Praise for
Tracy Brogan
My Kind of You
“In this relaxed contemporary, Brogan (Love Me Sweet) creates a charming small town where even the scandals and secrets are relatively wholesome. Events sweep readers along, making them long for the idealized community Brogan portrays.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Recommend this romantic story to fans of women’s fiction.”
—Booklist
“This story is filled with lively characters who jump off the page. The author knows how to capture her readers’ attention. The scene where the hero tells the heroine that she’s ‘the kind of woman a man wants to make promises to’ was romantic and sweet.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars
Crazy Little Thing
WALL STREET JOURNAL BESTSELLER
RWA RITA® FINALIST, 2013, BEST FIRST BOOK
“Heart, humor, and characters you’ll love—Tracy Brogan is the next great voice in contemporary romance.”
—Kristan Higgins, New York Times bestselling author
“Witty one-liners and hilarious characters elevate this familiar story . . . Readers will love the heat between the leads, and by the end they’ll be clamoring for more.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars (HOT)
“Brogan shows a real knack for creating believable yet quirky characters . . . The surprising emotional twists along the way make it a satisfying romp.”
—Aleksandra Walker, Booklist
“Crazy Little Thing by Tracy Brogan is so funny and sexy, I caught myself laughing out loud.”
—Robin Covington, USA Today, Happy Ever After
“Tracy Brogan is my go-to, laugh-out-loud remedy for a stressful day.”
—Kieran Kramer, USA Today bestselling author
The Best Medicine
RWA RITA® FINALIST, 2015,
BEST CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
“With trademark humor, lovely, poignant touches, and a sexy-as-sin hero, The Best Medicine is Tracy Brogan at her finest. Charming, witty, and fun.”
—Kimberly Kincaid, USA Today bestselling author
Love Me Sweet
RWA RITA® FINALIST, 2016,
BEST CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
“An upbeat, generous message about finding yourself, standing up for yourself, and living an authentic life . . . A sexy, slightly kooky romance that should please Bell Harbor fans.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Jingle Bell Harbor: A Novella
“Brogan’s hilarious voice and wordplay will immediately ensnare readers in this quick but satisfying small-town romance.”
—Adrian Liang, Amazon Book Review
“Jingle Bell Harbor is a fun, funny, laugh-out-loud Christmas read that will surely put you right in the mood for the season.”
—The Romance Reviews, 5 Stars
“This was an incredible read! I was definitely surprised by this book and in a great way.”
—My Slanted Bookish Ramblings, 4.5 Stars
“Jingle Bell Harbor by Tracy Brogan is about discovering what you want, deciding what you need to finally be happy, and rediscovering a love of the holidays. It’s a quick, easy read filled with laughter and enjoyable quirky characters. If you’re in the mood for something light and funny, I would recommend Jingle Bell Harbor by Tracy Brogan.”
—Harlequin Junkie, 4 Stars
“This is a really cute, uplifting Christmas novella. It’s quick, light, and gives you warm fuzzies just in time for the upcoming holidays. There is plenty of humor to keep you entertained, and the quirky residents of Bell Harbor will keep you reading to see what else is in store.”
—Rainy Day Reading Blog, 4 Stars
Hold on My Heart
“Successfully blends a sassy heroine and humor with deep emotional issues and a traditional romance . . . The well-developed characters and the sweet story with just a touch of heat will please readers looking for a creative take on romance.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Launched in hilarious style by an embarrassingly cute meet, this delightful romantic comedy will keep the smiles coming.”
—Library Journal
Highland Surrender
“Highland Surrender features plenty of action, romance, and sex with well-drawn individuals—a strong, yet young heroine and a delectable hero—who don’t act out of character. The story imparts a nice feeling of ‘you are there,’ with a well-presented look at the turbulent life in sixteenth-century Scotland.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars
“Treachery and political intrigue provide a well-textured backdrop for a poignant romance in which a young girl, well out of her depths, struggles to reconcile what she thinks she knows with what her heart tells her. Highland Surrender is a classic sweep-me-away tale of romance and derring-do!”
—Connie Brockway, New York Times bestselling author
Books by Tracy Brogan
The Trillium Bay Series
My Kind of You
My Kind of Forever
The Bell Harbor Series
Crazy Little Thing
The Best Medicine
Love Me Sweet
Jingle Bell Harbor: A Novella
Novellas and Stand-Alone Titles
Highland Surrender
Hold on My Heart
Weather or Knot
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2020 by Tracy Brogan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503905238
ISBN-10: 1503905233
Cover design by Laura Klynstra
For Jane,
who has been with me through every rendition
of every story.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AUTHOR NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
Carli Lancaster knew mistakes came in all shapes and sizes. Some were minuscule, insignificant, and easily overcome, like forgetting to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer or setting down your latte too hard and having a sploosh of foam splash out the side of the cup, while other mistakes were far more vast, tangible, and impossible to ignore, like the one currently staring her down in the middle of her own front yard.
