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Haikyuu!! Shosetsuban!! - Volumen #1

LONG PAST SUMMER by Noué Kirwan

Book Summary: With the Southern charm of SWEET HOME ALABAMA and the emotional complexity of IN FIVE YEARS, LONG PAST SUMMER is a sparkling second-chance romance from debut author Noué Kirwan, written from the author's own perspective in the Black community. It's hard to move on from a broken heart—and harder to move on from a broken friendship.

Mikaela Marchand is living the polished life she always planned for: a successful New York lawyer, with a promotion in her sights and a devoted boyfriend by her side. She’s come a long way from the meek teen she was growing up in small town Georgia, but the memory of her adolescence isn’t far—in fact, it’s splashed across a massive billboard in Times Square. An old photograph of Mikaela and her former best friend, Julie, has landed on the cover of a high-profile fashion magazine advertised all over the city. And when Julie files a lawsuit, Mikaela is caught in the middle as defense lawyer for the magazine. Not only will she have to face Julie for the first time in years, Mikaela’s forced to work closely with the photographer in question: the former love of her life--and Julie’s ex-husband--Cameron Murphy. Mikaela needs to win the case to get her promotion--and as a junior partner, she has no margin for error. But unresolved feelings still exist between Cam and Mikaela, and jealousy always made Julie play dirty… With flashbacks to summers of first loves and fragile friendships, Long Past Summer looks at the delicate and powerful thread that binds and breaks friends and flames.

Buy Links: BookShop: https://bookshop.org/books/long-past-summer-9781335448828/9781335448828 Harlequin: https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335448828_long-past-summer.html Barnes & Noble:https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/long-past-summer-nou-kirwan/1140508909?ean=9781335448828 Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Long-Past-Summer-Nou%C3%A9-Kirwan/dp/1335448829/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1ZPMIC384YTRY&keywords=long+past+summer&qid=1658170657&sprefix=long+past+summer%2Caps%2C90&sr=8-1 Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Long-Past-Summer/Nou-Kirwan/9781335448828?id=8292090795540 Powell’s: https://www.powells.com/book/long-past-summer-9781335448828

Author Bio: Noué Kirwan is a Bronx, NY native, raised between there and the Bay Area of Northern California. A graduate of the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, she currently, and for many years, has lived in Harlem, New York. When she's not consuming copious amounts of media--binging TV shows, devouring movies, hoarding comic books and inhaling romance novels--she's writing herself, dreaming up lives for formidable women and the men who love them.

Author Website: https://nouekirwan.com/ Facebook: N/A Twitter: https://twitter.com/NoueKirwan Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nouekirwan/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21993475.Nou_Kirwan?from_search=true&from_srp=true

EXCERPT:

