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Helena Hunting

Stories To Get In Bed With

Bitter Sweet Heart is Live!

September 3, 2022

I’m thrilled to finally be able to share Maverick Waters’ story with all of you! If you’re a fan of the Pucked and All In Series, then you know that Maverick is the son of Violet and Alex Waters. Bitter Sweet Heart is the second standalone, angsty new adult romance in the Lies Hearts & Truths Series. I can’t wait for you to fall in love with Maverick the way I did when I wrote him.

xx Helena

https://helenahunting.com/books/maverick-waters/

From the outside looking in, I live a charmed life: hockey legend for a father, my own promising future in the league, a great family, awesome friends. 

It’s not untrue, but it’s not quite that simple either.

My dad’s advice has always been to make hockey my number-one priority—at least until I make it to the pros. So, going into my senior year of college, I have a plan. I’ll put in the effort required to pass my classes, play hockey like my life depends on it, and avoid relationships. All I have to do is stay focused on the end game.

It should be easy. 

But when a woman literally floats into my dock, just before summer ends and my senior year begins, I can’t resist one last hookup. What harm could a one-night stand do? It’s not like we even exchanged numbers. 

Everything is fine until I run into her on campus. 

It’s a big school. I should be able to avoid her. 

Except she happens to be in my class.

And she’s not a student.

She’s my professor.

GRAB YOUR COPY

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Bitter Sweet Heart Cover Reveal!

June 16, 2022

I am OBSESSED with this cover and I’m so, so excited to be able to share it with you! Bitter Sweet Heart is Maverick Waters’ story and is coming in September! 

Release Date: September 1st

Cover Designer: Hang Le

Photographer: Michelle Lancaster

Model: Anthony Patamisi

From the outside looking in, I live a charmed life: hockey legend for a father, my own promising future in the league, a great family, awesome friends. 

It’s not untrue, but it’s not quite that simple either.

My dad’s advice has always been to make hockey my number-one priority—at least until I make it to the pros. So, going into my senior year of college, I have a plan. I’ll put in the effort required to pass my classes, play hockey like my life depends on it, and avoid relationships. All I have to do is stay focused on the end game, and I’ll walk away with a degree and into a career in the NHL.

It should be easy. 

But when a woman literally floats into my dock, just before summer ends and my senior year begins, I can’t resist one last hookup. What harm could a one-night stand do? It’s not like we even exchanged numbers. 

Everything is fine until I run into her on campus. 

It’s a big school. I should be able to avoid her. 

Except she happens to be in my class.

And she’s not a student.

She’s my professor.

PREORDER

E-Book

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PAPERBACK

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Starry-Eyed Love Chapter One Sneak Peek

May 3, 2022

We’re one week away from the release of STARRY-EYED LOVE and I have a chapter one sneak peek for you!

Chapter One

The Great Date Debate

London

“One more round?” I tap my empty margarita glass.

“Ohhh, London’s cutting loose tonight!” Harley, my younger sister, elbows me playfully in the side, her dimpled grin wide and toothy.

Avery, our older sister, looks up from her phone, which she’s been on for most of the evening and points a finger at me. “I’m not piggybacking you home.”

“Ha ha. I’ll be fine. We had all those apps.” I motion to the nearly empty plate of spinach dip and the remains of our nachos.

Truth be told, I’m already feeling the first two margaritas, but I’m having too good a time to put a pin in it now. I’ll take a couple of Tylenol before bed, drink a gallon of water, and be fine tomorrow morning. Mostly fine, anyway.

When our server comes around again, I order another margarita, Harley picks a sex on the beach, and Avery asks for a half-pint of light beer. While we wait for our drinks to arrive, I arrange the paper stars I’ve amassed over the past couple of hours into a small pile. I’m a compulsive fidgeter, and I used to pick my nails. It’s a nervous habit, and one I’ve had to learn to curb. Now instead, I make origami stars. I’ve made about two dozen since we’ve been here, which has helped slow my margarita consumption.

“I gotta say, I’m really happy to have fun London back.” Harley rests her head on my shoulder and hugs my arm. Her blond bob tickles my skin.

She looks like a little pixie, especially when she’s sitting beside me, since I’m a good head taller than she is.

“I’m always fun,” I say indignantly.

Even as her phone buzzes with another message, Avery sets it facedown on the table.

She and Harley exchange a look before Avery turns her gaze on me. “Every time you get into a relationship you turn into ‘serious London.’” She makes air quotes around the unpleasant nickname.

“That’s ridiculous. I do not.”

Harley nods her agreement. “Sorry to break it to you, but you totally do.”

I glance from one to the other, and have to wonder if they’re both drunk. “Have you two been talking about this? I mean, you must have if you’ve picked nicknames like fun London and serious London.” At least they’re not calling me something worse.

