by Kayt Miller
I see his eyes water as he shakes his head. Searching the room for a tissue, I look back down at him, a tear is sliding down his cheek. “Do you remember our second conversation? The one at the gym?” he asks.
“Of course. How can I forget half-naked rugby players?”
He ignores my joke. “Well, right after we ended the call, I turned to the lads and yelled at the top of my lungs. ‘Gents, that was my future wife. I’m going to marry that lass.’”
I feel misty-eyed again, damn it. “You did?” I squeak.
“I did.”
“And you are.” I pause. “You’re going to marry that lass.”
“I know. The question is, when?”
“Soon. I can’t wait to be yours, Cooke Thompson.”
“And I can’t wait to be yours, love.”
Books by Kayt Miller
The Palmer Sisters
Lainie
Agatha
Sadie
Cortland
Keely
Violet
Molly
Standalones
The Art of the Game
The Virginia Chronicles
One of a Kind
The Portrait Painter
Game Changer
Bedhead
The Flynns
Out of the Blue
Mick’sology
Vested Interest
The Importance of Being Ernie with Bonus Book The Importance of Being Kennedy’s
Quirky Girl
For a complete list of Kayt’s books, visit:
Kayt’s Website: kaytmiller.com
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Hot Tree Editing , particularly Kristen and Kim, for editing this book from start to finish.
And an extra special thank you to Becky at Hot Tree Promotions for your advice, expertise, and her positivity.
And for my beta readers, Kay, Katy and Elizabeth. Thank you so much for your time and feedback!
About the Author
How did it all start? Well, I love reading and one day I was searching for a book. A book about a certain type of woman and a specific kind of man and I couldn't find it so, I wrote it. I called it Game Changer and it couldn't have been a more appropriate title. It changed my life in many ways. While my real job is teaching young people, my fun job is conjuring up characters and situations to write about.
My goal, as a writer, is to write stories that relate to all of us, to make readers laugh and maybe cry sometimes. I hope my readers can escape into a fantasy, one that's actually possible. Sure, some of the stories could be dubbed "Insta-love" stories but that's okay. I fell in love with my husband pretty damn fast and with my daughter the second I saw her. So, it's a thing, I swear.
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Thank you!
Thank you so much for reading Quinn and Cooke’s story! When I start a story, it begins with an outline, notes, and lots of crazy thoughts running through my head. When I actually start writing, the characters take over, leading me through the story like they’re holding my hand––guiding me. The process is exciting and cathartic. With that said, I hope you enjoy the story.
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Sneak Peek: Farmboy
Coming soon…
Chapter 1
“Mm-mm-mm. They sure don’t grow boys like that out east.”
My friend and co-working, Rose, and I are both staring at the same man. “Yeah, well, he’s not the typical Iowa farm boy.”
“I think you mean man. Farm man. Because there’s no boy left in that.” She points at his backside since he’s walking down the long corridor away from us.
I snicker at her words because it’s what I do when I get nervous. I giggle, snicker, snort, or straight up laugh out loud. It’s my coping mechanism in situations that are too awkward for me to handle. “Even when he was a teen boy, he looked like that.” Tall, blond, muscled, beautiful. Also known as Nashville Watson, but everyone just calls him Nash.
“God, Izzy, how did you not throw yourself at that man back then?” She arches her brow. “Or now. You’re single.”
“Easy. He was a friend of my brothers and two years older than me.” Not to mention I was not the kind of girl he went with. Cheerleaders and prom queens. Those were his type.
Rose scoffs, “Two years is nothing now. I heard he’s single.”
“He is.” And the last I heard he wasn’t looking for anything serious. “I think he’s playing the field.”
“I’d play in his field…”
“Shh.” I giggle. See? Nerves. “Someone will hear you.” And that’s definitely not what we’re supposed to be doing on Open House night at our school. “We’re professionals.” I give her my haughtiest look, nose in the air and everything.
“Nobody can hear us way back here.” Our classrooms are the last two doors in the main hallway. Rose is our Special Education teacher, and this is my first year as the Title 1 Reading teacher at Honeywell Elementary School. Heck, it’s my first year of teaching, period. I just graduated last spring. I wasn’t sure about coming home. I’d hoped to find something in city or at least a town closer to civilization but nothing panned out and believe me, I tried. Luckily, I grew up in this town and the superintendent is a friend of my folks otherwise, I’d probably be unemployed. Which equals working as a waitress like I did in college. No thanks.