one NOW Mikaela took a deep, cleansing breath and rolled her shoulders back. Breathe, she chided herself. She hadn’t even darkened the doorstep yet; a heart attack in advance of that seemed premature. One of the doors to the gallery stood open in invitation, but it was the frigid air escaping from inside that was actually more enticing. It was unseasonably hot. A freak heat wave had made it a blazing, makeup-melting, fire-hydrant-opening, egg-sizzling-out-on-the-sidewalk day in New York City, in only early May. Still, Mikaela wouldn’t reward herself with the tempting relief offered inside. Instead, she just stood on the bottom step for yet another moment, lingering as the various city dwellers went about their business. Another typical Saturday afternoon along a cobblestoned street in Soho. Despite its swank location, this art gallery was more nondescript than any of the other storefronts that lined the street, rather anonymously tucked in between several ultra-high-end fashion boutiques. Its entrance, an open doorway like an ominous black hole, sat among a sea of gleaming white and vibrantly colored doors. In the single large plate-glass window hung a poster advertising a photographer’s retrospective and the gallery’s address. Adorning the poster was a small reproduction of a picture that even now bedeviled Mikaela from no less than a magazine cover, a thirty-foot sign in Times Square and numerous subway station advertisements across the City. But now, looking at the size of the relatively unremarkable gallery, she guessed most of the exhibit’s undoubtedly extravagant budget must have gone to the rent on this place and the marketing for that poster alone. The gallery itself was lo-fi, unassuming and minuscule, judging from her spot well outside of it. Mikaela pushed her sunglasses up off her face and peered through the dim doorway, head angling this way and that like an owl. Her feet remained rooted in place, fear-induced moisture popping out on her brow and nose, sweating through her carefully applied war paint. The problem was the sun made it hard to make out what further surprises might lie in wait for her on the other side of the door. “It’s okay,” a voice said, startling Mikaela from behind. Mikaela spun around. A young woman with a bright smile and a nearly white-blonde ponytail stood on the sidewalk below. She squinted without the benefit of her sunglasses, which hung neatly tucked in between her breasts on her floral ditsy-print sundress. One open blue eye appraised Mikaela, top to bottom. “We’re open. They’re just putting the final finishing touches on everything but it’s all in there.” She took a step up onto the old wooden stairs then paused, waiting to see if Mikaela would choose to enter. Rather, Mikaela stepped aside to let her pass with two large iced coffees in her hands. Indecision still gnawed at her nerves. “Is the photographer in?” Mikaela gave a courteous smile as the young woman continued past. “Yup, should be. This is for him.” She raised one of the coffee cups. “He tries to come in for at least a couple of hours every day—he’ll probably be coming in more often leading up to the opening.” Mikaela nodded as they changed places, backing down the steps as the young woman ascended. They continued to regard each other: the young woman with mild curiosity, Mikaela with acute wariness. The young woman paused again at the top, just in the threshold. “Do you want me to get him?” She turned to the photo in the window then back to Mikaela. The beginnings of a smile curving the corners of her mouth. “Or tell him you stopped by? Miss…?” For a split second, Mikaela saw the omnipresent photo in the window the way any stranger might. Two girls on a swimmer’s platform on a summer day. “Oh no, that’s not necessary.” Mikaela stood on the cobblestones again, heart thumping, resolve faltering. Not only the full glare of the sun but also her own discomfort burned her up, urging her retreat. She shielded her face with a palm, partially from shame, and hurried down the street. She was half a long block away the first time she heard her name. She hadn’t heard his voice in over fifteen years, but she recognized it, quickening her steps. “Mikaela!” he bellowed again over the ambient noises of the street. It was still distant but closer. Mikaela hazarded a quick glance over her shoulder. A figure made his way toward her, dodging pedestrians as he moved. Mikaela stepped into the street, raising her arm, waving her hand. A passing yellow cab pulled over. She yanked open the door. “Please drive,” she commanded. “I’ll tell you where to go in a second. Just pull off, okay?” The cabbie eyed her through the rearview mirror then glanced farther down the street before understanding her hurry and doing as she requested. A full minute later, he spoke, turning off the small bumpy street and merging into traffic on the smoother avenue. “Where to, miss?” “Downtown Brooklyn, please.” Mikaela sighed. She swallowed through the lump forming in her throat trying to sort why his voice had upset her. She had always imagined she would instinctively know if Cameron was in her city. Or that maybe they could walk past each other, simply another two strangers in a city of eight million. But today proved, for her, that wasn’t possible. He is Cameron Murphy and I am Mikaela Marchand and as long as we remain who we are, that will always be a patently ridiculous idea. Mikaela pressed the button lowering the window nearest her, sinking into her seat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the thick, pungent city air that blew into her face as her cab sped down the windy expressway along Manhattan’s East River.

