by Kris Bryant
Table of Contents
Synopsis
What Reviewers Say About Kris Bryant’s Work
By the Author
Acknowledgments
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Forget-Me-Not
When Grace Danner finds out her great-aunt has passed away leaving her a flower shop in Ireland, she is anxious to get it off her hands as quickly as possible. Her career with the most prestigious advertising firm in Dallas has her busy six days a week, and she doesn’t have time to step away from her life to handle her aunt’s estate. She plans a quick trip to sign papers and save family heirlooms, hoping to return home before the end of the week.
She meets real estate agent Kerry Mulligan who was consigned to the property quite by accident. Their relationship starts off rocky, and as much as Grace wants to get to know the red-haired Irish beauty in the short time she is there, Kerry is nothing but business. Can Grace break through Kerry’s icy disposition and open her up to a quick affair? Even if Grace manages to seduce Kerry, can she return unscathed to the life she left in Dallas?
What Reviewers Say About Kris Bryant’s Work
Whirlwind Romance
“Ms. Bryant’s descriptions were written with such passion and colourful detail that you could feel the tension and the excitement along with the characters…”—Inked Rainbow Reviews
Taste
“[Taste] is an excellent traditional romance, well written, well conceived and well put together. Kris Bryant has given us a lovely warm-hearted story about two real human beings with whom we can genuinely engage. There is no melodrama, no overblown angst, just two women with an instant attraction who have to decide first, how to deal with it and second, how much it’s worth.”—Lesbian Reading Room
“Taste is a student/teacher romance set in a culinary school. If the premise makes you wonder whether this book will make you want to eat something tasty, the answer is: yes.”—The Lesbian Review
Jolt
“[Jolt] is a magnificent love story. Two women hurt by their previous lovers and each in their own way trying to make sense out of life and times. When they meet at a gay and lesbian friendly summer camp, they both feel as if lightening has struck. This is so beautifully involving, I have already reread it twice. Amazing!”—Rainbow Book Reviews
Forget-Me-Not
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Forget-Me-Not
© 2017 By Kris Bryant. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-866-5
This Electronic book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Edition: April 2017
This 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 persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ashley Tillman
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
Cover Concept and Composition By Deb B.
By the Author
Jolt
Whirlwind Romance
Just Say Yes: The Proposal
Taste
Forget-Me-Not
Acknowledgments
This book was a journey for me. It started with a trip to Ireland and ended with love.
I will always be grateful to Bold Strokes Books for continuing to publish my style of writing and my type of romances. Thank you, Sandy and Radclyffe, for trusting my voice and supporting me and all of us. We are all so different, yet a part of a wonderful blended family.
Without Ashley, my books would never solidify into something enjoyable or complete. She does a fantastic job of keeping me on task and isn’t afraid to tell me strengths and weaknesses with everything I write. She’s my rock and I really couldn’t do this without her.
Thank you, Deb, for always looking out for me and giving me the space to write these romances. I know it’s not easy, I’m not easy, and this process takes a lot out of me. And Molly. She’s right beside me during every step of the way. I love you both.
Every year I meet new writers who inspire me somehow, someway whether they realize it or not. I love my writer family. We are a beautiful group who want to share the stories we create. Thank you to the readers who support us and continue to appreciate what we do. Our community is small, but fierce. I am thankful to be a part of all of us.
Dedication
To D
Chapter One
I have my laptop and several e-books to keep me busy on the flight that never ends, but I’m too nervous to settle down. I’m on my way to Ireland from Dallas via Philadelphia and even though it’s only been five hours, I feel like I’ve been thirty-seven thousand feet in the air for at least a week. Forget about telling me to sleep on an airplane. I never do. I’m the one who suddenly jerks awake and then tries to play it off like I didn’t just scare the crap out of myself and my heart isn’t somersaulting in my chest. It’s just better if I stay awake.
The little old lady in the seat next to me is knitting and humming. She hasn’t said anything to me. She only smiles when we do make eye contact and that makes her my ideal travel companion. Had Morgan, my best friend who was supposed to be on this trip been sitting next to me, I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise, nor would I have this much peace. The book I’m reading isn’t holding my interest, so I decide to pull up photos on my laptop of places I want to see while I’m in and around Dublin. That gets the attention of my neighbor. She stops knitting and stares at the screen.
“Oh, that’s a lovely town there,” she says. I smile at her Irish accent and obvious delight in what she is seeing on the screen.
“My great aunt lived there for many years,” I say.
“Are you visiting her?” she asks. Her eyes light up and I’m surprised at the melancholy that has suddenly weighed down my heart.
