Cissy Mecca's Blog

Slowly but surely, all Bella Michaels books will be changed over to my real-life nickname and last name, Cissy Mecca. As a thank you for your patience as everything is switched over, I’d love to offer a few winners your choice of “collector’s editions” of the old Bella Michaels books.

TO ENTER:

Comment on this post with which signed paperback you’d love and why you chose that book. Easy peesy lemon squeezy!

 

Welcome to this cozy corner of the internet, where small town charm meets steamy romance! If you’re a fan of heartwarming love stories set against the backdrop of quaint communities, then you’re in the right place. Today, we’re diving into the irresistible allure of small town romance novels and why they continue to captivate readers worldwide.

The Allure of Small Town Romance

There’s something undeniably enchanting about small town settings in romance novels. From charming main streets lined with mom-and-pop shops to tight-knit communities where everyone knows your name, small towns provide the perfect backdrop for love to blossom. These idyllic settings offer a sense of familiarity and comfort, inviting readers to escape into a world where life moves at a slower pace and love is always in the air.

Why Small Town Romance Reigns Supreme

Small town romance novels offer readers a delightful blend of romance, humor, and heartwarming moments that leave them swooning for more. Whether it’s the quirky cast of characters, the palpable chemistry between the protagonists, or the picturesque settings that feel like home, small town romance novels have a special way of capturing the hearts of readers.

As avid readers of small town romance, we know the importance of finding the perfect book to whisk you away on a romantic adventure. That’s why I’ve compiled a list of keywords to help you discover your next favorite read:

Small town romanceSteamy love storiesQuirky small town charactersCozy romance novelsHeartwarming love storiesFriends to lovers romanceSecond chance romanceForbidden love affairsOpposites attract romanceSlow burn romances

Discover Your Next Favorite Read

Ready to escape into the enchanting world of small town romance? Look no further than my own steamy small town romance novels. Whether you’re in the mood for a sizzling love affair, a sweet friends-to-lovers romance, or a second chance at love, I have the perfect story to sweep you off your feet.

Stay tuned for more steamy small town romance goodness coming your way. Happy reading!

New to me?

Start here with a free prequel novella to my first series, Overruled by Love. You can also connect with me in my reader group, Bella’s Book Besties.

 

Chapter 1

Pia

Cedar Falls, Finger Lakes Region, NY

“Want your regular?”

The cashier didn’t even look up as a woman about my age approached the counter. 

“Mmhmm,” the customer murmured, looking as if she was about to cry. As someone who cried at sappy commercials, among many other things, I could empathize.

Making a quick decision, I jumped up from my seat.

“I’ve got this,” I said to the woman. “You head to the ladies’ room.”

Although it was an odd offer from a stranger, she didn’t seem to mind. Swallowing hard and giving me a quick nod, she bolted in the direction of, I assumed, the ladies’ room. It was my first time in the place, new to town and all, so I knew very little about the Coffee Cabin or even Cedar Falls itself. Except that, as of last night, it was my new home.

When the cashier looked up—a college kid, from the looks of him—he appeared confused. 

“I’ve got her coffee. And . . .” I didn’t need to look at the pastries again to know what I wanted. “A blueberry crumble muffin.”

Paying for both, I brought them back to my corner seat and went back to people-watching. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a cozy coffeehouse in a town even smaller than the one where I grew up. One I’d be seeing a lot of since my new apartment was just upstairs. 

“Thank you so much,” the woman said when she returned, clearly unsure what to do.

“Join me,” I offered. “Got a muffin top.”

She looked a bit like that actress from the funny movie with Ryan Reynolds. What the heck was the name of it? Ugh, how could someone be so bad at remembering names? 

“You look like someone,” I started, about to explain the movie.

“Emma Stone.”

“That’s it. I guess you get that all the time?”

“I do. But I take it as a compliment, so thank you.”

I would too. Emma Stone, and my companion, were both extremely pretty. Red hair in a long bob, she had a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, just like me. It was rare to meet someone with freckles. We also shared unusually bright eyes, hers green and mine blue. I wondered if it meant anything? Like maybe we were destined to be friends?

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“And thank you for the coffee.”

“My pleasure. Please help yourself to the muffin. It looks too good not to eat.”

“Oh, they’re good, all right. Deadly so. Try some.”

I helped myself and silently agreed. This would be dangerous. I’d have to limit myself to one a week or special occasions or something. Sweet treats were my downfall.

“I appreciate the rescue. Delaney,” she said, offering her hand.

“Pia.” I shook it, smiling.

“Passing through?” she asked.

“Actually, no. I just moved here. I’m renting the apartment upstairs.” I motioned above us. “Got here last night from Oregon.”

“Oh wow. You must be exhausted. Welcome to Cedar Falls.”

“Thanks. So you live here?”

“I do. Born and raised. Although I just came back to town myself after a few-year hiatus.” Delaney took a sip of coffee, looking over the rim sheepishly. “Sorry about the waterworks.”