two THEN November 2001 “Here.” A female sheriff’s deputy handed Mikaela a moist towelette. Mikaela took it and wiped the black ink off her fingers. “We’ve called your parents, who said they’d be here soon, but we haven’t finished processing you yet.” The deputy raised an arm and waved over an extremely tall young man in a dress shirt and khakis. “As soon as we’re done with this, someone’ll take you to stand in front of the judge and then your folks can spring you.” Mikaela nodded, meticulously removing every drop of ink from her fingertips. “Stay here. Cam’ll finish up with you,” she instructed gruffly before switching places with the young man and walking away. Mikaela and the photographer stood staring at one another for a moment before he leaned forward and whispered, “Judge came in special to arraign y’all. Your parents must be pretty important, huh?” “Not mine, hers.” Mikaela nodded down the hall in the direction of her best friend, Julie. Julie leaned against the high-top intake counter chatting with the desk sergeant and another deputy. “Her daddy’s a judge too, but Georgia Supreme.” “Oh, so a real muckety-muck then?” He reached into a tub on a nearby desk and handed her several more wipes. “I suppose.” Mikaela eyed the stack of wet wipes in her hands. The young man mimed wiping his own face in a circular motion. “I gotta take your mug shot,” he explained. “You? Aren’t you a little young to be a deputy?” “I’m not… A deputy, I mean. Just takin’ the pictures. Grade two, office support. But I can’t photograph purple-faced perps.” “Oh.” Mikaela obediently scrubbed at her face, yet every towelette came back with more purple paint. After the fifth one, she stopped. “Can I please just wash my face in the bathroom?” The photographer shrugged and directed her down the hall. Inside the restroom, Mikaela made for the sink and the large mirror above it. She had a hard time, right then, remembering why she had been so obsessed with this “senior prank” for so many years. Although Mikaela could admit, up until she’d had breakfast that morning, she’d still been so excited. Even as she and Julie applied their purple-and-gold face paint, and Mikaela’s little sister, Vanessa, affixed two glittery wigs of opposing colors onto their heads, they’d all giggled with an almost frothy enthusiasm. “Trust me—no one will ever forget this!” Julie had promised, pulling Mikaela up the vaguely damp football tunnel to the thundering beat of the Harmon Spartans’ fight song—and also Mikaela’s heart. “Yeah, ’cause we’ll be laughingstocks.” “We’ll be legends!” Arm in arm, they’d marched toward the light as the shaggy foil tips of the itchy wig tickled Mikaela’s face. And as usually happened, Mikaela could feel Julie’s seemingly limitless enthusiasm for high jinks begin to permeate the layers of her own innate reserve. But now, standing under the harsh fluorescents of the police station bathroom, Mikaela just ripped off the moronic gold tinsel wig and ruffled her short brown hair trapped beneath it. It sprung wild, thick and curly from her scalp, freed from the loose plaits she’d had it in earlier. She took a deep breath and regarded herself, still covered in purple greasepaint. Was it worth it? She knew that was going to be her father’s first question for her and she didn’t have an answer. Julie had been right—no one in this town would ever look at her the same again. Especially not after the two consecutive cartwheels and back handsprings she’d done on the fifty-yard line while school security chased Julie around the end zone during halftime at their high school’s final football game of the season. At the time, more than half of the stands roared in appreciation. Mikaela stifled a little smirk remembering it. Of course, that was probably because most of the Tri-County area now knew her better than her own gynecologist did. But the truth was, for those two hundred and eleven seconds, it had been utterly wonderful. Mikaela let loose and was completely herself, joyful and free and brimming with the most intense hopefulness and excitement about what lay ahead after graduation. Not only for herself but every single young person there. In fact, it had been three and half of the finest minutes of her life. That is until sheriff’s deputies tackled her to the ground and dragged her off the field in handcuffs. Now, Mikaela stood in the mirror wearing only an extra-large Spartans T-shirt, her pink Keds, the remnants of particularly noxious paint on her face and a slightly lopsided Afro. She was a mess. “Pull it together,” Mikaela said to the grotesque, mocking face in the mirror. She pressed the dispenser until there was a mound of soap in her palm. Then, using paper towels to scrub, she washed most of the face paint off in three cycles. Her face was tender from the effort by the time she emerged from the ladies’ room. “I was just about to come in there lookin’ for you,” the young man said as she stepped out. He stood in front of the door, facing it like a sentry. “Sorry, it was a lot of paint.” “Yeah, no kidding. I had no idea what you looked like under all that stuff.” He guided her back toward the intake area. She glared up at him with lingering suspicion. “And what, were you taking bets?” Mikaela had always been sensitive about her looks. A month from eighteen, she was still knobby kneed and gangly, with barely a B-cup. The only sizable things on her remained her hips and an ass that kept her from being one long, unbroken straight line from the back of her head to the back of her heels. “Takin’ bets on what? That you weren’t a Purple People Eater?” He chuckled. “No, I just wondered. Step over there.” He pointed to a plain wall notched with height markings, in front of which stood a camera tripod. “Take this.” He handed her a placard to hold. “I didn’t know you guys really did this.” She examined the slate with her name, the date and booking ID on it. “We do.” Mikaela was not this person. Not a person who got arrested. She was not prepared to forever be identified as one. “You misspelled my name. Tell me, is it like a parking ticket? You mess it up, and I get to go free?” “I wish.” He smirked. “You’re funny. What’s misspelled?” He walked up to her looking over her shoulder for the error. Mikaela could tell what soap he liked to use and the fact that he’d brushed his teeth or eaten something cinnamony recently. She considered that as his eyes met hers briefly. This close, there were flecks of green in the blue of his irises. “Um, it—it’s actually k with an a before e in my first name. M-i-k-a-e-l-a.” “Well, Mikaela with a k-a-e, I’m Cameron.” He underlined a small name tag on his crisp white shirt with a flourish of his hand before reaching for the placard. Their fingers brushed as he took it from her, whisking it back to the booking desk as she stood waiting. She chewed on her nails, staring for a moment at the bulletin board on the far wall. A collection of real-life FBI wanted posters lined it. She paid particular attention to the mug shots and shook her head at the realization that she was about to have one of those too. A wolf whistle pulled Mikaela’s attention to Julie, standing down the hall. She laughed, galloping around the hall on an imaginary horse until one of the officers made her stop. Cameron came back from around the desk to hand Mikaela the placard. “Let’s try that again,” he said. Julie made a face, mouthing the words “He’s hot” and fanning herself while his back was turned. Mikaela attempted to hold in a snicker. Cameron looked over his shoulder but saw nothing. “What?” He smiled, trying to read her expression. Mikaela’s stomach tensed, the kaleidoscope of butterflies that resided in there all suddenly banking hard left as his eyes searched her face for a clue. She shook her head, looking down for somewhere to put her eyes. Her fingers ran over the placard’s velvety felt board and sharp white plastic letters. “Are you ready?” Cameron asked. “Seems the real question is—” she cocked her head “—are you?” The second the words were out of her mouth she wondered where they’d come from. His eyes widened and he chuckled again. Embarrassed, Mikaela nodded, averting her eyes and stepping back to the wall.