“Gus,” she said firmly, “d
rop it.”
Her oversize puppy with his undersize motivation to comply did not, in fact, drop it. He didn’t even blink. Instead, the black-and-white Bernedoodle just stood there in the grass, wagging his floofy tail with a raggedy stuffed panda dangling from his mouth and a mischievous come near me and I’ll bolt expression on his sweet, fuzzy face. It was a standoff and one Carli was certain to lose. Just like she’d lost the emotionally charged negotiations with her daughters when agreeing to get them a puppy. Carli had assumed they’d want something pocket-size and portable, like the kind celebrities dressed in pointless argyle sweater-vests and carried around in their purses, but Mia and Tess had outnumbered and outmaneuvered her until she’d agreed to this Clydesdale of a dog. At six months old, Gus weighed almost seventy pounds, and his growth spurt was more like a growth eruption that showed no signs of slowing. Just as he showed no signs of letting go of that panda.
“Don’t slouch. Stand up straight. Say it like you mean it,” said the aptly named Mrs. Stern. The dog-obedience trainer stood next to Carli, looking both superior and annoyed. If the woman had been holding a whip, she most certainly would’ve cracked it. At Carli, not the dog. Mrs. Stern’s philosophy was that there were no bad dogs, only incompetent humans. She wore a tweed jacket in spite of the warm August evening and chunky, serviceable shoes. Carli was both fascinated and intimidated by her abrupt, humorless demeanor, but the trainer had come highly recommended by several of the neighbors. Probably because they were all equally invested in making sure this behemoth of a hound learned some manners. Nervous joggers, stroller-pushing moms, and even the other neighborhood dogs crossed to the other side of the street when they saw Gus bounding across the yard, and more than once Carli had lost her grip on the leash and had to chase after him.
“Drop it, Gus. I mean it,” Carli said, and wow, did she mean it. With all her heart she meant it, because she’d grown to love him in spite of herself—and in spite of him—and if she couldn’t get this wildebeest tamed, she’d have to find someplace else for him to live, and her kids would never forgive her. And she’d never forgive herself. They’d all lost enough over the past year, and no one wanted to face another goodbye.
“Drop it,” Carli murmured under her breath one more time, mentally willing him to understand. He didn’t. Or if he did, he just didn’t care. He wasn’t a bad dog, of course. Carli understood that he was just young and impulsive. And big. Goodness, he was so big, with silky black fur dotted with patches of white and feet the size of catcher’s mitts. He already took up half of her bed. And yes, she knew she should probably make him sleep in his crate at night, but they liked to watch The Late Show together, and then she was always too tired to take him back downstairs. Besides, she liked the company.
Mrs. Stern paused before finally making a gruff little sound from deep in her throat, and Gus, that traitor, instantly dropped the panda. It landed softly on the ground as he sat down, his pink tongue lolling from his mouth.
“I think that’s all for today,” the dog trainer said with an audible tone of exasperation and a not remotely subtle frown at Carli, indicating it was definitely she who was being judged, not the dog. And maybe it was her fault. Maybe she was too lenient with him. Or too inconsistent. Or too unclear with her expectations. Or maybe she was just bad at relationships, even with her pets. She’d never been any good at setting boundaries and sticking to them, and dogs were intuitive about stuff like that. Maybe Gus was onto her. Maybe she should put him in his crate at night . . .
“Are you sure we should stop? I’ve got more time,” Carli said.
“I’m quite sure,” Mrs. Stern answered. “After all those liver treats, the urge to defecate will start to distract him.”
A grown woman shouldn’t chuckle at the word defecate, but the stress of training was making her emotional, and she needed a release valve after forty-five minutes of obedience work. Laughing at the dog trainer’s word choice would not earn her any points for maturity, though, so she held it in, even while feeling as if Mrs. Stern could read the imaginary thought bubble above her head that said ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
“I’ll work with him again tonight, after he’s had some time to rest, and . . . do whatever else he needs to do,” she said with forced solemnity.
“That’s fine. I can come back on Friday afternoon. I think you’d both benefit from twice-weekly lessons.”
Yep, there it was. Confirmation that all the dog’s misbehavior lay squarely on Carli’s ineffectual shoulders. Well, at least she knew where she stood.
“Thank you, Mrs. Stern. That would be very helpful.”
Mrs. Stern scratched Gus behind the ears, and he gazed up at her lovingly, sighing and leaning into her hand, proving there must be some sweetness somewhere inside the boxy, matronly woman. Something that dogs could sense but was totally invisible to humans. “Very well, then. I’ll see you Friday at three o’clock,” she said crisply, then climbed into her Subaru hatchback and slowly eased the car out of the driveway.