Clearly, she’d been crying, but I hadn’t planned to mention it.

“No apologies necessary,” I said. “No one is a bigger crier than me. Though I definitely don’t look that good after a cry. More power to you.”

Delaney laughed. “I don’t believe you. The guys in town are going to lose their minds. We haven’t had anyone new to Cedar Falls as pretty as you . . . ever.”

“Stop,” I said, never able to take a compliment well. I’d gotten comments on my dark hair and clear blue eyes my whole life. But it wasn’t like I did anything to earn them, so I was never sure what to say. I supposed “thank you” would suffice, but somehow I never managed to say the words.

“Although, fair warning. There are more than a few heartbreakers out there.”

Ahh, so that was the source of the waterworks. “Breakup?”

“Yup. Five months hot and heavy, and boom. Just like that, he goes back to the ex. I feel silly. Five months isn’t very long, I know. But I liked him. A lot. He was a commitment-phobe, and in the worst twist of fate, mutual friends of ours say he’s planning to propose.”

Breaking off a piece of muffin, I prepared to do one of the things I did best. 

Overshare. 

“I get it, trust me. Last year I dated a guy for the summer. Knew it wouldn’t last since he was only there for a seasonal job. But the fact that we were never on track for a long-term relationship didn’t seem to matter to me. There was something about him that I connected with, almost from the start. An attraction, of course, but something else I could never quite put my finger on. Getting to know him was one of the easiest and most fun few months of my life.”

“Why do you think that was?”

I’d asked myself that so many times. “I’m not sure, to be honest. We just clicked. Our chemistry was off the charts. I told him things I’d never shared with another living soul, trusting him completely even knowing it was a dangerous thing to do.”

“So what happened?”

The pang in my chest at the thought of having lost a man I’d been convinced would play a role in my life, even though I knew from the beginning such a thing was impossible, never dulled when I thought of him. 

“He left. We tried for a long time just to be friends, which worked for him, but never for me. I know he really liked me, and enjoyed getting to know me too, but only one of us caught feelings. Turns out, it’s really fucking hard to be friends with someone you could envision waking up to every day. Who you’d have given everything to be with.”

“You were willing to move for him?”

“I was. But he wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. So I know a thing or two about commitment-phobes and do my best to avoid them.” I remembered why I was telling this gut-wrenching story, one that I’d worked for so long to forget. “There were days I questioned everything. How I felt about him, how disappointed I was in myself for taking too long to let go. Aside from losing my grandparents, it was honestly the most difficult period of my life. One I never saw coming.” And finally, my point. “But I eventually got over it. And you will too. I promise.”

Delaney reached across the table, tears in her eyes once again, and smiled in a way that erased any doubt. We weren’t going to be friends. 

We already were.

“Thank you for sharing that with me.”

It should have felt odd to squeeze a stranger’s hand, but it didn’t. I truly believed there were no such things as coincidences, and the two of us were meant to be in this coffeehouse together today.

“My pleasure.”

Letting go of my hand, she took a deep steadying breath. “So tell me how you ended up here in this little corner of the world.”

“Well,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “I was hired as the new manager of a struggling inn. The owner seems like a great guy who I can’t wait to meet in person on Monday when I start.”

“What’s the name of the inn? Who’s the guy?” Delaney smiled wryly. “Trust me, if it’s in or around Cedar Falls, I’ll know him.”

“Heritage Hill,” I said as a vision of the beautiful, if older-looking inn popped into my head. “The owner’s name is—”

“Thomas Bennett.”

The way she said his name sent a shiver down my back. “What is it?” I asked, knowing without a doubt something was wrong.

“Oh, Pia,” she said, as if feeling really sorry for me. “Thomas Bennett is dead.”

 

Chapter 2

Mason

What does a person do the day after they bury their father?

I wandered from my old bedroom at the inn where I grew up down to the kitchen. Esther, the elderly woman dad had hired a few years ago to cook breakfast when he decided to start marketing Heritage Hill as a B&B, used the second kitchen Dad had added to the expanded part of the inn. This one, in the original house, was used only by my father and me. It was strange to walk into the kitchen without a pot of coffee brewing, courtesy of Dad.

It was even stranger to imagine not seeing my father walk through the door saying, “Mason, get up to the Heather room and see about unsticking the window.”

Just as the coffee began to brew, a different voice filled the room.

“How you doing?” 

Beck had stayed the night, along with a few other of my close friends.

“All right,” I said, reaching into the cabinet for two mugs. “Black, right?”

“Yep.”

Only the sound of coffee brewing broke the silence. With someone you’d met in kindergarten, there wasn’t always a need to talk. A few minutes later, Beck already sitting at a stool around the island, I slid my friend a mug and sat across from him.

“How many years has death been a part of my life?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. “But it still doesn’t prepare you.”

“Yeah, but we’re not talking about terrorists or criminals. This is family. Hits different.”