Review: The Summer Getaway by Susan Mallery

Author: Susan MalleryPublisher: HQNReleased: March 15, 2022Received: NetGalley Sometimes you just really need a chill book to make you happy and force you to take a minute to relax. For me, the most recent book to do that was Susan Mallery’s The Summer Getaway. As the title implies, it is the perfect spring or summer read. Robyn Caldwell is a single mom in desperate need of a change – and a…

Stray Kids👍👍👍

ご挨拶したらみんなお揃いではなかったけど、親切でとても素敵な人達でした！サイン入り音源もいただきました！感激です！どうもありがとう🎸🎸🎸

#straykids

THE BEACH READS BOOKSHOP by Lee Tobin McClain

Running a bookstore on a quaint Chesapeake island is exactly the life Deena Clark would have chosen for herself. But helping billionaire businessman Luis Dominguez figure out fatherhood is part of the package. Can bonding over books and one little girl help them open their hearts to each other?

My Review: It's a perfect read if you want to relax and escape to a small island and enjoy a sweet romance. A well plotted story with a cast of interesting characters, second chances and finding what you really want. I enjoyed Luis and Deena's story and how they evolve. Deena ia well plotted and strong character, ready to change for love of a child and finding happiness. Carol is a woman who is being mistreated by life as she lost her job and discovered that her husband wanted to divorce in the same week. I can say she was very lucky to divorce as the husband was an old guy who was faking illness. The plot is well developed and flows keeping you turning pages. It's a bit predictable but I loved the island and enjoyed the story. Recommended. Many thanks to HQN for this arc, all opinions are mine

The Author: Lee Tobin McClain is the bestselling author of more than thirty emotional, small-town romances described by Publishers' Weekly as enthralling, intense, and heartfelt. A dog lover and proud mom, she often includes kids and animals in her books. When she's not writing, she enjoys hiking with her goofy goldendoodle, chatting online with her writer friends, and admiring her daughter's mastery of the latest TikTok dances. Learn more at www.leetobinmcclain.com.

Social Links: Author Website Twitter: @LeeTobinMcClain Facebook: @Lee Tobin McClain Goodreads

The Sister Effect : A Novel  by Susan Mallery

Susan Mallery’s newest hardcover is an emotional, witty, and heartfelt story of Finley who is raising her niece because her long-addicted sister, Sloane, abandoned her. When Sloane reappears, eager to build a relationship with her daughter, Finley will struggle with forgiveness, the ties that bind a family together, and the fragility of trust.