“We don’t mean it in a bad way,” Harley assures me.

“I don’t know that saying I become an ‘unfun’ person when I’m in a relationship can be taken in any other way but bad.” I have no idea where they’re coming up with this.

Harley hugs my arm again. “We literally just noticed it before we came out for dinner. You’ve been on the fence about Daniel for weeks now, and the second you broke things off, it was like a switch flipped. All of a sudden serious London went on holiday and fun London came out to play.” She taps my empty margarita glass. “Over the past eight months, I can count on one hand how many times you’ve come out with us for drinks and had more than one margarita. Daniel was a wet blanket, and he was weighing you down with his ‘poor me, it’s so hard to be a professional photographer blah blah blah’ complaining.” She hiccups loudly.

I was already aware that neither of my sisters had warm feelings for Daniel.

“I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did, to be honest,” Avery says from behind the rim of her pint glass.

“Well, his travel schedule was partly responsible for that.” I tried to make it work about four months longer than I should have, and struggled to convince myself that I was more into him than I was. I really did want him to be “the one.” On paper, he seemed like the perfect boyfriend. But as with all of my failed relationship attempts, we fizzled out. Like a fire made with wet wood, I could never find that spark people talked about. Ironic, given my last name is literally Spark.

I finally found the lady balls to break it off three days ago. And managed not to chew my nails to stubs before I had the dreaded conversation with Daniel, which is a feat on its own. My relief at it coming to an end was a pretty decent indicator that I had done the right thing. Of course, I felt bad about it since Daniel believed everything was going great. I’d had to give him the whole “it’s not you, it’s me” spiel. It was mostly true, and a lot better than telling him that kissing him was about as stimulating as an empty room with white walls. So I embellished a bit, saying I wasn’t looking for something serious at the moment.

Post-breakup, I did what I always do—I shifted my focus back into work, both at Spark House and my online Etsy store. Except tonight, Harley suggested we celebrate my freedom, and apparently the return of “fun London” with drinks, so here we are.

“He was too needy,” Avery says.

“And kind of pretentious.” Harley wrinkles her nose.

I shrug. They’re not wrong. He was both of those things. “And also fairly uninspiring in bed.”

The server returns with our drinks, and we toast to cutting free pretentious, needy men.

Avery’s phone pings for the seven millionth time this evening.

“Speaking of needy, is that Declan?” My lips are a little loose, thanks to the drinks. And I think my jealousy is probably showing. Not that I want to be in a relationship where I’m attached at the hip. It’s more that Avery and Declan are ridiculously in love with each other. When they’re together, you can practically cut the sexual tension with a knife.

Avery gives me her unimpressed face. “He’s trying on suits and asking about the difference between periwinkle and sky blue.”

“Why doesn’t he just google it?” Harley pops the cherry from her drink into her mouth.

“I have no idea. Honestly, I don’t even know the difference between periwinkle and sky blue[CD2] . Or if they’re the same color. I just said, let’s go with our college colors. All he has to do is show them our old jerseys, and they can go from there.”

“I love you, but I will not be wearing a bridesmaid dress in team colors, especially when those colors are blue and maroon,” I tell my sister. “Lines need to be drawn somewhere.”

“I thought it would be way cool if we had a whole soccer-themed wedding. It could be super casual.”

This doesn’t surprise me. Avery is an athlete and an adventurer through and through, so I couldn’t imagine her wedding not incorporating what she loves. She and Declan met in college and became best friends as they bonded over sports. It was an interesting turn of events last year when they got together after she was in a serious car accident. Declan became her caregiver while she was healing, and they realized what everyone else already knew—they’d been in love with each other for years but hadn’t been willing to face it. And now they’re getting married. I’m happy that they’re so in love, but at the same time, it shines a light on how not in love I was with Daniel. I want to find my person, but I don’t have a male best friend to fall for.

“You just don’t want to wear heels.” I take another sip of my margarita, licking the salt from my lips.

A glint of light grabs my attention, and I glance at the table kitty-corner to us. A man wearing a watch lifts his beer to his lips. My gaze meets his briefly before I turn back to my sisters.

Harley leans in closer. Even though her drink is light on alcohol and high on sugar, she’s tipsy. She has an even lower tolerance than I do. “That guy over there is totally checking you out.” She tips her chin in his direction.

I slap her thigh under the table. “He is not. He’s probably checking you out. Or the game that’s on the TV behind us.”

“The TV’s are on the other side of the bar. And he’s definitely not looking at me. He’s looking at you. His buddy keeps snapping his fingers at him like he’s trying to get his attention and failing.”

Avery starts to turn around, so I kick her under the table. “Don’t you dare look over there.”

“Ow! That was totally unnecessary. I just wanted to take a peek. Geez. Chill out.” She slides along the bench seat.