Gus sniffed at the grass and meandered around the yard, looking for just the right spot to defile as Carli looked away and wondered how she could care about him so very much and yet be so frustrated with him at the same time. If only he understood what she was asking him to do, maybe he’d do it. Maybe she could somehow find just the right method to encourage him. Then again, that’s kind of how her eighteen-year marriage to Steve had been, too. A merciless combination of love and agitation and unmet expectations until finally, eight months ago, he’d moved out of their family home into a luxury condo and filed for divorce. It hadn’t been a shock to Carli, exactly. Over the past few years, they’d gone to marriage counseling more often than they’d gone out on dates, and each time they seemed to resolve less and dig in more.
“What’s your goal for this counseling session?” the last therapist had asked.
“I’d like to be able to communicate with Steve in a way that helps him understand how he’s hurting my feelings,” Carli had answered. “So that he might choose to do things differently.”
Steve had looked smugly impatient, his six-four frame stretched out so that his legs took up virtually all the floor space of the tiny office. “And I’d like Carli to realize she’s clinically depressed and should probably go on medication,” he’d replied. “She always gets grumpy like this whenever she gains weight, and then she hauls me into counseling until she feels better.”
That was the first and last meeting with that particular counselor. But Carli wasn’t depressed. She was resigned. Living with Steve was like pushing a boulder up a mountain every single day, and she was exhausted. Now that he was gone, she couldn’t decide if she was sad, angry, or just relieved. Maybe she was all three. And she was still exhausted, because being a single mom of two teenage girls was not an easy road—but it was a different kind of fatigue. She was lighter, somehow. Decisions were easier to make because she didn’t have to run them past Steve. And if she made mistakes—like getting a puppy when she probably should have gotten a goldfish—well, they were her mistakes to own. And her mistakes to fix. So if Mrs. Stern had to come to her house every damn day, Carli was going to turn Gus into the most loyal, obedient companion of any dog in any family in any neighborhood in any town. On any planet.
The rumble of a modest-size moving van pulling into the driveway next door caught her attention just as she and Gus headed inside Carli’s traditional, two-story house. The geriatric Mortons, who’d been Carli’s neighbors since the day she and Steve moved in as newlyweds, had just sold their home to relocate to a retirement community in Boca Raton, and from the looks of it, Carli’s new neighbors were about to move in. She hoped they were a bit younger than the Mortons, by about three decades. And she sure as heck hoped they didn’t mind dogs.
Within minutes, Carli’s phone began to ping with messages as word quickly spread that the new occupants of 2525 Monroe Circle had arrived. This neighborhood was small and incestuously close-knit, with rarely a happening, foible, shenanigan, oc
currence, event, or incident going by unnoticed or undiscussed. Lynette Barker from across the street prided herself on being the first to report the latest news, gossip, whisper, or scandal, and it was generally well-known that she was not above fabricating details if reality didn’t sufficiently titillate.
That was fast! The Mortons only left last week. Did you know the new buyer was coming? Lynette texted.
Carli gave Gus some water and led him to his crate, which, thankfully, he had no aversion to spending time in during the day, and then tapped out a response as she peeked out her window to see whatever there might be to see.
I didn’t know. It’s not a very big van. Maybe they’re just dropping a few things off.
Carli watched the three dots wavering on her screen before Lynette’s response popped up.
Single dad. Middivorce. How much do you want to bet there’s nothing inside that van but clothes and electronics?
Carli chuckled, since that was exactly what Steve had taken when he moved out. He’d left behind all the furniture and family photos and yard equipment. All the holiday decorations and trinkets they’d collected over the years. He hadn’t even taken the stuff given to them by his own parents and grandparents. When he and Carli had calmly sat down to discuss the division of their assets, all he’d wanted was their fifty-two-inch television and as much cash as he could squeeze from the situation, and since all she wanted was the house, it seemed like a fair trade. Now that she was eight months into taking care of this place on her own, she wondered if he’d gotten the better end of the deal, because the air conditioner had recently started making a scraping, wheezing sort of sound, and the garage door had a new rattle to it as well. A birch tree they’d been keeping their eyes on for years now had a branch leaning dangerously close to the roof, just waiting for a windstorm to send it crashing down. The deck needed a fresh coat of stain, and everything in the yard needed pruning, thinning, or weeding, except for her hosta plants, which had been thoroughly and relentlessly snacked on by bunnies. How Steve had managed to keep them at bay, she had no idea. She could ask him . . . but she’d rather figure it out for herself. Asking him a question always resulted in too long of an answer.
The New Normal Page 1