Finley McGowan is determined that the niece she’s raising will always feel loved and wanted. Unlike she felt after her mom left to pursue a dream of stardom and her grandfather abandoned her and her sister Sloane when they needed him most. Finley reacted to her chaotic childhood by walking the straight and narrow—nose down, work hard, follow the rules. Sloane went the other way. Now Sloane is back, as beautiful and damaged as ever, and wants a relationship with her daughter. She says she’s changed, but Finley’s heart has been bruised once too often for her to trust easily. With the help of a man who knows all too well how messy families can be, Finley will learn there’s joy in surrendering and peace in letting go.

Mallery, with wisdom, compassion and her trademark humor, explores the nuances of a broken family’s complex emotions as they strive to become whole, in this uplifting story of human frailty and resilience.

The Author: SUSAN MALLERY is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of novels about the relationships that define women's lives—family, friendship and romance. Library Journal says, “Mallery is the master of blending emotionally believable characters in realistic situations," and readers seem to agree—forty million copies of her books have been sold worldwide. Her warm, humorous stories make the world a happier place to live.

Susan grew up in California and now lives in Seattle with her husband. She's passionate about animal welfare, especially that of the Ragdoll cat and adorable poodle who think of her as Mom.

SOCIAL LINKS: Twitter: @susanmallery Facebook: @susanmallery Instagram: @susanmallery Author website: https://www.susanmallery.com/

BUY LINKS: Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-sister-effect-susan-mallery/18611717?ean=9781335448644 B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-sister-effect-susan-mallery/1141741087?ean=9781335448644 Books a Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Sister-Effect/Susan-Mallery/9781335448644?id=8318065423495 Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1335448640?ie=UTF8&tag=wwwsusanmalle-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1335448640

EXCERPT:

Chapter One

Finley McGowan loved her niece Aubrey with all her heart, but there was no avoiding the truth—Aubrey had not been born with tap dance talent. While the other eight-year-olds moved in perfect rhythm, Aubrey was just a half beat behind. Every time. Like a sharp, staccato echo as the song “Counting Stars” by OneRepublic played over the dance studio’s sound system.

Finley felt a few of the moms glance at her, as if gauging her reaction to Aubrey’s performance, but Finley only smiled and nodded along, filled with a fierce pride that Aubrey danced with enthusiasm and joy. If tap was going to be her life, then the rhythm thing would matter more, but Aubrey was still a kid and trying new things. So she wasn’t great at dance, or archery, or swimming—she was a sweet girl who had a big heart and a positive outlook on life. That was enough of a win for Finley. She could survive the jarring half-beat echo until her niece moved on to another activity.

The song ended and the adults gathered for the monthly update performance clapped. Aubrey rushed toward her aunt, arms outstretched for a big hug. Finley caught her and pulled her close.

“Excellent performance,” she said, smoothing the top of her head. “You weren’t nervous.”

“I know. I don’t get scared anymore. I really liked the song and the routine was fun to learn. Thank you for helping me practice.”

“Anytime.”

When Aubrey had first wanted to study tap, Finley had gone online to find instructions to build a small, homemade tap floor. They’d put it out in the garage, and hooked up a Bluetooth speaker. Every afternoon, before dinner, Finley had played “Counting Stars” and called out the steps so Aubrey could memorize her routine. Next week the dance students would get a new routine and new song, and the process would start all over again. Finley really hoped the new music wouldn’t be annoying—given that she was going to have to listen to it three or four hundred times over the next few weeks.

They walked to the cubbies, where Aubrey pulled a sweatshirt over her leotard, then traded tap shoes for rain boots. April in the Pacific Northwest meant gray, wet skies and cool temperatures. Finley made sure her niece had her backpack from school, then waved goodbye to the instructor before ushering Aubrey to her Subaru.

While her niece settled in the passenger side back seat, Finley put the backpack within arm’s reach. Inevitably, despite the short drive home, Aubrey would remember something she had to share and would go scrambling for it. Finley didn’t want a repeat of the time her niece had unfastened her seat belt and gone shimmying into the cargo area to dig out her perfect spelling test. Going sixty miles an hour down the freeway with an eight-year-old as a potential projectile had aged Finley twenty years.

