by Anne Harper
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more Amara titles… Back in the Burbs
Rachel, Out of Office
When the Smoke Clears
The Burbs and the Bees
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Anne Harper. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Rd
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
[email protected]
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Stacy Abrams
Cover illustration by Elizabeth Turner Stokes
ISBN 978-1-64937-056-3
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition April 2021
This book is for my editor Stacy. All I can say is #BlessYou.
Chapter One
Antonella Bennett had a thorn in her backside. A gigantic, unforgiving thorn tearing through the brand-new frilly Victoria’s Secret concoction she had hidden beneath her dress. The one meant for Greg Lapinski, her boyfriend.
Her ex-boyfriend.
Her last of three mistakes was that she didn’t shut up when she noticed the teens in the corner were recording her on their smartphones. Instead, seeing the tech-savvy teens threw more fuel on her already burning flaming-hot fire.
“He’s not even a bad guy. That’s the worst part,” she continued, all volume and fiery purpose. “I can’t even really blame him for what happened. He tried to make this work. He never cheated. He was a good, solid guy. But it just didn’t matter, did it?” She turned her attention back to the man behind the host station.
“See, the only thing he did was meet a woman who became a friend—a nice, platonic friend,” she added. “One who, without him looking for it, became a thought in his head. One he ignored because we were in a committed relationship. But I guess when you meet ‘the one,’ staying with someone who isn’t just doesn’t work. Had I known that, I might not have driven hours to surprise him. But no. One kiss in and he called it quits! He said it took being with me to realize she was ‘the one.’ His missing piece. His soulmate.”
Nell wiped her hand across her forehead to try and keep some of the rainwater that had gotten trapped in her curls away from her eyeliner. Not that it would do much good after crying on and off in the car over the last fifty miles or so. One look at the man behind the counter and she knew he’d already been concerned even before she’d started yelling. She glanced at his name tag and powered on, riding the wave of righteous anger that had replaced the feeling of being passed over.
“You know all those romance movies where we as the audience know the main character isn’t supposed to be with their current boyfriend or girlfriend, no matter how decent they are? That we’re just sitting in the theater with our hearts all aflutter when the should-be couple get put into situations that make it hard for them to ignore how they really feel?” Nell pointed to herself. “Well, Timmy, we forget all about the person who had to be someone’s learning experience. About the poor person who maybe thought they had found their soulmate only to be told no by a good guy you can’t even bring yourself to hate!”
Nell shook her head. She was done, 100 percent done.
“You know what? I’m tired of being that girl. The one whose happily ever after we don’t get to see before the credits roll. I am done! Done with soulmates and puzzle pieces and seemingly normal things that give life-altering epiphanies. I’m done with dating. I’m done with men! I’m done with all of it! You hear me, Timmy? All. Of. It. D-O-N-E. Done!”
Timmy, who looked to be around her age of twenty-four, had gone red in the face. But he wasn’t mad. Nope—he looked scared. He motioned to the list of specials on the counter between them. There were hearts all over it. Fitting…since it was Valentine’s Day.
Which had inspired the second of Nell’s three mistakes.
She never should have opened her mouth and yelled at poor Host Timmy.
“I-I understand what you’re saying, miss. I was just letting you know today’s the last day to get our Sweethearts Special, and so if you dine with someone, it’s cheaper.”
The room around them was quiet. Nell, whose raging fires of self-pity and outcry for the underdog were now dwindling, finally glanced around the entire restaurant set up behind her. Donna’s Bar and Grill only seemed to have the one room. Among its tables and booths there were about ten or so people. All were staring at her. The teens in the corner still had their phones up, looks of astonishment and thinly veiled smiles across their untroubled faces.
Nell turned back to Timmy and realized the first of the three mistakes she’d made.
I never should have stopped. I should have driven straight home and said all of that in the shower, like a normal person.
Nell cleared her throat, tried to smile like she hadn’t just gone on a drunken tirade, sans the drunk part, and straightened her back.
“Well, uh, in my haste to leave Greg’s apartment, I kind of left my purse on his entry table. And this crumpled-up sad wad of cash is all that I had in my center console.” Nell looked back down at the laminated menu next to the specials. They both knew she didn’t have enough for more than a side. That was the whole reason Timmy had mentioned the Sweethearts Special in the first place when she’d asked to check their menu before being seated.
Because having the cops called for not being able to pay for her dinner? Well, that would just be the crap cherry on her shit sundae.
“Can I order a side of Mac n Cheese?” she asked when it was clear Timmy wasn’t going to make any more suggestions after being burned by her for the last one.
