Her Plus One: Stand-alone Friends to Lovers, Military, Boy Next Door, Home for the Holidays (Pine Haven Holiday Romance Book 1)

by Jenn Sable

  Thank you so much for reading Her Plus One. I hope that you enjoyed it and are looking forward to Tess York and Scott Dunn’s enemies to lover romance in Winter Wager. Keep scrolling for a Chapter Sneak Peek!

  You might also enjoy my other series, the Billionaire Brocker Brothers and the Evans Sisters Series.

  Winter Wager

  Chapter One – Tess

  Our buxom waitress’s cleavage pulled my lunch date’s eyes toward them like magnets. The deep V of her shirt gave him an eyeful as she set his second Miller Lite onto the table. The waitress quickly straightened, turned toward me with an arched brow, and handed me a Bloody Mary.

  “May I get you anything else?” The waitress asked and kept her eyes on me.

  A new date? A stronger Bloody Mary? Some pads for my B cups?

  I smiled. “No, thank you.”

  My date picked up his drink menu, forcing the young waitress to wait while he pretended to browse the list.

  He’s not the one.

  From the age of seven, I knew what I wanted in life. One, to run a successful interior design studio. Two, to live in Pine Haven in a house with a big, beautiful backyard. And three, to mother a small batch of little rascals, just like my parents did with my three little brothers and me.

  I crossed off the first goal on my list a few years after college when York Studio became the number one design company in my small hometown. The oversized backyard and motherhood proved far more difficult. I couldn’t find a reasonably priced property in Pine Haven, and I couldn’t find a man to date, let alone father my children. The more effort I exerted into achieving my perfect life, the more frustrated and exhausted I became.

  I sighed internally and discreetly pulled my cell out of my purse and texted Sophie, my life-long friend. She had recently returned home after a messy and gut-wrenching divorce. Sophie, who was still processing her anger toward her ex—and men in general—delighted in helping me escape bad dates. Sadly, I asked for her help far more often than I ever dreamed would be necessary.

  Resignation filled my gut like a stone. This was the end of the line. While I’d given my pursuit an A-plus effort, I had earned a big fat F. A small town like Pine Haven and even the adjoining city of Greenvale didn’t provide a candy store of unlimited bachelors.

  Me: Abort Mission, say there’s a water leak at my studio. I owe you one. Again! XOXO.

  I studied the boob ogler from under heavy lids, he was not the one, but neither was the broker last week or the pediatrician the week before. I’d gone on forty-nine first dates this year in an extraordinary attempt to find a relationship. I was now ready to wave the white flag of surrender to eternal singlehood or the embarrassment of being set up by my mother.

  I had made a few new friends, but not one single guy screamed, “I’m your man!” There were no husband-worthy candidates, let alone anyone who sparked the undeniable fiery flame of passion I so desperately craved.

  Why in the hell am I trying so hard to find a man, anyway? Oh, yes, because I don’t want to break my mother’s heart, and my smug little cousins are all getting married.

  After each failed date, I imagined my mother climbing the steep steps of the attic to gaze at her preserved wedding gown while she wished that she had tried for another daughter. The smuggest cousin of all, Marcella, announced her engagement at last year’s New Year’s Eve party.

  The announcement tipped me over the edge. In my defense, I was a little drunk and noticeably dateless. I felt pretty damn defensive by the time everyone had finished oohing and awing over Marcella’s big shiny rock perched on her slim ring finger.

  I wasn’t proud of what happened afterward, but there’s no going back in time. An hour after Marcella’s announcement, multiple questions by relatives over my failed attempt at partnership and two more drinks, I cleared my throat, held up my champagne at the stroke of midnight, and loudly proclaimed my new year’s resolution. My entire family listened with a mixture of amusement, pity, and doubt when I announced that I, Tessa Lynn Spinola-York, would find my soulmate this year. My exact phrase had been, “Mark my words, this year I’m going to find him! My date to next year’s New Year’s Eve party will be the one.”

