THE GOOD MISTAKE
Hemsworth Brothers Book 3
by Haleigh Lovell
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2019 Haleigh Lovell
Edited by RJ Locksley
Proofread by D. Grasnick and Sarah Loopy Green
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author and copyright owner.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
DEDICATIONS
This book is dedicated to my sister, Dawn.
Thanks for always being there for me.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Another Prologue
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
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Also by Haleigh Lovell
Mailing List for Sales and New Releases
Excerpt from The Slam
Prologue
Lucy
THERE ARE TWO KINDS of people in this world: those who think first dates are amazing and electrifying experiences. They hope to lock eyes with their date across the room and see sparks exploding in front of their very eyes.
Then there are those who dread the whole ordeal, ranking the experience fourth after death, famine, and pestilence.
That’s me.
This was the stuff of my nightmares.
More often than not, I found myself wanting to go back to when my date didn’t speak any words and just sat there looking hot.
And Dylan was hot. I’d taken one look at his online bio and clicked ‘Add to Cart.’
Hell, I’d even paid for two-day shipping.
Haha, if only.
All in all, I’d say this first date with Dylan was going okay. He was bearable. At the very least, I could tell he was attracted to me. Right now, he was looking at me like I was a gluten-free, sugar-free snack and today was his cheat day.
“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” Dylan said briskly. “With my job, it’s nearly impossible to find the time to date.”
Naturally, my follow-up question was, “Oh, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a global business analysis director for Akobe,” he said self-importantly. “And three years ago, I was an international business analyst for Gaggle.”
“Nice,” I said amiably. “I’m a local basket weaver.”
“For?”
“My own Etsy shop. And I farm my own willow, too.” He sent me a blank stare and I explained, “I use willow sticks and branches to make my baskets. It allows me to link an agrarian way of life with my artisanal handicraft.”
“I see.” Dylan offered me a stiff smile.
Hmm. He didn’t seem to get my offbeat humor. Slightly tragic but not a lost cause.
I was about to inform him that I was, in fact, not an artisanal basket weaver, but our waiter chose that moment to return with our appetizers.
“Would you like some freshly grated Parmesan in your soup?” he inquired.
“Oh, yes, please,” I responded in heartfelt tones.
“Say when.” The waiter began grating cheese over my minestrone.
That’s dangerous, I thought. I never know when to say ‘when,’
Seconds passed.
Minutes passed.
And the waiter kept on grating the block of cheese.
How much freshly grated Parmesan can I get in my soup? I wondered. Is it endless?
“Is that enough?” Irritation crept into his voice.
I responded with a polite, “No.”
With a closed-mouth grin, he kept on grating and grating until he finally ran out of cheese.
“When,” I said clearly and succinctly, my staccato voice renting the air.
As our waiter loped off, Dylan sat staring at me from across the table. He looked low-key appalled. “You really like cheese.”
“You’re very astute.” I spooned some soup into my mouth. Instantly, I felt red splotches rising on my neck and cheeks. “Hof hof hof hof hof hof,” I spluttered as the piping hot liquid scalded my tongue.
“You okay?” Dylan asked urgently.
“Hasafashhhh hsssshha fashhhhhh.” I huffed and huffed, swishing soup around in my mouth while exhaling flames like a dragon.
“Are you all right?” he persisted.
I went on swishing the hot liquid until I could actually swallow without dying. “Yeah,” I managed at last. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” Dylan gave a crisp nod and dug into his arugula salad. “So tell me,” he said, chomping away at the leafy greens. “Do you have any other hobbies and passions besides basket-weaving?”
“I do.”
He watched me raptly, lips slightly parted as I ladled up some soup. “Are you going to tell me what they are?”
My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth. “If I tell you, I’m sure you won’t go out with me again.”
“Who said I’d go out with you again?”
“Touché.”
“Just kidding.” He gave a flash of a smile before gulping down some water, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a comical fashion. “Try me.”
“Okay.” I looked him dead in the eye. “I’m what you’d call a horse gal. I’m all about horses. My horse, Gouda, means the world to me and when I’m not working or sleeping, I spend almost all my time with him.”
Looking somewhat unhinged, Dylan flagged down a passing waiter. “Check, please.”
“You’re leaving already?” I blew on my soup before bringing it to my mouth.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve just realized I’ve got a mountain of paperwork that I need to attend to.”
“Of course not.” I plastered a smile on my face. “All the best with your, um... global analytics.”
“Good luck with your horses and hampers.” He cast a furtive glance around the bistro. “Where the hell is that waiter?”