“We got our history project,” Aubrey announced as Finley started the car. “We’re going to be working in teams to make a diorama of a local Native American tribe. There’s four of us in our group.” She paused dramatically. “Including Zoe!”

“Zoe red hair or Zoe black hair?”

Aubrey laughed. “Zoe black hair. If it had been Zoe red hair, my life would have been ruined forever.”

“Over a diorama? Shouldn’t your life be ruined over running out of ice cream or a rip in your favorite jacket?”

“Dioramas are important.” She paused. “And hard to spell. We’re going to pick our tribe tomorrow, then research them and decide on the diorama. I want to do totem poles. The different animals tell a story and I think that would be nice. Oliver wants a bear attacking a village, but Zoe is vegetarian and doesn’t want to see any blood.” Aubrey wrinkled her nose. “I eat meat and I wouldn’t want to see blood either. Harry agrees with me on the totems, but Zoe isn’t sure.”

“So much going on,” Finley said, not sure she could keep up with the third-grade diorama drama.

“I know. Could we stop at the cake store on the way home? For Grandma? She’s been sad.” Aubrey leaned forward as far as her seat belt would let her. “I don’t understand, though. I thought being on Broadway was a good thing.”

“It is.”

“So Grandma was a good teacher for her student. Why isn’t she happy?”

Finley wondered how to distill the emotional complexity that was her mother in a few easy-to-understand concepts. No way she was getting into the fact that her mother had once wanted to be on Broadway herself, only to end up broke and the mother of two little girls. The best Molly had managed for her theater career was a few minor roles in traveling companies. Eventually motherhood and the need to be practical had whittled away her dream until it was only a distant memory. These days she taught theater at the local community college and gave intensive acting classes in her basement. It was the latter that had been the cause of her current depression.

“Her student wasn’t grateful for all Grandma did for her. When she got the big role, she didn’t call or text and she didn’t say thank you for all of Grandma’s hard work.”

Molly had not only found her student a place to stay, she’d worked her contacts to get the audition in the first place. Finley might not understand the drive to stand in front of an audience, pretending to be someone else, but if it was your thing, then at least act human when someone gave you a break.

Finley glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Aubrey’s eyes widen.

“You’re always supposed to say thank you.”

“I know.”

“Poor Grandma. We have to buy her cake. The little one with the sprinkles she likes.”

Finley held in a grin. “And maybe a chocolate one for you and me to share?”

“Oh, that would be very nice, but we could just get one for Grandma if you think that’s better.”

Finley was sure that Aubrey almost meant those last words. At least in the moment. Should she follow through and not buy a second small cake, her niece would be crushed. Brave, but crushed.

Nothing Bundt Cakes wasn’t on the way home, but it wasn’t that far out of the way. Finley headed along Bothell-Everett Highway until she reached Central Market, across from the library. She turned left and parked in front of the bakery. She and Aubrey walked inside.

Her niece rushed to the display. “Look, they have the confetti ones Grandma likes. They’re so pretty.”

The clerk smiled. “Can I help you?”

“A couple of the little cakes,” Finley told her. “A confetti and a chocolate, please.”

Aubrey shot her a grateful look, then tapped on the case. “Could we get a vanilla one? I see Mom on Saturday afternoon. I could take her a cake.”

The unpleasant reminder of Aubrey’s upcoming visitation had Finley clenching her jaw. She consciously relaxed as she said, “It’s only Wednesday. I don’t know if the cake will still be fresh.”

“Just keep it in the refrigerator,” the clerk told her. “They’re good for five days after purchase.”

Aubrey jumped in place, her enthusiasm making her clap loudly. “That’s enough time.” She counted off the days. “Thursday, Friday, Saturday. That’s only three days. Mom will love her little cake so much.” She pressed her hands together. “Vanilla is her favorite.”

Finley told herself that of course Aubrey cared about her mother. Most kids loved their parents, regardless of how irresponsible those parents might be. It was a biological thing. Sloane was doing better these days. Maybe this time she would stay sober and out of prison. Something Finley could wish for, but didn’t actual believe.

Finley nodded at the clerk. “We’ll take all three, please.”

Aubrey rushed toward her and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Thank you, Finley. For the cake and coming to my performance and helping me practice.”