“What are you doing?” As if I need my sisters drawing attention to us, especially with Harley being halfway to drunk. She gets loud when she has more than one drink. Sometimes it’s embarrassing for more than just her.

“Going to the bathroom. I’m two beers in, and I need to break the seal.” Avery wags her brows and points at Harley. “Don’t worry, I’ll be super discrete about checking him out, unlike this one.”

“I wasn’t obvious!” Harley defends herself. Loudly.

I elbow her in the side, causing her drink to slosh and a small puddle of liquid to spread under my pile of stars. “Can you use your inside voice?”

“It’s not like I’m shouting through a megaphone. Besides, there’s music, and sports, and conversations going on all around us. It’s not as if that guy can hear us talking about him.” Harley chases her straw around her drink until she finally manages to snag it with her lips.

Avery does a terrible job of being sneaky while taking a peek at the guy, who happens to be looking our way when she passes his table.

“He’s doing it again. I bet you a million dollars he’s working up the nerve to come talk to you,” Harley murmurs. “And he’s kinda hot.”

I snort indelicately. “I sincerely doubt that. No one actually comes up to someone in bars anymore. Besides, I’m with my girl gang, which is doubly off-putting. Also, if you had a million dollars to throw around on bets, I guarantee you would not be running social media for Spark House.”

She shrugs. “It’s not a bad gig.”

“It would be great if Avery would let us hire someone to help out this year.” I swipe at the rim of my drink and suck the salt off my finger.

“You know how she feels about hiring nonfamily members.” She swirls her straw in her glass.

“Maybe we can adopt an extra sister,” I suggest, and Harley giggles.

I glance over at the guy, unable to stop myself from looking, and meet his gaze. He lifts his beer and his eyes crinkle with his smile. I give him a quick smile back, which I’m sure looks more like a constipated grimace, and pick up my own drink, trying to hide behind it.

He’s not just kinda hot, he’s Bunsen-burner-blue-flame hot. He has a beard, which usually I’m not a huge fan of. But it’s not one of those “alpha male, I’m using facial hair as a reason not to engage in personal grooming” beards. Even with the facial hair, I can tell that he has high cheekbones and a square jaw. His hair is chestnut brown and a little unruly at the sides, as though he’s overdue for a haircut.

He’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the word RECYCLE on the front in faded capital letters. Despite his casual attire, there’s something about the way he carries himself. When he raises his hand to stop the server passing by, she grows visibly flustered. As though having his attention on her is too much for her to handle.

The watch is another thing that draws my attention, especially since it seems a bit of a contradiction to his jeans and T-shirt ensemble. It’s not a sports watch, but an older one, maybe an antique. He looks to be in his thirties, and not many people in this generation choose to wear anything but a Smartwatch, favoring the ease of a cell phone when they need to know what time it is.

Avery returns, and we finish out drinks, flagging down the server for the bill, to which she gives us an awkward smile.

“So, um, your bill has already been paid.” She inclines her head marginally in the direction of the table with the hot guy. “He picked up the tab.”

“Oh, wow. Okay. Well, that was nice.” Especially since we racked up quite the bill with our drinks.

“What about the tip?” Harley asks, digging into her purse.

Our server holds up her hand. “Oh no, he was more than generous.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.” She nods.

Avery and Harley exchange another one of those knowing looks. My stomach does a flip-flop as our server moves on to another table and the hot guy slides across the bench seat and rises. He’s tall, must be over six feet, and lean. Broad shoulders that taper down to a narrow waist. I glance at his feet and notice his scuffed running shoes.

He rolls his shoulders back and crosses over to our table. He nods to my sisters, but doesn’t really look at them, his eyes on me. Now that he’s right in front of me, I notice they’re a deep mossy-green color, reminding me of a Colorado forest. “Hi.” A slow smile forms as his gaze moves over my face.

I feel it like a gentle caress and heat travels through my veins. It’s an unexpected reaction, so my own “hi” comes out rather breathily. “Thank you for the drinks and the food. You really didn’t need to do that.”

His grin widens, showing off perfectly straight, white teeth. “Well, I wanted to make a good impression, and have an excuse to come over and talk to you.”

Harley squeezes my leg under the table. I don’t risk looking at her because I’m sure she’s smiling like a loon.

“You certainly did that. Make a good impression, I mean.” Why am I so awkward right now? And why does it feel like this man is sucking all the oxygen out of the room and turning my brain cells into mush?

That gets me another smile. “I wanted to apologize if it seemed like I was staring. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.”

I touch my fingers to my lips and resist the urge to play with my hair, but just barely. Why does this man make me feel like a starry-eyed high school girl? “You haven’t made me uncomfortable.”