“I’ll split the bill with you,” I offered.
“That’s quite all right.” His words were perfunctory. “I’ll take care of it at the front of the house. Goodbye, Lucy.” He stood quickly, scraping the chair back and tossing his napkin on the table.
“Fare thee well, Dylan. Live long and pro
sper.”
“Err... right, you as well.” He nodded once before taking his leave.
And Dylan was gone, felled by his own hubris and his inability to see greatness.
A weary sigh broke free from my chest as I slumped in my chair, staring at my bowl of minestrone. I felt as if I’d been doused with cold water.
My dating life is soup. And I’m a fork.
Another Prologue
Adelaide
“YOU’LL NEVER GUESS what I just witnessed.” Miguel’s eyebrows were drawn together in an imitation of concern.
“What?” I asked, snapping the lid to my laptop shut.
“When I walked past the hallway I caught Edric just as he was coming out of the bathroom. I think he might’ve been in pain. His eyes were red and rimmed with tears.”
“That’s odd.” I pursed my lips, considering. “I always buy Charmin Ultra Soft. That toilet paper feels like a cloud on your butt.”
Miguel fixed me with an unblinking stare.
“Hmm.” I narrowed my gaze. “Maybe Edric just needs to eat some prunes?”
“Gah!” He huffed a puff of exasperation. “Maybe he’s upset because Valencia just broke up with him.”
“She did?” I said with some surprise. “How come you know this and I don’t?”
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell a soul.”
“I promise.”
He flashed a manic grin. “Cross every appendage on your body and hope to die.”
Sighing, I crossed every appendage on my body and hoped to die.
“Ahem.” Miguel coughed lightly. “I, err... might have been listening outside the door.”
“You were spying on him,” I hissed.
“Technically, no,” he said, looking all squirrely. “I wasn’t spying and I resent that implication. Edric was on the phone with Valencia and he had her on speaker. And they weren’t exactly talking quietly,” he said a tad defensively. “So I just happened to overhear their entire convo.”
“What are you waiting for?” I cried impatiently. “Spill the tea.”
“Gurrrrrrrl,” he said, drawing the word out with deliberate intent. “Y’know I’m ready to spill the whole damn pot. Basically, Valencia accused Edric of being a Splenda daddy. She said she was looking for a sugar daddy, not a Splenda daddy. And no,” he snapped before I could say a word. “It’s not an issue of natural versus artificial sweeteners.”
“Well, d’oh.” I rolled my eyes. “I knew that.”
“And,” Miguel went on, “Valencia said she was looking for a man who would fight for her.”
“Fight for her?” I blinked, hella confused. “Is she bound to the service of a feudal lord? Are there warlords roaming the streets of northern California? Has she been cyber-attacked by Anonymous? You know they are legion. They never forgive and they never forget, so good luck with that.”
Now it was Miguel’s turn to roll his eyes. “Gurl, you slipping. I think Valencia meant it figuratively. Anyway, their relationship never made any sense to me.”
“How so?”
“I’ve seen a better love connection between my dog and my throw pillows.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Honestly, I’ve just never understood the appeal with Valencia. She sounds miserable to be in a relationship with. Everything is about communicating and speaking her mind. That’s all great, but at a certain point you want to live rather than talk about living. Not to mention, she’s a bottomless pit of need.”
“So how did Valencia break things off with Edric?”
“Well, she kept spewing vitriol, going on and on about how she wasn’t fulfilled in the relationship and then right before she ended the call, she said, ‘Every cloud, Edric. Every cloud.’ Blergh!” Miguel made a gagging noise. “Barfola. She’s so fake.”
“Every cloud has a chance of being a lightning strike.”
“Silver lining!” Miguel yelled. “SILVER LINING! Ugh! If only Edric could see past her fake lining.”
I shrugged. “They say love is blind.”
Miguel barely suppressed a snort. “In Edric’s case, it’s the love child of Helen Keller and Ray Charles. Look, I don’t want to profile Valencia psychologically but really, she might be a psychopath. And she’s not even fun! She has all the excitement of boil-in-a-bag rice. If you ask me, Edric is totally hopeless when it comes to finding the right woman.”
“True.” I found myself agreeing. “He does have spectacularly bad judgment when it comes to his women.”
A beat passed. Then another.
Miguel lowered his voice and said salaciously, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Well, objectively that all depends on what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking Edric is in dire need of our help.”
“Huh,” I murmured. “You mean like a Yente?”
“A Yente?” He looked at me, puzzled and mildly irritated. “The hell is that?”