The only close family I had left. “True.”

More silence. Some of those deaths Beck mentioned flashed through my mind. Eight years as an Army Ranger and four with the NYPD still hadn’t prepared me for when I walked into the morgue and saw Dad lying on that cold metal table. 

A fucking heart attack. Sure, he’d eaten his share of unhealthy food, but my father had always been an active guy, like me. Even went to the doctor every year and had gotten a clean bill of health just a few months ago. I only knew that because he’d texted me to get my own ass to the doctor, something I hadn’t done since the medics forced me into their tent on my last tour.

One thing I did know about death, though, was that it came for all of us at some point. Lamenting the fact that he was gone wouldn’t bring him back. And it certainly wouldn’t solve the problem of Heritage Hill.

“What the fuck am I going to do?” I asked, as if Beck would have the answer. 

“I don’t know, man. That’s your call. How many days did you clear the calendar?”

It might be more rundown than when I was a kid, and my father’s lakeside inn certainly made less money than it had in its heyday, but it was late fall in the Finger Lakes. Which meant the inn was at least half full for the rest of the month.

“For the week,” I said. “I should probably clear another.”

“Ya think?”

Opposites in just about every way—Beck’s dirty blond hair to my black, his openness and easygoing personality to my sarcasm and private nature—the only thing we had in common was a sense of humor. And our friendship.

“I think I’m fucked. That’s what I think.”

“How many bereavement days do you get?”

“Five.”

“Hmm. It does seem like you’re a bit fucked.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, bud.”

“No problem.”

Neither of us said anything for a few minutes, and though I wasn’t usually the kind of person to work out a problem out loud, this one wasn’t going to solve itself anytime soon.

“Even if I sell, that’ll take time. Either way, I need someone to run the place in the meantime.”

“If you go back, you mean.”

Our eyes met. He’d said aloud what I’d been thinking. We both knew I was less than thrilled in Manhattan. Though I’d wanted to be a cop since my mom died, city life wasn’t as glamorous as a young kid from Cedar Falls once thought it would be. Sure, there was more to do. Better restaurants. More women. But there was also more crime, fewer cops being hired every year, mandatory overtime, and more bullshit than the army, which is a fucking feat. I’d even explored a position up here in the Finger Lakes, in another town that had an opening in their department, just to get out of the city. 

“Even if there was an opening in CFPD, I could never do both. Law enforcement in New York can’t work anywhere where alcohol is served,” I said, voicing what Beck already knew.

“Right. Which means you’d be playing Papa Bennett in the meantime.”

“So I put in a request for unpaid leave to keep the place up and running until I can sell it?”

“Or don’t go back. Don’t sell.”

The thought had crossed my mind. But I was no innkeeper. That was all Dad. He’d loved this place. Poured his heart and soul into it. 

Now, it was his legacy.

“I don’t know. Leaving the NYPD is one thing. But running the inn? It’s never been my thing.”

“When you were a teenager? No, it wasn’t.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Now that you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s time for a change.”

“Quite a fucking change.”

Beck sipped his coffee and said nothing. He’d only laid out what I already knew was a shitty set of options. Problem was, I wasn’t sure what I wanted, and unexpectedly having Heritage Hill fall into my lap complicated matters.

“Either way, I’m gonna need more than five days.”

“For what?”

Parker breezed into the kitchen with his signature mismatched socks the same way he’d breezed into our friend group in college. With a perpetual smile on his face, he was the guy everyone adored. Women. Men. Mothers. (Especially mothers.) Little old ladies.

Everyone.

“To figure out what the hell to do with the inn.”

Parker slapped Beck on the back, looked into his coffee mug, and—apparently deciding there was enough left to make it worth his while—snagged it from him, saying, “Thanks.”

Beck was too good-natured to do anything other than make himself another coffee. If that had been me, I’d have taken it back and told Parker to fuck off.

Although he probably never would have taken it from me in the first place.

“You’re such an asshole,” Beck said to Parker, who ignored him.

“I’ll put in for leave today and figure out the rest later.”

Parker sat on the other side of the island from Beck, who shook his head at our friend.

“I could stick around,” Parker said. “While you’re off. Help out when I can.”

Parker worked in construction, which meant crazy hours. But I still appreciated the offer. “Thanks, but I know how little time you have.”

“I’m staying,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard me. “Moving to number two though.”

Although the guest rooms were named, rooms one through four were in the main house and had always been kept open, reserved for family and friends. Since number two was a lakeview room, I didn’t blame Parker for moving if he was going to stay.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Abso-fucking-lutely. Your dad died; you have zero direction in your life.” He shrugged. “You need me.”

“Jesus, Parker.” Beck laughed. “Make the guy feel like shit, will you?” Beck focused back on me. “I’m staying too.”

A bartender, Beck’s life in Cedar Falls was as carefree now as when we were in college. In fact, he basically acted just about the same, despite being an actual adult. This place was about to get spicy with the two of them staying on.