“Good. That’s very good.” His tongue drags across his bottom lip. “I just needed to tell you that from across the room, you were beyond stunning, but up close.” He lets out a low whistle. “You are an absolute work of art.”

I fight with my eyebrows not to rise. This guy has all the lines. “Oh, really?” I lace my fingers together and set my chin on them. “The kind of art you might hang in your living room?”

“Bedroom, actually.”

I laugh. I can’t decide if this guy is too smooth for his own good. Or mine. I have to wonder how many times he’s dropped these lines on other women and they’ve ended up in his bed as a result.

“That sound is music to my ears,” he says, his white-toothed smile still in place. “I knew I’d be kicking myself if I didn’t come over here and at least say hello.” He slides a small piece of paper across the table, roughly the size of a business card. “I’m going to leave my number, and maybe if you’re interested, I can take you out for a drink, or dinner, or a hot air balloon ride.”

I can see exactly where this will go if I take that card from him. And while getting into bed with a random, attractive man might be fun, I know it’s not the right thing for me. Before I can really consider what I’m doing, or fully absorb the last part, I put a hand out to stop him. “I’m very flattered, but I have to be honest with you. I won’t call you. I have a boyfriend.” The lie tastes sour on my tongue. Although, had it been three days earlier, it would have been the truth.

Avery does some kind of cough-choke thing, and I kick her under the table and get Harley on the back swing.

His smile falters for a moment, but he doesn’t break eye contact. “That’s disappointing, but unsurprising. I didn’t see a ring, so I’d hoped maybe luck was on my side.” He tips his head to the side. “Is it serious?”

“Pardon me?”

“You and this boyfriend, are you two serious?”

This guy is unbelievable. “And if we are?”

“Hmm.” He withdraws his hand and slips the paper in his pocket. “I’d hate for karma to pass judgment on me and get in the way of our future together, so I’m just going to hope I run into you again when you’re single. Have a lovely night, ladies.” He nods to my sisters and gives me one final lingering glance before he winks. “Thank you for existing.”

And then he walks away.

Our table sits in silence, and Avery cranes her neck to watch him leave.

“Oh my God. Did that just happen?” Harley whisper-yells.

Avery smacks my arm. “Why did you tell him you had a boyfriend?”

I deflate. “Because I just got out of a relationship and the last thing I’m looking for is a rebound. Plus those lines were unreal. I’m sure he does this on a weekly basis, and some poor unsuspecting woman ends up in his bed and then never sees him again.”

“You could have at least taken his number, though!” Avery says. “What would have been the harm in that?”

“What if he was the one?” Harley glances out the window, maybe checking to see if he’s still in the parking lot. Harley is a real believer in fate and karma and everything happening for a reason.

“If he was the one, there would have been a sign, don’t you think?” Like a meteor shower. Or the zing. Or a shooting star.

Avery shrugs it off, as is her way. “Well, I guess now we’ll never know, will we?”

When we leave the bar, I tip my head up. The sky is clear, stars sparkling above our heads. And of course, one shoots across the night sky. I roll my eyes. It’s just a coincidence. Not a sign. Taking that guy’s number would have been a mistake. One I saved myself from making with a little white lie.


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0 Comments Categories: News, Sneak Peek Tags: chapter one reveal, coming soon, starry-eyed love sneak peek

Book Bonanza & Apollycon Preorders

April 9, 2022

I’m so excited that I’m finally going to be able to see readers and authors in person after two years. I don’t know about you, but I stoked for this summer’s events! (and a little nervous, but mostly excited).

As of now I fully intend on attending Book Bonanza and Apollycon this July. If you’re attending, I’m doing things a little differently this year since travel has been a bit up in the air for us Canadians (I’ve had to cancel two trips since the pandemic started). I unfortunately am not doing a pre-order for readers to pre-purchase books and pick up from me at the event. This is because I don’t want you to pay for books and then something happens and I cannot attend an event. But…

Both Book Bonanza and Apollycon will have retailers present where you can buy some of my titles. Apollycon will have limited quantities of the following titles:

The Good Luck Charm

Pucked (Original cover)

Kiss My Cupcake

When Sparks Fly

Starry Eyed love (Coming in May)

Meet Cute

Book Bonanza will likely have the same or similar titles, but I’ll let you know when I have details on that.

There are a few books of mine that are not available to purchase on any retail sites, such as the PUCKED Series & LITTLE LIES Hardcovers. So if you are interested in ordering these books for you to bring to the signings, I now have a preorder available on my Merch Store.

Here are the details:

  • Books will be available to pre-order April 9th til April 30th.
  • Books will start shipping to your home address May 15th to give ample time for you to get your books before the signings
  • The books will not be signed and will not come with any swag or extras
  • If you’d like to order these titles signed, check the stock that we have available. The Pucked Series is still sold out, but I’m hoping to open up personalizations and make all of these books available on the website in the near future.