“No, she recently passed away. I’m going to sell her flower shop and see to her affairs,” I say. She gives me a pat on my arm and I give her a sad smile.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She is quiet until she sees a picture of Ireland’s Eye, a small island just off of Howth. “Oh, that’s a fine place to see. Lots of history there.” She proceeds to tell me a little bit about the tiny island accessible only by boat.
“Do you live in Howth?” I ask.
“Oh, no. I have a cottage in Dalkey, just outside
of Dublin. My husband and I used to go to Howth on the weekends. Such a quaint, lovely fishing town. We always wanted to get a place there, but it is very expensive.” I wonder how hard it is going to be to sell the shop if the cost of living there is astronomically high. Is anybody going to want a flower shop? I probably should have done more research on the town and the shop before I jumped on a plane.
“Is somebody picking you up when we land in Dublin?” I want to change the subject because I’m starting to panic as the weight of the burden of selling a business in a country that isn’t booming economically starts settling in.
“My grandson, Sean, is picking me up. He’s such a good young man. He’s about your age, I think,” she says, squinting her eyes at me, either sizing me up, or trying to figure out how old I am. She tells me her name is Ailis and she has been in New York City visiting her son who moved there ten years ago. Her daughter still lives in Dublin with her two sons, one of them Sean, who will greet her at the airport.
“That’s very sweet. I thought about staying in Dublin overnight, but decided I’m just going to take a cab directly to Howth. I’m supposed to work with a representative from The Mulligan Group tomorrow.”
“That company has been around for years. They are very popular around Dublin. You should have no problem selling the shop.” She picks her knitting back up, my story no longer interesting to her. I take her cue and put in my earbuds. It isn’t long before I hear the pilot over the speaker mumbling something and pull my earbud out just in time to hear him say we are beginning our descent. I want to look out the window, but the sun is getting low and I’m sure Ailis doesn’t want me to lean over her. I pack away my laptop and try to calm my nerves as I wait for the wheels to hit the tarmac.
“Not a flyer, eh?” She smiles at me. I look at her and she looks at my hands on the armrests, my knuckles almost white. I release my death grip on the metal arms and calmly rest my hands in my lap. “I don’t blame you for being nervous. The flight into Dublin is usually pretty bumpy. It’s really not too bad this time.” She says this as we are still five thousand miles up in the air.
“I just can’t relax. There is something about being this high up without any control.” I stop myself from thinking too hard about it because I don’t want to say anything or freak out and upset Ailis. She’s more upset by the flight attendant asking her to put away her knitting.
“You should have been on airplanes forty and fifty years ago when people smoked and the seats weren’t comfortable. Turbulence like this would have given you whiplash,” she says. The horrified look on my face makes her laugh. “So just be happy today’s airplanes are much more regulated and cozy.” I know we are close to hitting the tarmac, so I put my arm out and rest my hand against the chair in front of me, bracing myself. Surprisingly, it is quite smooth and several passengers applaud the pilot’s skillful landing. Now I allow the excitement of a new place to envelope me and I look out of both sides of the plane, hoping to see something more than airplane towers and other planes. No such luck. I lean back and anxiously wait for the plane to empty.
“Well, good luck, dear. I hope that your trip is successful and that you fall in love with Ireland.” Ailis picks up her bag and smiles at me before she slips into the line of people waiting to get off the plane. I take a moment to gather my things and work my way into the single file line slowly walking to the exit. Thankfully, I only have my carry-on and messenger bags so I head straight for the customs line. Feeling nervous and anxious because this is all new to me, I explain that I’m here on business and perhaps some pleasure if there is time. The stoic official stamps my passport and hands it back to me, my life unimportant to him as he dismisses me and waves to the next person in line. I head for a restroom to freshen up and take a moment to collect myself. When I exit the restroom, I stop to get my bearings and people watch. I’m very surprised at how many people have flowers. Every single person I see has a smile on their face. Morgan is so wrong. People need flowers. I remember I promised to call her when I landed.
“How do you always know to call right when I’m ready to take a bite of food?” Morgan doesn’t believe in answering her phone like a normal person.
“Please tell me you are eating a chicken parmesan sandwich from Johnny’s. I’m starving,” I say. She answers me with a grunt and a lot of lip smacking noises. My stomach rumbles.
“How was the flight?” At least that’s what I think she says between mouthfuls of her lunch.