  Each time I thought about that night, a massive rock formed in the pit of my stomach. It was hard when to be the oldest in a brood of siblings and cousins, and your mother’s side of the family is big, Italian, and obsessed with marriage and babies. I wished my moment of sheer desperation could’ve faded into history like the rest of that evening, but Uncle Ed had immortalized my regretful resolution on film. Marcella’s engagement made the “best moments” family video, and my proclamation made it to the number spot of our family’s yearly bloopers reel.

  Thanks to Uncle Ed’s new cell phone’s high-resolution camera, we relived my sad and embarrassing moment over and over in high definition. After the third showing of the blooper reel at a family dinner, my mother stepped in and offered her advice and match-making services. My pride was wounded, but my confidence in dating apps remained intact. I convinced my mother that if I still hadn’t any luck by the end of December, then she could set me up with whoever she wanted.

  I glanced up, and my eyes landed on the calendar on the wall behind the bar. My pulse leaped to a gallop. Tomorrow was the first day of December. My stomach knotted into a tight ball of anxiety. I had exactly one month to meet a suitable man, or else my mother would earn a turn at playing my matchmaker. Just the thought of more awkward first dates left me feeling exhausted.

  I glanced at my cell and was relieved when the seen notification appeared at the bottom of Sophie’s text thread.

  The waitress walked back to the bar, balancing a tray overflowing with bottles and empty glasses. My date cleared his throat and smiled, flashing me his row of even white teeth under his alluring green eyes. I chewed at the corner of my mouth.

  He is handsome. I’ve always been a sucker for a good smile and a broad chest. Now, if only his eyes were a warm, teddy-bear brown, I might be willing to give him a second chance.

  He squinted at me. “So, how old are you again? If you don’t mind my asking, I can’t remember what you listed on the dating app.”

  Oh, God, did he just ask me my age? Scratch that second chance. This guy cemented himself in the no way category.

  He broke eye contact and studied his food. “You look like a fun gal but seem very mature compared to most of the other women I’ve dated, not that that’s a bad thing.” He picked up his fork and knife and started cutting the pastrami sandwich he ordered into hunks.

  I mustered a close-lipped smile. “I don’t mind you asking at all, Kevin.”

  He stopped sawing his sandwich and frowned. “Devin.”

  “Right. Devin. I don’t mind the question because I’m not ashamed of my age. But, I am curious, how old you are, and how old are the women you typically date?”

  Devin stabbed a bite of the meaty sandwich and shrugged. “I’m thirty-six. I’d say most of the women I date are in the twenty-one to twenty-five-ish age range.”

  I nodded. “So, you typically don’t ask your date her age?”

  A snarky smile curled the corners of his lips. “Nope, not normally, but based on your reaction, I can tell I hit a sensitive subject.”

  He pointed at me with his meat-laden fork and twirled it in a slow circle. “Wait. Let me guess. I’m pretty good at guessing a woman’s age.”

  My brows rose, and my jaw tightened. This date just keeps getting better and better. Where’s Sophie? “Oh. Okay, then. Guess.”

  It nettled me that I automatically sat up straighter and inhaled, causing my petite but perky B cups to emerge from the flowing folds of my silk blouse.

  “Thirty-four.” Devin smiled, popped the chunk of pastrami into his mouth, and nodded confidently at me while he chewed.

  I bit the undersides of my lips and tried to keep my face a blank canvas. “I’m twenty-nine.”

  Devin’s eyes bulged then he sputtered out a loud, juvenile laug
h. “Wow! Okay, I was kind of close.”

  I reached for my Bloody Mary. “Only a scant half a decade off.”

  “There’s the culprit right there.” He chuckled and pointed at my drink with his fork.

  I eyed the tip of his fork prongs and had the urge to pick up mine and have a silverware sword fight across our bistro table for two. I exhaled. “Excuse me?”

  “Alcohol ages people, especially women.”

  My mouth fell open before I could control my reaction. What the hell? Do I have an Only Dates Assholes sign taped to my back? My phone buzzed in my lap, and I smiled. Finally, Soph! I glanced down at the screen.

  Sophie: Help is on the way!

  I almost laughed at Sophie’s response but was too flooded with relief that this nightmarish date would soon be over. I studied Devin from across the table. “Well, I guess you could say that a lot of things age us. Meaty sandwiches clog your arteries, and beer doesn’t exactly help the mid-section. No doubt those things play a role in your health and aging.”