PLEASE NOTE: this is for SIGNINGS ONLY. The store will open up again later for SIGNED, PERSONALIZED copies.

Visit my Merch Store to preorder for these events: https://helenahuntingmerch.com/collections/pre-orders-for-signings

For questions, please email: helenahuntingmerch@gobooktore.com

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Love on the Lake Sneak Peek

March 6, 2022

We’re in the single digits! Love on the Lake releases on March 15th and I have a sneak peek of chapter one just for you!

Chapter One

WELCOME TO YOUR NEW LIFE

Teagan

“Uh, Dad, I think you need to come here!” I shout. For a panicked moment I question what fresh hell this morning has brought with it.

A moving truck is backing into our driveway.

Less than a year ago we downsized from a seven-thousand-square-foot mansion we could not afford—unless we planned to sell most of our major organs—to a two-thousand-square-foot home. For nearly two decades my dad used excessive spending as a way to mourn the loss of my mother, God rest her beautiful soul. It took a family scandal for him to realize that he needed to make some very important changes in his life, which included putting an end to spending money he didn’t have.

I abandon the care package I’m in the middle of putting together for my younger brother and am halfway across the room when my dad appears in the doorway, his expression reflecting his concern. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” I motion outside, where the moving truck continues to beep as it backs up toward the garage. “Please tell me we don’t have to move again.”

“Oh! Oh no, Teagan.” He comes to stand next to me and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “No, we don’t have to move. I meant to talk to you about this before today.”

The moment of relief is quickly replaced by confusion. My father looks . . . chagrined? “Talk to me about what?”

“Just give me a moment. I need to open the garage door, and then we can have a chat.” He rushes off, and soon after, I hear the garage door whir open. One of the movers hops out of the passenger side of the truck, and my dad approaches him.

If we’re not moving out, it means that someone else is moving in. It’s not either of my brothers—my youngest brother, Bradley, is in prison, hence the care package I’m putting together. Sometimes I wonder if he wouldn’t have ended up where he is if I’d been a better big sister. My older brother is living in Pearl Lake with his fiancée—which leaves only one other potential option.

I watch while two men wearing matching T-shirts and old ripped jeans begin carrying boxes and furniture into the garage. I recognize one of the chairs they bring inside. It’s in the photo Dad has as his screen saver, of him and his girlfriend of six months.

I go back to packing Wall Street Journals and new notebooks into the box. I want to make sure it gets in the mail today so Bradley has it for the weekend. A few minutes later Dad reappears in my doorway.

“Danielle is moving in with us,” I say without looking at him.

“She called last night to let me know the movers rescheduled the truck for today instead of Saturday. I meant to talk to you about it before they arrived this morning, but I didn’t realize you were already awake, and I didn’t want to disturb you. I didn’t mean for it to be a surprise, honey.”

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s nine thirty in the morning. On a Wednesday. It’s our work-from-home day, and Dad always tells me I can sleep in. Something I never actually do.

The fact that his plan was to give me a few hours’ notice about our new roommate isn’t a big surprise. Half of his life choices seem to be afterthoughts.

I force a bright smile. It’s not that I don’t want him to have someone in his life. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s my dad. He’s had enough turmoil and strife to last several lifetimes. “You and Danielle have been spending a lot of time together. I think it’s great that you’ve decided to take the next step in your relationship.” It’s not even that I’m worried about Danielle moving in so soon after they’ve started dating. The issue is more that I’m in my midtwenties and still living with my dad. I even suggested I get my own place when he downsized. But it was on the heels of my breakup with my long-term boyfriend, and my dad said he would be lonely without me. And that he would miss all my baking, so I moved along with him. And now this.

He gives me an apologetic smile. “I meant to sit down and talk with you. Danielle was worried. I know we haven’t been together that long.”

“When you know, you know, right?” Six months isn’t long, but it isn’t short either. And my dad’s been on a dating hiatus for the past two decades, so to him, this probably feels monumentally long.

He smiles down at me. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that. I know you and Danielle will get along great.”

“We absolutely will.” I nod, trying to assuage his concern.

Danielle is a nice lady. She’s about ten years younger than my father and also lost a spouse. They met at group therapy and started spending time together as friends. She’s been by the house plenty of times over the past six months, usually before she and my dad go on one of their dates. They do a lot of biking and trail walking and going on dinner dates. She and I have made small talk, but that’s been about it.

“We didn’t expect the truck to get here this early, so she won’t be here until after work. I could arrange takeout for dinner? Maybe we could order from that sushi restaurant you two love?”

The thought of sitting down for a “family” dinner on the night my father’s girlfriend moves into the house is unappealing. If I were moving into my boyfriend’s house, I wouldn’t want a third wheel around to spoil the excitement. Especially in the form of an adult daughter.