“You guys are nuts.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Cole said.

All three of us looked toward the kitchen door. Cole, the fourth member of our lifelong bachelor group, sauntered inside. Unlike the rest of us slobs, he was already dressed, signature dark-rimmed glasses firmly in place. Looking every bit like the history professor he was, Cole also headed toward the coffeepot.

“So what are we up to?” he asked no one in particular, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting.

“Mason is having an identity crisis,” Parker said. “So we’re going to stay here until he figures out what to do with his life.”

“Papa Bennett just died, asshole,” Beck said. “Cut the guy some slack.”

“We’re staying, aren’t we?” Parker shot back. “I’m not completely heartless.”

“Staying, as in, living here?” Cole asked, turning to me. “What about your job?”

“He’s taking a leave,” Parker said. Apparently, he was my new spokesperson. I’d always talked a lot less than him and Beck, so the two of them had a habit of jumping in to speak for me. The pair of them loved to hear themselves talk, so it worked out.

“Until he figures out what to do with the inn,” Beck added. 

“Are you thinking of keeping it?” Cole asked me.

“I have no idea what I’m going to do,” I admitted.

“Which is why we’re staying,” Parker said. “You are too.”

“Oh really?” he asked. “And what exactly do you propose I do with my job?”

“Pfft.” Parker made a face. “You like the city about as much as Mason. If he’s leaving, you have no other option.”

“Right,” Cole said, taking off his glasses and polishing them, as if they needed it, with his shirt. “I’ll just quit my job at Columbia despite the fact that I worked like hell to get it a tenure-track position. And come back here, to the metropolis of Cedar Falls, and what? Maybe get a teaching position at the high school? So I can live with you degenerates?”

Parker nodded as if it sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan. “Works for me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Cole said to him. But then, sobering, he asked me, “How you doing this morning?”

“I’m okay. Just a lot to figure out.”

“I bet. And though I’d love to live at Heritage Hill and recreate our college years, I’m headed back Saturday. But I took the week off.”

That surprised all of us.

“You did?” Parker asked.

“I did.” He looked directly at me instead of Parker. “I knew you’d be staying for a bit. It was as long as I could get off in the middle of the semester but—”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

His answer was automatic. “Of course I did.”

And that was that. No other words were said. None were needed. When we made a pact in college to stay bachelors together for the rest of our lives, it had been only half-jokingly. No four guys had each others’ backs more than us, and this morning proved it. 

These fucking guys were everything. And now that I’d lost my only immediate family member, that wasn’t just an expression. They were literally all I had. 

…….

Be notified when Never Fall in Love releases here and/or put it on your Goodreads list here.

Romance novels are filled with passion, intrigue, and heartwarming tales of love. But for those new to the genre, navigating the world of romance literature can sometimes feel like learning a new language. From steamy scenes to beloved tropes, romance readers often use acronyms as shorthand to express their favorite elements of a story. In this guide, we’ll decode some of the most common acronyms used by romance readers, helping you unlock the secrets of this beloved genre.

HEA – Happily Ever After:
One of the most cherished elements of a romance novel is the promise of a happily ever after (HEA). This acronym indicates that the main characters will overcome their obstacles and find true love by the end of the story. Whether it’s a passionate embrace, a heartfelt confession, or a romantic proposal, the HEA is the ultimate reward for readers invested in the characters’ journey.

HFN – Happy For Now:
Similar to HEA, the acronym HFN signifies a positive resolution to the romantic storyline, but with a slightly different twist. In a “Happy For Now” ending, the main characters may not have achieved their ultimate goals or solidified their relationship completely, but they are content and optimistic about their future together. HFN endings often leave room for interpretation, allowing readers to imagine the couple’s continued journey beyond the pages of the book.

OTP – One True Pairing:
In the world of romance novels, readers often develop strong attachments to certain couples, rooting for their love story to unfold. The term OTP refers to the “One True Pairing” that a reader ships or supports above all others. Whether it’s a fiery enemies-to-lovers dynamic, a slow-burn romance, or a forbidden love affair, the OTP represents the ultimate romantic ideal for fans of the genre.

TSTL – Too Stupid to Live:
While romance novels are known for their passionate and headstrong heroines, occasionally, a character’s actions may leave readers scratching their heads in disbelief. The acronym TSTL is used to describe a protagonist who makes foolish or reckless decisions that defy common sense, often putting themselves in danger or jeopardizing their own happiness. While TSTL moments can add tension to the plot, readers may find themselves frustrated by characters who repeatedly make poor choices.

HEAT – Happily Ever After Trope:
Romance novels are filled with familiar tropes and themes that readers love to revisit time and time again. From second-chance romances to fake relationships, each trope offers a unique twist on the age-old quest for love. The HEAT acronym serves as a shorthand for discussing these beloved tropes, allowing readers to quickly identify their favorite storylines and themes.