He opened his mouth with a look of intense reluctance. Thankfully, he never got the chance to officially turn her away. A new voice entered their bubble.
It was warm and smooth and attached to the man who had been sitting at the table nearest the host station.
“You know, I haven’t ordered yet. Maybe we could split the Sweethearts Special?” He gave her a wry smile. “I was going to eat alone, but it might be nice to have someone who’s not feeling the Valentine’s Day spirit to talk to.” He held up his hand. “Unless you don’t want to talk at all, which is fine. I brought a book I can read.”
Nell was good with details, even if she was bad at being “the one.” Her mother sa
id it was what happened when a Type-A personality, Nell’s father, and a woman who had been in a decades-long love affair with organizational notebooks and binders, her mother, had five kids. One Bennett child was bound to excel at paying attention.
And that was how Nell was able to note the highlights of the man trying to get her cheap chicken tenders and mashed potatoes in a flash.
Arresting jawline. Arresting. Nell had read that description in a book once and now was seeing it out in the wild. The man could slice butter for grits with how defined it was, and the sharpness didn’t stop there. He had, dare she also think it, chiseled facial features. High cheekbones, a long nose, and lips that were surprisingly plump. They looked nice in their current half-smile state. His eyes looked nice, too. A bit cold with their light gray but nice.
His dark blond hair was cropped close to his head, but there was a little swoop to the side that made the arresting, chiseled, surprisingly plump-lipped man harder to figure out in terms of his age.
Not that, in any other terms, Nell was able to figure him out within the span of a well-meaning offer.
One that Timmy sure thought she should take, given his blustering when he spoke.
“That would work,” he hurried. “You would get the discount then, for sure.”
In any other situation, Nell would be polite and decline and go home with her chin raised high and integrity together. But not today. The rain was still pelting the world outside and she was starving. Crying while driving the interstate was king when it came to calorie burning.
So she nodded to Timmy first and then the man with a small, tired smile.
“Okay.”
Nell ignored the rest of the restaurant and settled into the chair the man pulled out for her, arresting jawline sturdy the entire time. When he was settled, he passed her the lone menu.
“The coffee here isn’t too bad,” he said. “I don’t mind getting you a cup if you want. Or sweet tea. That seems to be popular, too.”
“Oh don’t worry, I’ll just cover my half of the meal.”
He chuckled. “Please, let me at least buy you a drink as a way to say thank you.” Nell arched her eyebrow up in confusion. He continued. “Listening to you was the most entertained I’ve been in a while.”
Again, Nell should have felt the burn of embarrassment, but she was too wet and hungry to sling shame onto the pile.
She snorted. “You can pay for that in coffee then. I need something to warm me up.”
“Deal.”
Timmy sent a waitress over lickety-split. Her name was Rhonda and she didn’t seem amused at all by the performance Nell had just given. She spoke to the man only and, when she left, she gave Nell a severe look.
“And there might be a good chance there’s spit in my potatoes when I get them,” Nell muttered. The man laughed.
“I doubt they’d chance incurring your wrath again.” He leaned over the small table, outstretching his hand. “My name’s Quinn, by the way.”
His hand was freakishly big. Long fingers. Warm palm. The detail of his height belatedly filtered in now that she had accepted his jawline.
Quinn was a tall, sturdy man. Maybe six two, with shoulders for days. Even sitting, he felt a foot taller than her five four. His hand was just a testament to how intimidating he must be to most people.
But not to Nell.
She shook without hesitation.
“Antonella. Most people call me Nell.”
He sat back and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Nell.”
Then Big Man Quinn opened the book in front of him and started reading. Just like that.
Nell felt the first flush of slight embarrassment. Like the man had rejected her and her pride stung from it.
Five hours ago you were thinking about marrying Greg. Rejection or not, who cares? You’re done with men.
The quick mental pep talk was effective. And needed.
Nell let out a long, deep breath and imagined herself relaxing in a warm bath. A bath of deciding to never again fool around with dating. Of avoiding romantic entanglements. Of leaving men to read their books and judge her from behind the host counter.
It was nice.
She pulled her phone out and sent a text to one of her sisters and then her two brothers. It was about their mother’s birthday coming up soon. The big sixty. And, since they did every party big, that meant an entire weekend celebrating for this one.
Nell hadn’t told anyone, minus the restaurant patrons and staff, about her split with Greg, and she wasn’t about to use their mother’s birthday as a springboard into the topic. Especially since two of her four siblings had been strongly against Greg since they met him at her college graduation.
