend could feel so real?
I don’t have time for distractions, which is a huge problem since my new next door neighbor Rosalie Wentworth is very distracting. She’s kind, beautiful, and makes me laugh like no woman ever has before.
Unfortunately, the two of us add up to one really sad country song—I’m nursing a bruised ego following a broken engagement and she’s suffering through a messy divorce—so I vow to set my attraction aside and focus on being her friend instead.
That’s easier said than done, however, since her mom is convinced Rosalie and I are perfect for each other. When one of her matchmaking schemes goes a step too far, Rosalie and I hatch a plan of our own: pretend to date for a couple of months to get her mom off our backs.
It’s foolproof, really.
Only, what started as a fake relationship is starting to feel very real, and now I don’t know if I can go back to the way things were before. Because it turns out if home is where the heart is, then Rosalie is mine.
Preston + Rosalie.
Until she's suddenly moving back home after finally ditching her idiot husband.
LET THE FUN TIMES BEGIN!!! ☺
Adorable!
I really liked Preston + Rosie. They were so cute together.
I loved that we didn't get too much drama until towards the end - where I almost threw my kindle out the window, because of the ridiculous part where the ex shows up. They react so immature and stupid. Ugh. But fortunately it didn't take them long to get things right again.
I also wouldn't mind seeing this whole world on Netflix one day!
Can't wait to get more Vermont soon!
“Oh!” my mom chirped, her head swinging between the man
standing at the bottom of the stairs and me.
In the dim glow of the porch light, I could see the cheeks
above his closely cropped beard were flushed with embarrassment. He shuffled
the toe of his work boot through the fallen leaves scattered at his feet. When
our gazes connected, my breath caught, and I felt a swooping sensation in the
pit of my belly—not unlike that moment when you’ve reached the top of the hill
on a roller coaster and the car careens forward, faster than you expected.
For a brief, flashing moment, he looked as startled as I
felt, but then he blinked, and his face became a mask of polite indifference.
That was … odd.
I jerked my head to dislodge the strange feelings that had
swept through me and directed my attention back to my mother, my hands planted
firmly on my hips in annoyance. “What did I tell you?”
She waved an unbothered hand in front of her face. “Psh.
You’re too concerned about what other people think.”
Not for the first time, I wondered if my being that way was
in direct contrast to her never being concerned enough. But that was an
argument we’d had more times than I could count, and I’d never come out on the
winning end of it. The truth of the matter was that Gloria Mitchell marched to
the beat of her own drum, and you could join her parade or get the hell out of
the way. Sometimes, I wished I could be more like my mom, but right now—when I
was broken and battered from that final, soul-sucking year of my marriage—all I
wanted was to fade into the background. That had never been her way, though,
and I was foolish to hope that might change now.
“Besides, it’s just Preston.” She gestured at the man whose
gaze had darted toward the woods to the right of our house, his features
pinched with what looked like discomfort at being caught between mother and
daughter. “Who’s he going to gossip to about you being back?”
Her words sank in. “That’s Preston?” My voice pitched up at
the end, a mixture of confusion and disbelief. For the last six months, she’d
alternatively referred to him as “that nice young man next door” or “that sweet
boy Preston.”
Except this was no boy. The person standing below us was all
man. Easily over six feet tall, his thick, dark beard was cropped close to his
jaw, setting off a pair of full lips that were currently turned down in a
slight frown. Muscular, flannel-clad arms were crossed over his broad chest
while his feet were braced shoulder-width apart. The whole Vermont lumberjack
vibe didn’t usually do it for me, but I would have been lying if I said he
wasn’t the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on. It was no wonder I was standing
there with my jaw hanging open, collecting flies. “You said he was young.”
She chuckled, and he shuffled on his feet. He looked
desperate to be anywhere but here. I couldn’t entirely blame him. “It’s a
figure of speech, Rosie. Everyone is young compared to me.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, inadvertently mimicking his
stance. When I realized what I’d done, I quickly dropped them down to my sides
and balled my hands into tight fists. “From the way you described him, I
assumed he was nineteen or twenty. That—” I pointed accusingly in his direction
“—is a grown-ass man.”
From below, I heard a muffled chuckle abruptly covered by
the rumbling of him clearing his throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught
the slight lifting of his lips before I turned my glare back on my mother.