As you dive into the world of romance novels, understanding these common acronyms can enhance your reading experience and help you connect with fellow romance enthusiasts. Whether you’re seeking a swoon-worthy HEA or cheering on your favorite OTP, these acronyms serve as a roadmap to the heart of the genre. So grab your favorite romance novel, settle in with a cup of tea, and prepare to be swept away by tales of passion, adventure, and everlasting love. Happy reading!

Start my steamy small town romance books free with Overruled by Love, a free prequel novella and join my reader group, Bella’s Book Besties, on Facebook.

Chapter 1

Natalie

Kitchi Falls, Finger Lakes, New York

“I’ve got it, Jamie. You go ahead. Your mom is waiting.”

I watched as nine-year-old Jamie bounded up the hill to the makeshift dirt parking lot. Finishing tying off the boat, I waved one last time at Jamie, who jumped into the passenger seat of an old Ford pickup truck. Refusing to cry because his mom died last year. Every time the sweet little kid mentioned his “mama” I had to hold back the floodgates. 

Of course, this wasn’t unusual. 

I cried at a lot of things. Always had. The other night I was watching a rom-com, one that was supposed to be more funny than sad, and needed a half box of tissues when the couple broke up. If nothing else, I was a source of amusement among my friends. 

“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

Speaking of friends.

“Where the heck did you come from?” I asked Charlee. 

“The lake, silly. I came in from the lake like a mermaid right in front of your eyes. You didn’t see me?”

Smiling, I turned back around to where Jamie’s father’s pickup had been a few minutes before. In its place, not surprisingly, was Charlee’s car. 

“Funny. I didn’t even hear you pull up.”

“Probably because you were staring so intently out into the lake. Penny for your thoughts?”

“Without wine? No way.”

Charlee lifted a wine tote. “Just need some glasses.”

“Be right back.”

By the time I returned from the wooden shed where the boats were stored, Charlee was sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs opening the wine. Her fiancée had a five-hour tattoo today that didn’t require her help, so the two of us had decided an impromptu day-drinking session was in order. 

I held out one of the two wine glasses, and Charlee poured.

“It still cracks me up that you keep full-on wine glasses in there.” She nodded to the shed.

“Pfft. As if I’d have us drinking out of plastic cups. Here you go,” I said, holding out the second glass.

“To impromptu day drinking,” she said, holding up her glass.

“And a beautiful spring day.” I clinked her glass before sitting down—not an easy feat, getting myself into an Adirondack chair with a full wine glass.

“That is so on-brand for you.”

“What can I say? Nature lover at heart.”

“A good quality for a conservationist.” Charlee extended her legs out and tilted her face up to the sun. “How’s your marshland project going?”

“It’s going. Mostly stalled at the moment, but that’s the story of my life.”

“Any word about that developer you were telling Zoe and me about last week?”

Zoe was the third of four spokes on our friendship wheel but couldn’t make it today courtesy of a surprised weekend getaway from her boyfriend. It was rare for the two of them to go out of town for a night, especially on a weekend, since Nate owned the local bar on Main Street. But Zoe had been so busy at work the past two months, he somehow made it happen.

“Nothing besides what I told you guys. I thought for sure the regulatory requirement report in January was the nail in the proverbial coffin. So I have no idea where all this is coming from.”

“Strange. You don’t think it will gain legs, do you?”

“I dunno. My boss seems a little more concerned than I’d like.”

“I just don’t get it. How can you purchase and develop protected land? Isn’t that, like, an oxymoron?”

The optimist in me wouldn’t let me dwell on the fact that, technically speaking, Charlee was right. “Sort of. But I have faith it’ll work out. No way he’ll be allowed to develop this.” I waved my hand to the wide-open space in front of us. “Do you remember how long it took for me to get permission to use it for the lessons?”

“Free lessons,” she added. “A give-back to the community. You’d think that would have been a no-brainer. But yeah, I remember. And have to hand it to you. I’d have given up. What a pain in the balls.”

Taking a sip of wine, I chuckled. “Lucas’s colorful army language is rubbing off on you.”

“Oh god, please no. Some of the things that come out of his mouth would make a truck driver blush.”

“And I have to hand it to you. Not sure I could date a guy like Lucas. Those military types are way too disciplined for me.”

Charlee laughed. “What’s wrong with being disciplined? That’s a good quality, no?”

“Sure. For some. But put a guy like that together with someone like me? No bueno.”

Charlee nearly spit out her wine. “I just tried to imagine it. You’re right. That would never work.”

“I bet you have to make your bed, don’t you?”

“I made my bed before Lucas.”

“Did you really?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“Hell no. So that I could mess it again at night?”

“No, so you can come into your bedroom with the sense of calm and order a made bed gives you. Plus, they say it’s a small accomplishment that sets the tone for the day.”

I pointed to the lake, where a duck and her ducklings swam past. “Look at that. And their wake, the way the water ripples behind them. Nature. The only sense of calm I need.”