“Actually, Dad, I’m supposed to visit Van in Pearl Lake this weekend. I was planning to go on Friday, but I could head up there early, and that would give you and Danielle a chance to get things settled.” My brother Van casually suggested I come visit him soon, as he does almost every time I talk to him, but I didn’t make a commitment to go. Hopefully he doesn’t mind me spontaneously dropping by, and in the middle of the week, with a plan to stay for several days.

A furrow creases his brow. “I didn’t know you were going to see Van.”

“Oh? I thought I mentioned it,” I lie.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave early because Danielle is moving in.”

I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “Van won’t mind. He’s been renovating the upstairs of the garage into a one-bedroom apartment, and it’s nearly finished. Are you okay with me taking a long weekend?”

“Of course—you rarely take time off.”

“I’ll pack a bag and tell Van I’m on my way up. It’s supposed to be gorgeous there this week. Unseasonably warm for late April. I’ll take a couple of books with me and enjoy some sunshine and relaxation and time with my brother.” And I can fill his freezer with homemade dinners like I did last time. He and Dillion both work long hours, and Van loves having ready-made meals to pull out of the freezer when the two of them are working late.

“You really are the best daughter a father could ask for. Thank you.” He pulls me in for a hug and kisses me on top of my head, like I’m six, not twenty-six. “Maybe I’ll set up something romantic for Danielle. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“Absolutely!” And this is exactly the reason I don’t want to be here this weekend. I don’t have a problem with my dad doing romantic things for Danielle, but I don’t need to witness it.

He nods and spins around, a hop in his step as he makes his way down the hall to his office. I close my bedroom door and sag against it. I rub the space between my eyebrows, trying not to frown or furrow. Portia, my ex–best friend, always used to tell me that I should never show any emotion unless it was happiness if I didn’t want premature wrinkles. I blow out a breath. Normally I would call my brother, but if I hear his voice I’m going to want to spill the beans over the phone. This would be a much better conversation in person, so I send him a quick message instead.

Teagan: How close is the garage to being ready for occupancy?

Van: 85-90%. Why what’s up?

Teagan: Thinking about taking a couple vacation days if you don’t mind a guest for the weekend.

Van: You know you’re always welcome. When you heading this way?

Teagan: In an hour or so if that’s okay?

The dots appear and disappear a couple of times. I’m about to tell him I can hold off until tomorrow or Friday, but another message pops up.

Van: For sure, you know how to get in. Dillion asks that you bring the stuff for those gin cocktails you make.

Teagan: Will do! See you soon!

Half an hour later I have my bags packed. I put the gin and cocktail mix into a box, along with a couple of bottles of wine, and toss my prescriptions into my purse, checking to make sure I have enough to get me through until the end of the weekend.

I stop by my dad’s office on my way out and tell him I’ll be back on Sunday night and to have a great weekend with Danielle. And then I’m in my car and on my way to Pearl Lake.

I stop at the post office to mail the care package to Bradley and grab a coffee to perk me up. I pull my hair into a ponytail so I can put the top down on my convertible and enjoy the fresh air and the sunshine. While we had to get rid of most of the cars when we downsized and consolidated my dad’s debt, I was able to keep my convertible. But only because I was the one who’d bought and paid for it. I’ve had it since I was eighteen, and it has sentimental value more than anything.

It’s also not super flashy as far as convertibles go. It has a hard top for winter and a soft top for summer. It’s probably one of the very few things I still have from our previously lavish and frivolous lifestyle. Over the past year I’ve gone from weekly spa appointments and expensive dinners out several times a week to painting my own toenails and learning how to cook meals. I had no idea how pampered I was until I wasn’t anymore. And honestly, I don’t miss it that much.

The highway soon turns into tree-lined two-lane roads, the brush growing thicker and increasingly lush with every passing mile. The farther I get from Chicago, the easier it is to breathe. I try to appreciate the beauty of the drive and not think about Dad and Danielle or what the house is going to look like when I get back on Sunday.

I arrive in Pearl Lake just after noon. A Footprint Construction truck is parked in the driveway, in front of the garage, which isn’t unusual. Dillion is Van’s fiancée, and they’ve been living together for months. She often drives into work with her father, who owns the construction company in town, since she and Van live right next door to her family.

I decide I should go ahead and make myself comfortable in the apartment above the garage rather than heading for their love shack. If I don’t, there’s a chance that they’ll try to convince me to sleep in one of the spare rooms in the cottage.

I grab my suitcase from the trunk and heft my weekend bag over my shoulder, along with my purse. It’s a lot for a long weekend, but I’ve never been particularly good at packing light.