So she texted ideas of drinks to make and games to play and asked if they could get one of those pin-the-tail-on-a-hot-dude posters sold for bachelorette parties until the coffee came. Nell watched as Quinn drank his black and hot while never once looking up from his book. She drank hers, heavily sugared, and tried to pretend her curiosity about the man wasn’t going through the damn roof.
As he got a refill from the waitress, once again not looking away from his book as he accepted it and started to drink, Nell finally caved.
“All right, I have to know why you aren’t digging this love-filled holiday, either.”
Gray eyes traveled up from the print to hers. He was smirking.
She kept on. “I mean, you’re clearly very attractive—I’m not saying that to hit on you, it’s just like a detail that I assure you everyone else in here has already clocked—and, unless you have a dark side, you seem to be a nice guy. So what’s up? Why are you here on Valentine’s Day splitting what will likely be a mediocre Sweethearts Special with possible added spit with a stranger and not a date? There has to be a story there.”
Quinn’s smirk didn’t change an inch. He’d been asked a similar question in the past, she was sure. Just maybe not so location specific.
“I don’t know about all that, but—” He motioned to the front window. Nell turned to see a U-Haul parked in the rain out in the lot. “I’m in the middle of a move and didn’t want to drive in the rain. So that’s the here part of the story.”
Nell met his eye with a raised brow.
“So you’re not single, you’re just in transit.”
“I am single, just also in transit.”
Her eyes narrowed. She was being too nosy.
She pressed on.
“And you don’t like Valentine’s Day because you’re single.”
“I don’t like Valentine’s Day because my ex-wife used to hate it and it eventually rubbed off on me. Now I get grumpy when I see construction paper hearts and those little candies that have sayings on them like ‘love you’ but spelled L-U-V.”
Nell nodded and made an ahh I understand now sound.
“There’s the red flag.”
Surprisingly, Quinn laughed out loud in one booming burst. It triggered her own smile.
“You know, that’s actually what my last date said. When I wouldn’t bad-mouth my ex, she said the divorce must have been my fault and that was just too many red flags for her.” He didn’t look hurt at all about the news, so Nell leaned into it.
“Why won’t you shit-talk your ex?”
Quinn shrugged. “Because she’s my son Owen’s mother and it’s my rule that I don’t hurt him by disrespecting her.”
“Wow,” Nell breathed. “That’s the sexiest and sweetest red flag I’ve ever heard.”
He laughed again. It drew looks from the teens in the corner.
“Apparently my date didn’t think so. My single dad status was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
Nell shook her head, making tsk tsk sounds.
“She didn’t even give you a chance to show her your real red flags, huh? How thoughtless.”
&
nbsp; “Exactly,” Quinn agreed. “We hadn’t even breached the whole topic of me not having any social media accounts.”
This time Nell didn’t have to fake or mock shock. She rocked forward a little, eyes wide, like he’d just sprouted wings.
“You don’t have Facebook? Twitter? Instagram? TikTok?”
“Nope. I barely even Google.” He motioned to the open book he’d been reading and then to her. “I prefer real life to all this tech and internet crap.”
“‘All this tech and internet crap.’” Nell shook her head and whistled. “Boy. You think you know a total stranger and then this happens. What a ride.”
Quinn laughed again and Nell kept smiling. Their waitress showed up right after and distributed their respective plates of chicken tenders, mashed potatoes, green beans, and buttered rolls. After she walked away, there was a moment of silence for the table. Then Quinn spoke up.
“What are the chances she spit in my food, too?”
Nell snorted.
“I guess there’s no way to know until we dive in, sweetheart.”
Quinn never went back to his book, and their meal was good. The conversation was easy but never really deep. Other than his divorce and the fact that he had a kid, he didn’t give her any more personal details, and Nell didn’t offer her own, either. It was nice to just be with someone who she could make laugh and who did a surprisingly good job of making her laugh in turn.
So much so that when they went to pay their bill at the front, Nell felt a pang of panic in knowing she was about to part ways with the man. That panic turned into the need to stretch out their time together just a little longer. Which worked hand in hand with what Timmy offered them when their check was paid.
“Would you two like a picture together?” he asked, some nervousness riding along with the question. Before Nell could ask why, the host motioned to a bulletin board along the wall next to them that she hadn’t noticed when she’d first come in. Across the top were pink and red cutout letters that spelled Sweethearts, with several Polaroids of smiling, kissing, and hugging couples pinned to the board beneath. “During the week before and after Valentine’s Day, any couple who shares the Sweethearts Special gets a complimentary picture plus one that goes on the wall. It’s tradition.”