Like a good friend, Charlee watched the ducks for way longer than she probably wanted to. “To each his, or her, own. But yeah, you and Lucas probably wouldn’t make it. Speaking of. . .”

“Hell, no.”

“How did you know what I was going to ask?”

“Are you kidding? I’m surprised it wasn’t the first thing you asked me.”

“It was that bad?” she asked of my date the night before.

“Worse. I deleted every single dating app on my phone.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Ugh. Swiping was so much fun.”

“For you, because you don’t actually have to go out on dates with these assholes. For me, pure torture. I’m over it.”

“So what’s the new plan? Meet someone in Kitchi Falls as if you don’t know every single guy in town already?”

“Maybe a tourist?”

“Yeah, cause they’re great long-term boyfriend material.”

“I’ve done the long-term boyfriend thing and am over it. So yeah, that’s the plan. Weekend flings with hot tourists.”

She laughed. “There are soooo many of those too.”

“Maybe I’ll hang out with you and Lucas at the shop on weekends. There’s bound to be hot tourists getting tattoos at some point.”

“Sure. Even better plan.” Charlee shook her head at my ridiculousness as we fell into a companionable silence. Why couldn’t finding a man be as easy finding girlfriends? It was so much less complicated. “Tires or a dick,” I said out loud.

“Excuse me?”

“I was just thinking of the saying, if they have tires or a dick, they’re bound to give you trouble.”

I might not have a boyfriend, but at least I had wine, my lake and the ability to make my friend laugh. All good enough for me. 

 

Chapter 2

Jax

“Shut. The fuck. Up.”

If there was anyone I didn’t expect to see in a town the size of Kitchi Falls, it was Gian DeLuca. But sure enough, there he was behind the bar. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Gian said, holding out his hand. I shook it, sitting down on a bar stool. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Me? What are you doing bartending here in the Finger Lakes? Don’t you own a marketing firm or something?”

“Still Yuengling?” he asked.

I nodded.

“I do own a marketing firm.” He turned to a woman who’d just come out of the kitchen. “Can you get the bar for a bit? Old friend,” he said, gesturing toward me.

“Sure,” she said. Before happy hour, this would typically be a dead time for a bar. But on a nice day like this one in a tourist town? People were here to unwind, and it was busy, but not packed. 

Pouring himself a beer, Gian joined me.

“A friend of mine owns this place. He took his girlfriend out of town for the night. Doing him a favor by helping out.”

“You talk like you live here.”

“I do. Moved up from Bridgewater.” My old friend smiled. “For a girl.”

“Ahhh, now the pieces are coming together. Where’s the girl?”

“Mazzie has her own bar down the street. Sort of a honky-tonk, live music and all.”

“So your friend owns a bar down the street from where your girlfriend owns another bar?”

“Yep.”

“I see.”

“Small towns. You get it.”

I did. Grew up in the town next to Gian, and we met playing football. Hit it off right away and hung out all through high school. We stayed friends through college despite going to different schools but drifted apart when I enlisted.

“Unfortunately, I do. Still live in Maplewood. Like you, I moved back for a girl. But unlike you, it didn’t work out.”

“So what brings you to Kitchi Falls? Last I knew you were some big deal in the army. A Ranger, right?”

“Ranger in the 75th. Stayed in for eight years, but the last deployment nearly killed me. Literally. Was time to get out.”

“Shit. Were you hurt?”

“Repeatedly.” Rather than talk about a raid gone bad followed by an IED that nearly took me out, I changed topics. “Moved out near Pittsburg. Broke up with the girl when I caught her fucking her boss. Came back to Maplewood. Had a few good deals as a land developer, another long story. And here I am. Looking at acquiring some property on the lake.”

“Jesus. Her boss? Tough break.”

“For him, yeah.”

Gian smiled into his beer. “How does a business major and sergeant first class in the army get into land development?”

“I met a guy in Ranger school whose father made millions doing it. Seemed like as good a gig as any.”

“You can buy protected land?”

“Under the right circumstances, yes.”

“Hmm. Seems like that would upset a lot of people.”

“I’ve seen shit and dealt with some real scum over the years. Not upsetting a few tree huggers isn’t high on my list of priorities.”

“This is the Jamiee Jax who got his ass busted for being a candy striper at the hospital in college because he wanted to help people?”

I laughed. “First of all, motherfucker, I wasn’t a candy striper. I was a hospital intern. Second of all, I only got into it when Gram died and her roommate was alone. Or would have been if I hadn’t sat with her. It was a good deed. And third of all, I’m the Jamiee guy. Just a little more realistic.”

Gian looked skeptical. I could tell him I started a program at our local hospital when I moved back home, bringing volunteers in to sit with and read to lonely patients dying, but I knew I’d get my ass busted so I didn’t bother. 

“Fair enough. So how long are you in town?”

“As long as the deal takes. A few weeks probably. Hard to say.”

“You’ll stay here the whole time?”

“Sure. I can afford to and it just makes things easier. Most of what I do is remote anyway.”