  Devin’s smile flattened, and he set his fork onto his plate. A small smile quirked my lips, and his eyes narrowed a fraction. “A bad attitude ages you most of all.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped my throat. “Oh, my God, are you implying that I am the one with a bad attitude?’”

  Devin arched one brow. “Let’s just say that your dating profile gave me the impression that you’re a girl who likes to have fun. Yet, this date is feeling more and more like a bait-and-switch situation.”

  I blinked. Is this guy serious?

  Devin started cutting into his sandwich again. “It makes sense, though.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. I’d never been treated so rudely on a date before. “Nothing about this conversation makes sense.”

  His hands stilled over his plate, and he looked up with open and honest eyes. “Yes, it does. Come on, Tess, you’re in the twilight of your twenties. You’re single. Your biological clock is ticking so loud I can hear it from over here. You’re fooling yourself if you think you’re on a date. You are husband-hunting.” Devin looked as though he had unmasked the villain at a mystery theater dinner party.

  I laughed and reluctantly set down my drink, slid my chair away from the table a few inches, and crossed my arms. “Husband hunting? We’re on a date, and the point is to get to know one another better and figure out if we want to spend more time together. Although I don’t think that’s going to be the case here. Trust me. I’m not setting any traps for you.”

  Devin leaned across the table. “Listen, I don’t want to sound like an asshole here.”

  I smiled. “Well, you’re not off to a convincing start.”

  Devin rolled his eyes. “Men always get chastised for being honest. I don’t get it. Let me try saying this another way. You’re a business girl, right?”

  “Yes, I’m a businesswoman. I own an interior design company.”

  “Right, sorry, businesswoman. I’m sure there are some forty-somethings out there who would entertain the idea of marriage. That is if they’re not already too jaded from the failure of their first marriage.” His bark of laughter was loud enough to catch the attention of the older couple seated near us.

  The woman at the next table gave me a pitiful glance, and I wanted to crawl under the table.

  Devin smiled. “Face it; you’re getting upset because you know it’s true. Honestly, I think you’re attractive. I’d be open to going out again but with the understanding that I’m not looking for anything serious and definitely not marriage. If that’s a turn off to you, then it just proves the point I’ve been trying to make.”

  I pressed two fingertips to my temple and gently rubbed circles as the thrum of a headache pounded through my skull. No matter what happens on a date, stick to the rules: show up when you say you will, give every date a fair chance, and depart with dignity.

  I removed the cloth napkin from my lap. This date was over, and I was going to tell Mr. Breast Obsessed that myself. But I didn’t even have a chance to stand up before I saw the confident stride of a well-cut figure making a beeline toward our table. Oh, God, no. My eyes widened in disbelief as Scott Dunn’s six-foot, broad-chested, and narrow-hipped frame worked its way closer.

  Our gazes caught and held one another’s. When a mischievous smile slid over Scott’s lips, and he winked, I felt the blood drain from my face.

  Oh shit.

  It was hard to count the number of years that Scott and I had butted heads, but I’ll never forget the year it reached Defcon 3. We were in college. I was a sophomore; he was a junior. I never wanted to see Scott Dunn again, but his dad kept hiring me for work at Dunn & Son Properties as fate would have it. If I hadn’t respected the elder Dunn so much, I would’ve given Scott a firm and resounding “hell no.” He agitated me to the point that most of the time, I didn’t think we belonged in the same hemisphere.

  Devin started to say something, but Scott cut him off when he walked directly over to our table. Scott’s entire demeanor changed when he reached us. His mouth settled in a firm line and the groove etched between his brows made his golden-brown eyes snap with shock and disapproval.

  I squinted up at him. “Scott?”

  Scott’s jaw flexed, and my internal alarm bells went off. “Tess? I thought you said you couldn’t meet today because you were Christmas shopping with your mother.”

  My mind blanked. What is he talking about? I opened my mouth to respond, but Scott rushed ahead of me.