Originally, Van planned to convert the garage into a self-contained apartment, but he decided it would be better to keep the garage space as is, and instead he ripped off the roof, added dormers, and turned the space above it into an apartment. That way, the garage still functions as it should.

It has a small workshop, loads of tools, and Van’s BMW, which he rarely drives anymore, favoring the ancient pickup truck that once belonged to Grammy Bee, our grandmother, who drove it until she passed away a year and a half ago. She left the cottage and its contents to Van. Turns out there was literally millions in uncashed bonds and piles of cash tucked all over the cottage. I tried to tell him I didn’t want any of it, but he set up an investment account for me. I plan to leave it where it is until I retire, or maybe pass it on to my own kids one day, if I have any.

There’s a set of stairs inside the garage that aren’t as steep as the ones that run up to the second floor from the outside. But I can’t remember the code to open the garage door, so this is my only option.

I manage to clunk my way up the outside staircase with my suitcase in one hand and my other bags hanging over the railing. The landing is small and narrow, making it difficult to maneuver with my bags.

I turn the knob, assuming it will be open, since the only reason people lock their doors around here is to keep out the wily raccoons. I step inside and drop my purse and overnight bag on the floor, which I instantly regret because the surface is still plywood—so much for 85 percent finished—and there’s a lot of sawdust.

My suitcase is still on the landing and the door wide open when I realize I’m not alone in here. It’s also not a raccoon keeping me company. Or a family of squirrels. Or bats.

Beyond the spiders, which I’m fairly certain there must be a few of, is a man. A shirtless man. He’s crouched down with his back to me, and he’s wearing a pair of huge headphones that look like they came out of the eighties or something. But there aren’t any wires, so they must be new. They look clunky. They might explain why he has yet to notice that I’m standing here, gawking at his very bare, very muscled, very tattooed back.

A sun sets over a frozen lake, the watercolor design bright and beautiful; the snow-covered trees hold hints of pink, orange, and yellow, a reflection from the sun peeking through the clouds on its descent toward the horizon. Snow swirls across the landscape, making it seem like the sun is trying to fight its way through a snowstorm. There’s script arching over the sun, but it’s too small to make out from this side of the room. On his left triceps is an hourglass with only a few grains of sand left in it, as if time is running out.

He’s currently laying the floorboards on the other side of the loft. He taps in one of the long pieces, all those muscles flexing deliciously, and then lays another board beside it. He takes a pencil from behind his ear and makes a mark before replacing it.

A moment later he uses his foot to prop up a board and picks up some device with his other hand.

I shriek when it whirs to life and I realize belatedly that it’s a saw. The loud noise ceases, and both the board and the saw clatter to the floor.

“What the shit?” The man unfurls from his crouched position, rising to his full and very intimidating height. From the back he’s incredible to look at, but from the front—he’s just. Wow. He’s not a snack. He’s a seven-course meal, including the decadent dessert.

His dark hair is covered by a backward baseball cap, the ends curling around his ears and the snapback. His eyes are the color of snow on a moonless winter night, a murky kind of gray that shifts and changes like shadows. His nose is slightly crooked, as if it’s been broken and not set properly; his lips are full and ridiculously kissable. He has a scar on his chin, which I only notice because his cheeks and chin are decorated in what I’d guess to be a couple of days’ worth of stubble, and a pale, hairless line is evident.

His shoulders are broad, and his chest, defined and thick, has a smattering of that dark-brown hair. His abs ripple and his thick biceps flex as he yanks the giant headphones off. His worn, paint-splattered, and tattered jeans hang low on his hips and are dragged farther down by the tool belt around his waist, exposing that glorious V of muscle, which leads my eye south to the magic wand that is hidden behind his fly.

He will absolutely be starring in my fantasies in the very near future.

Except he won’t be angry like he is now.

I quickly drag my gaze back up so I’m not ogling him anymore.

He tosses the huge headphones on the floor. His gray eyes are a storm of shock and annoyance. He motions to the saw at his feet. “I could have cut my fucking foot off!”

“Why would you use your foot to balance the wood anyway? Isn’t that unsafe?” What the heck is wrong with me? Since when do I talk back to people I don’t even know? But as I look between him and the saw, I realize I have met him before.

Months ago.

I made an ass out of myself then too.

“Are you fucking serious? Rule number one in construction: always, always make your presence known when someone is handling power tools.”

“You were wearing headphones. How was I supposed to make myself known when you can’t even hear me? Especially over the sound of that thing.” I point at the electric saw thing lying on the floor.

“Those aren’t headphones, they’re ear protection! And all you had to do was knock loudly and say hey, and I would’ve heard you just fine. The banshee shriek is unnecessary.”

“I didn’t expect you to be in here! And I certainly didn’t expect it to sound like the set of a bad horror movie!”