Gian’s genuine smile reminded me why I liked the guy so much. You couldn’t find a bigger bust-ass than him, and back in the day he was a cocky bastard too, but he seemed to have mellowed out a bit. 

At least that made one of us.

“I’m happy to show you around town. Where you staying?”

“I rented a house on the lake less than a ten-minute drive from here. Nice place. I can see the appeal up here.”

“You’ve never been to the Finger Lakes before?”

“Once as a kid, but I think it was one of the other lakes. I’ll have to ask my mother.”

“How is she doing? And your brothers?”

We talked about my two brothers, one older and one younger, and Gian’s family, and shot the shit for long enough that the other bartender started to give Gian the evil eye.

“I better get back behind the bar. Don’t leave without giving me your number.”

I winked at him. “And I didn’t even have to buy you dinner.”

Gian laughed.

“You can buy me dinner.” She came from behind me. Generally I sat where no one could come from behind but there wasn’t a great spot at the bar for that. Plus, I knew she was there already. Her perfume smelled way too strong. And floral. 

I wasn’t a flowers kind of guy. But exceptions could be made. This one was a beauty. Legs for days and tits I could happily bury myself in.

“Now why would I do that?” I teased her.

“Lots of reasons,” she said. Though I didn’t look away, from the corner of my eye I could see two of her friends sitting at a hightop watching us. “I’m Christina. What’s your name?”

There was absolutely nothing wrong with her. Slamming body. Pretty face. Probably a very good time, and it had been a few weeks courtesy of a job that never quit. But the monotony of it gave me pause. We’d fuck. She’d beg to see me again. I’d give her the slip. And if she was local, probably see her again out and about somewhere.

“Do you live here?” I asked without answering. “Or just passing by?”

“Local,” she said. “How about you.”

Figured. Just my luck. 

“Just passing by. And unfortunately going to have to pass on the dinner too. Catching up with an old friend tonight,” I said, nodding to Gian.

She pouted. I hated women who pouted. One thing none of them realized? My discipline game was stronger than their tease game. This one was going to be a no. A good fuck wasn’t going to be worth the trouble in her case.

“You sure? I think we’d have a lot of fun. At. . . dinner.”

“I’m sure,” I said. “But thanks for the offer.”

She hesitated. I really didn’t want to go harder on the “no” but would if I had to. Thankfully, she made a face and walked away, back to her friends. 

Gian came back to me.

“I’ve never once seen a man turn down Christina. Clearly you didn’t get the memo that she’s the hot ticket in town.”

“Oh, I got the memo alright. She all but read it to me.”

“You have a girlfriend now?” Gian asked.

I shook my head. “Nah. Just not my type.”

“Hmm.” Gian took my glass to refill it. “The military has changed you.”

“In more ways than one, buddy,” I said aloud. And then softer, to myself, “In more ways than one.”

 

Preorder And So, We Fall on Amazon 

Zoe

“So what do you think of Kitchi Falls during the holidays?”

The bar had just opened up. Our lazy Saturday morning was about to get insane. Mid-December was the second busiest time of the year next to Fourth of July weekend.

“It’s nuts. Who would have thought so many people could pack into our little Main Street?”

“Our. Why do I love when you say that?”

Nate pulled me to him. Though it was just the two of us for now, my part-time gig at KC’s a perfect supplement to the day job since I got to spend more time with Nate, we’d be getting some help later this afternoon. By three or so, the place would be overrun.

Music to a new business owner’s ears.

“I still can’t believe Owen sold this place to me for what he did,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “It’s a gold mine. Especially this month.”

I leaned my head to the side to give him better access. “I’m glad he did.” Nate had thrived here, and because of it, our relationship had remained on solid ground. I really did think KC’s had a lot to do with how well things had worked between us.

“Who would have thought,” I mused, “when I wrote you that note, by the end of the year we’d be living and working together.”

Nate’s lips moved toward the bottom of my ear. “And having so much hot sex.”

“Understatement of the year,” I said as he finally reached my lips. A long, lingering kiss later, we finally, reluctantly broke apart.

Technically speaking, the bar was open, and it probably wasn’t great business to have the owner full-on making out with his girlfriend behind the bar.

But damn, it felt good.

With a wink, Nate set up, getting the bar ready. The cook would be here any second too. Time to get down to business. 

“I was thinking about taking Tuesday off with you—”

The door of the bar opened with a slam. Both Nate and I looked in its direction. 

“Oops,” Natalie said. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to be so aggressive.”

As if Natalie and aggressive went in the same sentence. “No worries,” I said as she stomped over to the bar. And there was no other way to describe it. She literally stomped, clearly furious. In fact, it was by far the angriest I’d ever seen her.

“What’s wrong?” I moved toward the edge of the bar. 

“Hi, Nate,” she said, clearly distracted.

“Hi, Natalie. You okay?”

“No,” she said. “I’m not. How about a shot?”