“I seem to be stuck loving you, kid. I try not to, but you’re just so adorable. I can’t help myself.”

Aubrey laughed, looking up at her. Finley ignored how much her niece looked like Sloane—they had the same big blue eyes and full mouth, the same long curly hair. Aubrey was a pretty girl but like her mother, she would mature into a stunning woman one day, as had her grandmother Molly before her. Only Finley was ordinary—a simple seagull in a flock of exotic parrots.

Probably for the best, she told herself as she paid for the cakes. In her experience beautiful women were easily distracted by the attention they received. Little mattered more than adulation. Relationships were ignored or lost or damaged, a casualty of the greatness that was the beautiful woman. Finley, on the other hand, could totally focus on what was important—like raising her niece and making sure no one threatened her safety. Not even her own mother.

*

“What is it?” Jericho Ford stared at the picture on the tablet screen. The swirling tubes of metal twisted together in some kind of shape, but he had no idea what it was.

“The artist describes this creation as the manifestation of his idea of happiness,” Antonio offered helpfully.

“It looks like a warthog.”

“It’s art.”

“So a fancy warthog.”

“It’s on sale.”

“I don’t care if it’s left on the side of the road with a sign reading ‘free.’ It’s ugly and no.” Jericho looked at his friend. “Why would you show that to me?”

“You said you needed some pieces for your family room.”

“I meant a sofa and maybe a bigger television.”

“You could put this on the coffee table.”

“That’s where I put my beer and popcorn.” Jericho pointed to the tablet. “If you like it so much, you get it.”

Antonio’s brows rose. “Absolutely not. My house is all about midcentury modern these days.”

“The warthog isn’t midcentury enough?”

“No.” Antonio slapped the tablet closed and put it in his backpack before removing two gray subway tiles and setting them on Jericho’s desk. “I want to make a change in the kitchen backsplash for number eleven.”

Antonio pointed to the tile on the right. “This was the original choice. I like the shine and the texture, but I’ve been thinking it’s too blue.” He tapped the tile on the right. “This has more green and goes better with the darker cabinets in the island.”

Jericho loved his job. He built houses in the Seattle area, good-quality houses with high-end finishes and smart designs. They sourced local when possible, had a great reputation and frequently a waiting list for their new-construction builds. Castwell Park—the five-plus acres he’d bought in Kirkland, Washington—had been subdivided into twenty oversized lots where Ford Construction was in the process of building luxury houses.

Jericho enjoyed the entire building process—from clearing the land to handing over the keys to the new owners. While he’d rather be doing something physical with his days, he was the site manager and owner, and all decisions flowed through him. Including tile changes suggested by his best friend and the project’s interior designer.

“Those tiles are the same color,” Jericho said flatly.

Antonio grimaced. “They’re not. This one—”

“Has more blue. Yes, you said.”

He grabbed the tiles and walked out of the large construction trailer set up across the street from the entrance to Castwell Park. He’d made a deal with the owners of the empty lot to rent the space while construction was underway. When his crew finished the twentieth home, he was going to build one for the lot’s owner. Jericho didn’t, as a rule, build one-offs, but it had been the price of getting a perfect location for the construction trailer, so he’d made an exception.

Once out in the natural light, he rocked the two tiles back and forth, looking for a color difference. Okay, sure, one was a little bluer, but he doubted five people in a hundred would notice. Still, Antonio’s design ideas were a big reason for the company’s success. He had a way of taking a hot trend and making it timeless.

“Email me the change authorization and I’ll okay it,” Jericho said, handing back the tiles.

“I knew you’d agree. These will make all the difference.”

“No more changes on house eleven or twelve,” he said, leading the way back inside the trailer. “The designs are locked in and we’ve placed all our orders.”

“I know. This is the last one.” Antonio smiled. “Besides, I’ve already checked with the distributor and she said it was no problem to substitute one for the other.” He settled in the chair by Jericho’s desk. “Dennis and I were talking about you last night.”

“That never means good things for me.”

Antonio dismissed the comment with a wave. “We’re inviting a woman to our next party.”

Jericho knew exactly what his friend meant but decided to pretend he didn’t. “You usually have women at your parties.”

“A woman for you.”

“No.”

Antonio leaned toward him. “It’s time. You and Lauren split up nearly seven months ago. I know you’re still pissed at your brother, but that’s separate from getting over your ex-wife. They cheated, they’re hideous people and we hate them, but it’s time for you to move on.”