“It’s the name of the village matchmaker in Fiddler on the Roof.”
“Meh.” He scrunched up his face, looking like he’d just sniffed a fart. “Yente sounds like a Persian rug merchant. I was thinking more along the lines of a pussy broker.”
“That sounds terribly crass. Besides, I know we all want more for Edric than that.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “I think we can both agree on that.” After a pregnant pause, he said, “How about we play Cupid?”
“Mmmmm.” I weighed my response.
“I’m in,” he announced. “Now are you in or are you out?”
“In,” I said at last.
“Yesssss!” Miguel let out a loud whoop and drummed his fingers on my desk. “The tribe has spoken. We have an alliance!”
Chapter One
Edric
TWO YEARS LATER...
“Alexa!” Miguel shouted into the ether. “Play relaxing music.”
At once, smooth jazz started playing in the background. Over the blare of a saxophone, I said, “Why are you forcing me to listen to Kenny G do breathing exercises through a musical snorkel?”
“Because we need you to relax.”
“Why do I need to relax?”
A nervous laugh escaped Miguel and Adelaide blurted out, “We made a profile for you on FarmersOnly.”
“You what?” I barked.
Miguel wore a sheepish grin. “You’ve seen the commercials, haven’t you?” he asked, before promptly breaking into song “You don’t have to be lonely at FarmersOnly dot com.” His crooning was surprisingly on-key.
“Who hasn’t?” I began pacing back and forth, not bothering to hide my growing impatience. “Why?” I said tightly. “Why? I’m not a farmer or a rancher and I’m certainly not looking to date one.”
“Edric.” Miguel raised a stern gaze at me. “You’ve gone on how many dates over the past two years?”
“Err...” I cleared my throat twice. “Um...” I tried again.
“See?” He speared me with an accusing look. “You don’t even know!”
“Hey!” I said self-righteously. “I haven’t known the touch of the woman in”—I checked my watch—“eight hours!”
Adelaide cracked a smile and Miguel expelled a heavy sigh. “C’mon, Edric. Be serious for once.”
“All right, bruh.” I leveled my voice until it was as flat as the floor I stood on. “I’m listening. So where are you going with this?”
“You still haven’t found your home slice. And we’ve been working hard to help you. I swear! The only people working harder than us are the Devil and Kris Jenner.”
“He’s right,” Adelaide chimed in. “We’ve been working very hard, Edric.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Miguel did a zigzag finger snap.
“Give me a break, guys. I’m taking my time, all right? Besides, I’ve just won a Grand Slam title and I’m having a blast right now. The time of my life, really.”
“No, you’re not,” he deadpanned. “You’re not a player, Edric. You’re a one-woman man.”
; “I’m fine.” I released a pent up breath. “I’m in no rush. Slow and steady wins the race, right?”
“Actually, it doesn’t,” Adelaide said succinctly. “Maybe with a receding hairline it does, but otherwise I do believe that fast and steady wins the race.”
“That’s so fuckin’ brilliant,” Miguel cried. “I want that on a tote bag! As a matter of fact, I’m gonna throw that on some merch and start selling it on Instagram. Speaking of tote bags, Adelaide my love, will you kindly fetch the smudge stick and lighter from my tote bag?”
“Of course,” she said brightly.
“We need to get to work. Pronto!” Miguel said fiercely. “We can’t be wasting any more time. Not when Edric’s got to get ready for his date soon.”
“Date?” I sent him a blank stare. “What date? Who has a date?”
“You do,” Adelaide returned with a bundle of sage sticks and handed it to Miguel.
“With who?”
“Lucy,” they said in unison.
“Who’s Lucy?”
They carried on as if they hadn’t even heard me. I watched incredulously as Adelaide grabbed a lighter, flicked it, and offered Miguel the flame. Seconds later, smoke tainted the air and Miguel was waving the burning sage stick vigorously across my body.
“Jesus.” I jumped back as orange embers crumbled and fell. “The fuck you doing?”
“Hold still,” Miguel hissed. “I’m trying to sage your dick.”
I froze. Sage my dick?
“Air, fire, water, earth,” he chanted, waving the smudge stick between my legs. “Cleanse, dismiss, dispel.”
Expelling a loud groan, I demanded, “Can somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“Turn around,” Miguel ordered.
“Why?”
“I need to sage your butt.”
“Nope.” I coughed, angling my head away from the smoke. The smell was a blend of cigarettes and weed. “I ain’t doing shit. Not until someone tells me the purpose to this foolishness.”
The Good Mistake (Hemsworth Brothers #3) Page 1