She brushed my comment aside for the second time in as many
minutes. “Of course he’s a man, dear. And you’re in luck, because he’s a strong
one, too.”
Before I could respond to that, she turned toward the man in
question. “Will you be a dear and help Rosalie bring the rest of her stuff
inside?” She gestured toward my beat-up Volvo. I’d brought my large suitcase
and a few smaller weekender bags inside but had left the five or six boxes I’d
haphazardly packed—intent on a speedy getaway—in the back hatch of the car.
“Sure thing.” Preston swiped his hand over his jaw, but not
before I saw the traces of an amused grin split his lips. I was glad he thought
this was funny, because I certainly didn’t.
Although I also wasn’t quite sure why I was so damn annoyed.
• 1 June 2021
• Standalone Sexy Small-Town Romance
She’s a political princess and media darling...
There’s no such thing as bad publicity. Yeah, right. Tell that to the PR firm that handles Tracy’s very prominent political family. Pushed by scandal from Boston to the boondocks, now she’s on the other side of the serving tray, dishing up beer and burgers, hoping no one recognizes her. But there’s something very familiar--and maddeningly tempting--about the new caterer at Speakeasy.
He’s a cranky recluse...
Colton was the star of the celebrity chef circuit until he wasn’t anymore. Now he lives in a remote country cabin and spends his time alone, far from the spotlight and liking it that way. Until the gorgeous new waitress at Speakeasy starts poking at his resolve and suddenly all he wants is to see her let down her hair. And spread it all over his pillow. She’s got secrets he knows he won’t like, but he can’t stay away from her.
Tracy + Colton.
She ends up in Colebury, Vermont.
The Speakeasy Taproom people want Colton to be their new caterer chef and Tracy needs any job they have to offer - she doesn't have much money left.
LET THE FUN TIMES BEGIN!!! ☺
That was adorable!
I also wouldn't mind seeing this whole world on Netflix one day!
Can't wait to get more Vermont soon!
Everyone liked her. She went out of her way to be cordial
and welcoming. But this guy had a shield around him so thick that even in a
crowded bar he sat alone and isolated. He watched the action on the restaurant
floor with a bit of wistfulness. And she wondered what his story was.
“Is there a reason you don’t like me?” She couldn’t believe
those words had spilled from her mouth. She had spent her entire life being
nice, being polite, and being agreeable. But when she asked him, there had been
a challenge in her voice. The freedom was liberating.
He ate his hash slowly as if savoring each bite of food. The
chef was pretty amazing.
She waited as he chewed. He glanced out the side of his
eyes, a gorgeous hazel that she totally should not have noticed. This close to
him his scent was a mixture of sunscreen and warmth and clean sweat as if he’d
spent the day in the sun. Earthy. Masculine. And very, very sexy.
She shouldn’t notice how sexy he was. He didn’t like her.
She was tired of waiting for an answer. She propped her
hands on her hips and leaned into his personal space. “You don’t even know me.”
“I don’t have to know you.” He flipped a glance her way. “I
know your type.”
Her type? “What type? Nice? Invested in making people
happy?”
“Rich, clueless, and arrogant.”
“Yeah, well you’re grumpy, irritating, and wrong.”
Her feet throbbed and now her head ached. She rarely cried
but everything about today had been difficult. Feeling like a fish out of water
wasn’t pleasant. She wanted to go back to her busy life and her active
friendships. But she was stuck here for the moment. And her eyes burned.
Tracy took a deep breath and focused on something else. She
needed to channel her alter ego. What would Cee-Cee do?
She had imagined Cee-Cee For so long. Cee-Cee spoke her mind
and didn’t worry about optics. She didn’t even know what optics were.
“I’m making the best of a bad situation.” She defended her
actions.
But as she looked at him, she realized there was more going
on than his slightly derogatory comments about her. He’d done a weird turn
thing so he wasn’t facing the bar but sort of sideways. It had to be hard to
eat that way.
“You need to stop running away from your problems.”
Her heart stopped. Did he know who she was? Hopefully he was
just intuitive. “Easier said than done.”
“Of course it is. Hard things aren’t supposed to be easy.”
He said it as if he was intimately familiar with hard things.
She wasn’t about to let him off the hook. He clearly had his
own issues.
“Maybe you need to take your own advice,” she shot back.
Damn straight.
Hockey #5