  He turned his back to Devin. “Please don’t tell me you’re on a date? I told you that I ended things with Natasha. There’s no need to act out of jealousy. Yes, she’s a Russian model. Yes, she has legs that stretch a mile, but she’s gone, and I’m all yours now, snow pea.”

  My heart stopped, and Scott’s eyes danced with humor.

  Devin sat back, folded his arms, and glared up at Scott. “Who the hell are you?”

  Scott snapped his head toward Devin. “I’m the father of her unborn child. Who the hell are you?”

  The woman seated at the next table dropped her fork. Devin’s mouth fell open, and his brows knitted together as he cast me an incredulous look.

  My throat constricted, and it felt like my tongue was too big for my mouth. I couldn’t swallow or manage to squeak out one word, so I sat there and watched, baffled, as Scott brought my date to a screeching stop.

  Our waitress walked over with her order pad. “Hi, may I get you started with a drink while I find an extra chair?”

  Scott flashed the waitress a charming smile. “Please, I’ll take a glass of water and finish her Bloody Mary. My little lady will have lemonade instead. No need for the extra chair. This gentleman was just leaving.”

  Devin bristled, threw his napkin onto his plate, stood, and glared at me. “You’re not setting any traps, huh? It’s worse than I thought. You’re not husband-hunting; you’re daddy shopping. Pathetic.”

  I released the breath that had lodged in my lungs, and Scott pressed a finger into Devin’s chest. His voice was low but direct. “That’s the future mother of my child you’re talking to, so drop the disrespect. Let’s just make this easy for everyone. Lose Tess’s number, and all is forgiven.”

  Disgust etched across Devin’s features, and he shook his head. “I can’t freaking believe this. She’s all yours, man. Good luck.” He turned and plowed through the restaurant toward the entrance.

  Scott dropped into the vacated chair, held out his arms, and wagged his brows. “So, how’d I do? I think I nailed it. Hotshot won’t be calling you anytime soon.” Scott frowned. “But if he does, tell me, and I’ll kick his ass because that would be fucked up.”

  I tried to get control of my breath, but it was no use. I shoved my cell back into my purse, balled my napkin in my fist, and threw it onto the table. “What the hell was that?”

  The woman next to us plowed a forkful of salad into her mouth and watched us as though we were the restaurant’s live entertainment.

  An
easy smile slid across Scott’s stubbled jaw. He reached for my Bloody Mary and took a sip. “Calm down, Testy. That was me playing your hero, of course. Sophie was stuck in traffic, picking up our grandfather. Since we planned to have lunch here at Sebastian’s Bistro, she asked me to step in and save you. Hence my crowd-pleasing performance.” Scott glanced over and winked at the woman with the salad, and she snapped her gaze back toward her unamused husband.

  I spoke through clenched teeth. “No, you ignoramus, why did you go off the deep end and say that I was pregnant? Worse, yet, with your baby?”

  Scott sat back and pierced me with his eyes. “This is the strangest and most aggressive thank you that I’ve ever received, but that’s par for the course with you, love. Technically speaking, now that Melissa and Clay’s asked us to be the godparents of Baby McCade, that means we are sort-of parenting a child together.”

  I sighed. “Technically speaking, no, we’re not parenting a child together, and, no, this is not a thank you.”

  A few days ago, over Thanksgiving, our married mutual friends, Melissa and Clay, had invited us over and asked us to be the godparents of their first child, who was due in mid-January. It was the first time that Scott and I’d had any emotional connection outside the annoyance realm in years. Based on Scott’s performance today, our cease-fire was over, and our little war had resumed. In other words, everything was back to normal.

  Scott smirked, and his warm-brown eyes sparkled. “I have to say I was looking forward to my first plan of accusing you of giving me an STD. But you look too innocent in pink, and I wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face.”

  His eyes dropped, and his gaze traveled the length of the centerfold of my blouse. Color rushed to my cheeks.

  “You look nice in pink, snow pea. Almost friendly.”

  I took slow, steady breaths and tried to mentally will my blush to disappear. “I am friendly, but not when I’m around you. Why did you have to say that I was carrying your unborn child? Heavens, I would’ve preferred the STD accusation over the seriousness of a fetus!”