Antonio had always had a gift for the quick recap, Jericho thought, appreciating his ability to distill the shock of finding out his wife and his younger brother were having an affair and the subsequent divorce into a single sentence.

“I’ve moved on,” Jericho told him.

“You’re not dating. Worse, you’re not picking up women in bars and sleeping with them.”

Jericho grinned. “When have I ever done that?”

“You’re a straight guy. Isn’t it a thing?”

“I hate it when you generalize about me because I’m straight.”

Antonio grinned. “Poor you.” His humor faded. “It’s time to stop pouting and move on with your life.”

“Hey, I don’t pout.”

“Fine, call it whatever you want. Lauren was a total bitch and I honestly don’t have words to describe what a shit Gil is for doing what he did. But you’re divorced, you claim to have moved on, so let’s see a little proof.” His mouth turned down. “I worry about you.”

“Thanks. I’m okay.”

Mostly. He hadn’t seen his brother in six months, which had made the holidays awkward. His family was small—just his mom, him and his brother, with Antonio as an adopted member. Gil’s affair with Lauren had rocked their family dynamics nearly as much as his father’s death eight years ago, shattering their small world. Their mother had taken Jericho’s side—at least at first. Lately she’d been making noises about a reconciliation. As Gil and Lauren were still a thing, he wasn’t ready to pull that particular trigger just yet.

“Dennis is a really good matchmaker,” Antonio murmured.

“Did I say no? I’m kind of sure I said no. I can get my own women.”

“Yes, but you won’t.”

“Now who’s pouting?”

The first five notes of “La Cucaracha” played outside, announcing the arrival of the food truck. Antonio’s face brightened.

“Lunchtime. You’re buying.”

“Somehow I’m always buying.”

“You’re the rich developer. I’m a struggling artist. It’s only fair.”

“You have a successful design business. And if that wasn’t enough, your husband is a partner at a fancy, high-priced law firm. You married money.”

Antonio laughed. “Wasn’t that smart of me?”

Jericho followed him out of the trailer. “You would have married him if he was broke and homeless. You love him.”

“I do and now we need to find someone for you to love. Not another redhead. That last one was a total disaster.”

“I’m not sure the failure of our marriage had anything to do with the color of her hair.”

“Maybe not, but why take the chance?”

REVIEW

The Dangerous One by Lori Foster

Osborn Brothers #1

 A book I only put down due to electricity cut at midnight then picked up early the next morning after electricity returned. This was a great introduction to a new series or perhaps merely a duology since there seem to be only two Osborn brothers although there is another character introduced I would love to hear more about in the future.

 What I Liked:

* Jodi Bentley: survivor, strong, capable, lethal, small but mighty, has a rather dark backstory, innocent while savvy, really liked her

* Hunter Osborn: ex Park Ranger, works with cars, dealing with aftermath of tough on-the-job experience, protective

* Turbo: canine extraordinaire, Hunter’s companion, sounds the alarm, sound judgement about humans

* Memphis Osborn: younger brother, tech savvy, wicked sense of humor, will make great hero for next book

* The tie-in to the MacKenzie family of a previous series

* The bad guy with a conscience that I would like to hear more about in the future

* The plot, pace, character development, writing, and the way it drew me in

* The communication and caring that was honest, open, and equal along with the respect Hunter and Jodi showed for one another

 What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* Thinking about how evil some people are and what they often get away with

 Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Definitely

 Thank you to NetGalley, HQN, and the author for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 5 Stars

     BLURB

REVIEW

Texas Bodyguard: Luke by Janie Crouch

San Antonio Security #1

 Claire and Luke met while being fostered in a group home that was less than the best. Luke protected Claire then was more than willing to do so again when she found herself in need of protection and went to him for help. His business partners and brothers by choice and adoption rather than blood were the perfect people to assist Claire once they determined the dire and potentially lethal situation she was in.

 This was an action packed, intriguing, suspense-filled romance with main characters that belonged together. The introduction to the four men in the Patterson family brotherhood was made and each one definitely deserves to have a book if his own, find his partner, and settle into a happy future. I look forward to reading each of the remaining books in this series.

 Thank you to the author for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 4-5 Stars

      BLURB