I’m torn. Part of me is glad to be back, a small part. The other part wished I’d found a job somewhere else, somewhere nobody already knew me. So, I could be anyone I wanted to be. Instead, I’m back here and I’m still Izzy Harmon––boring, old Izzy.
At least I have a job in my field. That’s more than I can say about some of my friends from college. It’s great because I love kids and I’m looking forward to working with all these little humans. I know some of them are children of people I grew up with so that will be good, I guess. Think positively, Izzy.
It will be good.
I feel my body lurch forward and realize Rose must have pushed me into his path. When he looks down at me, I blush and fumble with words, “Oh.” Giggle. “Hi, Nash.”
“Hey.” He says walking past me like he doesn’t know me. The thing is, he does know me. He saw me practically every day after school for years because Nash and my brother, Isaac were best friends and as far as I know, they still were best friends. Nash was Isaac’s best man a couple years ago. I know because I was there. I haven’t changed that much. Yes. I have gained a few pounds in college but other than that, I’m the same Izzy Harmon he used to ignore back in high school.
You know what, poop on him. I don’t need to be recognized by the town’s most eligible bachelor and a man who smells better than I remember, like man and earth. Nope. I don’t, even though I honestly considered him a friend, sort of. He’s just as snobby and perfect as he was back then. Too good for the likes of me. I snort because, “I can’t help saying, if he’d gotten down off his high horse, his pedestal once in a while, maybe he would have ended up with a good woman instead of in the mess he’s in right now.”
“Who are you talking to?” Rose whispers.
“Nobody.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest and scowl at the little angel who walked up and stood in front of me. As soon as I see him, I bend so I’m at his level. He’s got to be in first grade. “Hi there. I’m Miss Harmon.”
“I know.” He’s not smiling. “I’m Marcus. I guess you’re my new reading teacher.”
“I am.” I hold out my hand to shake his but that’s a non-starter. “I’m anxious to get to know you.”
Marcus doesn’t hold back. “I liked Mrs. Hiller.”
Yep, kids are refreshing.
“I know. Me too.” I mean that. Mrs. Hill
er was an elementary teacher when I was in elementary school. But she died last year. She won’t be coming back, Marcus.
I don’t say it because that would be rude. Unfeeling.
“Dude, Mrs. Hiller croaked.”
I look up to see a boy several years older than Marcus.
“Excuse me…”
I’m about to give the older boy a good talking to when a man appears. “M.J., knock that shit off.” When he looks at me, he smiles. “Oh, well, hello.” He holds his hand out to me. I place mine in his and stare as he slowly bend and kisses my hand. “I’m Max Lang.”
“Miss Harmon.”
“Miss? Is that your first name?”
I blink a few times trying to figure out if this guy is serious or if he’s trying to be funny. Assuming he’s serious, I reply, “Izzy.”
He chuckles. “Izzy.” He leans in closely glancing down my shirt. “It’s a pleasure.”
I quickly pull back and cross my arms over my chest. I knew I shouldn’t have worn a V-neck top. But, it’s Open House. And it’s not like it’s low-cut or anything. V-necks are just more flattering on me. It’s like all the magazines say, highlight your best features. Draw people’s attention to that area. And no, I don’t mean my boobs. I’m talking about my face and hair. I don’t mean to brag. I’m no Ashley Stewart, that’s for sure, but I’m not a troll either. Plus, my hair is good. It’s dark brown, thick, shiny, wavy, and long. I like my hair.
“These two hellions are mine.” Max points to Marcus and the older boy. “My ex-wife is out of the picture.” He blinks at me expectantly. What? Am I supposed to say something?
And that’s when I hear someone yell. I look up at to see Nash looking at me. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I’m about to point to myself and say, “Me?” When I realize he’s gesturing to Max because, of course he is. Max then turns to Marcus and the other boy. “Come on guys. We’re leaving.”
My attention is drawn back to Marcus when he shrugs, turns, then walks down the hallway following his older brother. “I’m sure I’ll see you again, Izzy.” Max then waves as he follows his kids. When he meets up with Nash, they all take off down the hallway toward the main door. “Jerk.” I mutter.
“Max?” snickers Rose.
I look over to her and smile, then laugh. “No.” I’m so glad I get to work with her. We’ve gotten to know each other this summer since the day after I was hired, I started setting up my classroom and she was teaching summer school for extra money. We had lunch together every day I filled her in on my old life back here in Honeywell and since she’s been teaching here for several years, she filled me in on school gossip, who to avoid, and who I can trust. I had no idea an elementary school could be such a hotbed of drama. It’s like a soap opera around here.