“It was, you know, awful. I made it though. Now I’m going to figure out how to get out of this airport and get to Howth.” I know I’ll hire a cab, and I’m now considering hiring a driver all week because driving on the other side of the road freaks me out. That was supposed to be Morgan’s job. A driver will be quite the expense, but well worth it. Or I can become familiar with public transportation.
“Remember to take a few days for yourself. Go find a hot Irish woman and have fun. Keep it light. Pretend you’re me,” she says. I’m entirely too shy so I know that’s not going to happen. She’s the one who gets all of the action when we go out. I can usually be found hiding in a corner, sipping on a fruity, weak drink. I’m confident with everything in life but women. I snort at Morgan’s advice. “Grace Danner. You listen to me. Quit selling yourself short. You are a beautiful woman inside and out, and people want to be near you. Don’t let one crappy relationship ruin the possibility of something incredible, even if only for a few days. She was just stupid. It’s time to move on.” We don’t ever say her name. When the big break-up happened, Morgan, my warrior, my heroine, couldn’t get what’s-her-name’s stuff out of my condo fast enough. She showed up with storage tubs and boxes and the ex’s stuff was gone within a few hours. To this day, I still don’t know what happened to it all. I can only assume that the ex received it because I never heard from her again. Either that, or Morgan had her killed, hid the body, and gave all of her stuff to a homeless shelter. “How about when you get back, we make a serious effort for both of us to find girlfriends.”
It’s amazing how quickly I stopped caring about finding my soul mate. “Are you ready to settle down?”
“We are both thirty-one years old and not getting any younger. Plus, it would be nice to have somebody to come home to. I haven’t really done that,” she says.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Quit feeling sorry for yourself. You were born to be a wife. You just need to weed through the crazies to get to your Princess Charming. And I need to open up and let somebody in. It’s time.” Morgan has been my best friend since college. She’s always felt this need to protect me, and I do what I can to keep her grounded. We are a good match, as friends only.
“I’m not worried. Maybe I just need a break. Sometimes it’s best to disconnect in order to reconnect.” I roll my eyes because that even sounds cheesy to me.
“Thanks, bumper sticker. Now go and sign papers and eat food. Oh, and be sure to kiss an Irish girl. If not for you, do it for me.” I’m smiling when I hang up the phone. Morgan always knows how to get me in a good mood.
*
I wait in the taxi line and smile at the attendant who asks my destination. His accent is very thick, and at first I don’t understand him so he repeats himself, speaking slower this time.
“Howth. The Walsh Bed and Breakfast please,” I say. The taxi driver looks immediately annoyed. I’m sure he wanted a fast trip so he could hurry back to the airport and collect his next customer. The attendant loads my bags in the trunk and taps the car to signal to the driver that he is good to go. It takes the driver a good five minutes before he starts talking.
“Are you in Ireland for business or pleasure?” I’d rather he didn’t ask boring questions and just let me enjoy seeing what little I can still see of Ireland in the dimming twilight.
“Hopefully a little bit of both,” I say. He nods like he understands.
“From America, huh?” This time I nod. “Where in America?”
&
nbsp; “Dallas, Texas,” I say. That perks his interest.
“Texas. The land of cowboys and jeans,” he says. I’m tempted to kick my leg up onto the armrest to show off my Ariat boots, but I refrain. Suddenly, I have a fan. He starts talking nonstop about western movies and how people in Texas have the best of everything. He either has watched too much American television, or not enough.
“It is a great place,” I say. He bombards me with a bunch of questions all at once. “No, I don’t have a horse, but I do like to ride. Dallas is probably three times bigger than Dublin.” He’s very excited when I launch into a little bit of history about Dallas. When I finally shut up, he starts in about Dublin’s history and before I know it, we are in the small town of Howth.
“Here we are,” he says, putting the car in park. He jumps out and opens the door for me, gathering my luggage from the trunk before I’m out of the car. I must have given him a large tip because he thanks me again and again and hands me his business card. “Please call me when you are returning to the airport or need a cab to get around.” He slips back into the cab and quickly darts off.
I unlatch the wrought iron gate and get a good look at the old stone house. I wonder how long it’s been there and how many coats of paint have peeled off the shutters. It is old, but quaint and I smile at its charm. The beautiful red door opens and I’m greeted by an older lady who fusses over me immediately.
“Come in, please. Before you catch a chill,” she says. I’m fairly certain she knows who I am since I’m expected, but I’m still surprised at her friendliness. She offers to help carry my bag, but I insist that I carry it up the steps. She’s half my size and about thirty years older. “I’m so glad you made it.” The yellow and red floral wallpaper brightens the room somewhat, but doesn’t disguise the age of the place.