“Did you not see the truck parked in front of the garage?” He shakes his head and mutters something I can’t hear. “Who are you even? And what are you doing up here?” He holds up a hand when I open my mouth to speak. “Wait. Let me guess: you’re that new lady from the city that they hired down at the planning department, aren’t you? I have permits for everything, so you’re wasting your time. You can take your Gaucho-Parade-designer-clothes-wearing butt right back out the door.” He points to the door, one thick eyebrow raised.

Gaucho-Parade? Is that some Pearl Lake insult? “My butt does not look like a parade.” I pat my bottom, offended, trying to decipher his meaning. Maybe he’s referring to Gucci and Prada, neither of which I’m wearing. “And I’m not from the bylaw office. I’m Teagan.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” He gives me a look I’m all too familiar with.

It’s the one the girls I used to hang out with back in Chicago gave me after Troy broke off the engagement and told me that he and Portia were together.

The one that said that they couldn’t wait for me to go away. That they wanted me gone.

“You don’t have to be so rude!”

Way to make an even worse second impression than the first one, Teagan, I mentally chastise myself. I’m already embarrassed over the fact that I’ve scared the crap out of him and could have accidentally caused him to lop off a limb. Now I get to add the humiliation of him not remembering me at all.

I thought our first introduction was pretty memorable, considering how awkward I made things when I told him he had basketball-player hands and made him compare our hand sizes. And when he told me he liked football, I made an even more awkward comment about how much full-body hugging there was in that game.

“I’m Donny’s sister. We met last year.” I’m not sure reminding him of our previous meeting is going to help my case at all.

“Huh?” He stares blankly at me.

I remember that I’m the only one who calls my brother that, and that it’s not his favorite nickname. “Van’s sister,” I amend. “Last fall. We met. Very briefly. In the driveway.” I motion toward the door, as if that’s going to help. “You’re Aaron. You work with Van’s fiancée, Dillion.”

His eyebrows lift with something like surprise, maybe because I remember his name and he apparently doesn’t recall our introduction at all. “Sorry, I got a shit memory.” He rubs the back of his neck and glances at the door. I can’t tell if he’s thinking about doing a runner or what. But I can say that it makes his biceps flex enticingly.

I wave away the comment and try to do something other than ogle his muscles. “It’s fine. Like I said, it was very brief. Anyway, I’m Van’s younger sister. He said this place was eighty-five percent finished and that I could stay here for a few days.”

“It will be when I’m done laying the floor.” He motions to the planks lying at his feet.

“Great! That’s just great.” I want to do something with my hands, like run them over his chest, so instead I clasp them in front of me. “I don’t want to intrude, you know, what with them being recently engaged and all. I know they’ve renovated the cottage, or maybe that was mostly you?” I don’t wait for him to answer; instead I barrel on, powerless to stop my mouth. “Anyway, the walls are thin, and I don’t need to hear things I shouldn’t.”

“Right.” Based on his arched brow, that last part was something that should have stayed inside my head.

“I’m going to grab my bag.” I thumb over my shoulder.

“Knock yourself out.” He turns away, bending to pick up the plank he dropped when I first scared the crap out of him.

In the short time it takes for me to drag my suitcase inside—Aaron does not offer to help—he’s covered up all those incredible muscles and his pretty tattoos with a threadbare T-shirt. I put a few things away while he works on the floor.

I know I should probably leave him alone, but for whatever reason, I seem to be compelled to try to make him talk to me.

“How long have you been doing this?” I ask once he’s finished cutting another piece of flooring.

“This particular project or this in general?” He taps the board in with a rubber mallet until it clicks.

I wait until he’s finished with the saw again before I clarify. “This in general. Have you always worked with your hands? It’s obvious you’re really good with them.”

I get another one-word answer: “Yeah.”

Instead of being deterred, I keep asking questions. People love to talk about themselves and what they’re interested in and passionate about. So it should, in theory, make him more likely to give longer, more detailed responses. And for a bit it does. He starts going on about the difference between engineered hardwood and regular laminate and how this stuff is better. I have no idea what any of what he’s saying means; all I know is that he’s talking and I get to stare at his pretty face and listen to his voice.

At least until he abruptly puts an end to my Q&A session. “Look, Teagan, I get that maybe you’re bored or whatever, but if you want to have a floor that isn’t plywood, you gotta stop with all the questions. I’d like to get this done before midnight.”

It’s not that I don’t understand that he needs to finish what he’s working on. It’s how quick the shift is and how sharp his tone becomes. Like I’ve reached the limit of his patience and he’s been humoring me this entire time. I give him a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”

I grab my purse and rush down the stairs, heading for the house and away from Aaron. I don’t even know why I’m trying so damn hard to make someone I’m only going to see on very rare occasions like me. He’s not worth the effort.

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