Nate and I exchange a glance. “A shot?” he repeated.

Definitely an odd request from her at this time of day.

“Yes, please. Anything will do.”

I stared at her as Nate did, indeed, pour and serve Natalie a shot, which she promptly downed. What in the ever-loving. . . 

“Alright, spill. What’s up?”

Natalie opened a manila folder she was carrying, pulled out a piece of paper, and slammed it on the bar. “That’s up.”

I picked up the paper. Scanning it, I still had no idea what was going on. “Land trust? Easement? I have no idea what I’m reading.”

“You know the landing spot at the northwest corner of the lake where we row out of?”

“The community rowing program?” Nate asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

Natalie had started that program pro bono a few years ago simply to get kids involved in her sport. Since she worked for a branch of the Finger Lakes Land Trust, she’d been given permission to use a swath of land to push out from. Natalie had fallen in love with that area and had even set up a little spot there with an Adirondack chair and table to use when she wasn’t rowing. It was her “private little heaven,” as she often called it. The cove afforded a beautiful view of the lake, and there was even a small waterfall nearby that really did make it a unique area.

“Your little heaven?”

“Exactly.”

“Yes, of course.” I explained to Nate, “It’s more than just a place to push out. Natalie really did find a little corner of heaven in this cove. It’s protected, so it’s completely untouched. No houses or anything. Very peaceful.”

“Yeah, well. Not for long.” Natalie took the paper back. “I went into the office this morning, long story, and got this. Some stupid, asshole, real-estate developer from Ithaca requested an interview. The dumbass wants to be vetted.”

I wasn’t catching on. Nate looked equally as confused.

“Vetted?”

“Vetted.” Natalie folded her arms on the bar and propped her chin on them. She looked forlorn, like a lost puppy. “First, an interview. Then he gets vetted. And then, if they approve the sale, he gets the land. To put whatever stupid building he wants on there.”

“Oh.” Now I saw the problem. “Can he do that? Isn’t it protected land?”

“Yes.” Natalie sighed. “But it’s technically possible to buy and build on conservation land. If he makes a good case on how he’ll do it responsibly, yada yada yada. And you know my boss.”

Natalie’s boss, unlike her and a lot of her co-workers, was less about the conservation aspect and more about just doing a job and getting paid. He wasn’t nearly as passionate as Natalie about Finger Lakes conservation, and on top of it, was a card-carrying member of the good ol’ boys club. So, depending on this developer guy’s angle. . . “I see the problem.”

Just like that, from sad to fighter again, Natalie’s head popped up. “You know what? It’s not happening. Screw him. I’m digging in my heels on this one.”

“The last time you dug in your heels, you came close to being fired,” I reminded her. Natalie and her boss did not see eye to eye, and it had caused a few problems over the years. This, it seemed, would be a problem.

“Yeah, well, some things are worth fighting for. I refuse to find a new spot for the rowers. It’s a fantastic program, and this big-city douche canoe is not going to ruin it.”

I didn’t point out that Ithaca was not exactly a big city. Natalie was on a roll, and there was no way I would get in her way.

“Give him hell,” I said as she popped off the chair.

“I intend to. Thanks for the shot,” she said to Nate, opening her purse.

“On the house,” he said. “For the cause.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’m going back into the office for a bit. Catch you later?”

Her office was just a few blocks away, although Natalie spent most of her time outdoors. 

“Sounds good,” I said, as the first patron of the day, Natalie excluded, came into the bar. “Catch you later.” As she walked away, I looked at Nate. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Nate shrugged. “Natalie is a big girl. She can handle herself. And like she said, some things are worth fighting for.”

He wasn’t talking about my friend anymore. I sidled up to him and gave Nate a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’re damn right they are.”

Are you a contemporary romance fan in search of your next page-turner? Look no further! In this guide, we’ll explore the world of contemporary romance novels and provide some recommendations that are sure to satisfy your craving for love and passion.

What is Contemporary Romance?

Contemporary romance is a sub-genre of romance fiction that takes place in the present day. These stories often explore relationships and the challenges that come with them. They may feature characters from diverse backgrounds, deal with issues like mental health, sexuality, and family dynamics.

Why Do People Love Contemporary Romance Novels?

There are many reasons why readers love contemporary romance novels. For starters, these books offer an escape from reality. They provide a glimpse into the lives of characters who are experiencing love and passion, which can be a refreshing change from the monotony of everyday life.

Contemporary romance novels also tend to be very relatable. They deal with real-world issues and emotions, making them feel more authentic than other genres. Readers can see themselves in the characters and their struggles, which can be incredibly satisfying.

Tips for Finding Your Next Favorite Read

If you’re new to the world of contemporary romance, it can be overwhelming to know where to start. Here are some tips to help you find your next favorite read:

Look for recommendations from friends or online communities.Check out bestseller lists and book reviews to see what’s popular.Try a variety of authors and sub-genres to see what resonates with you.Don’t be afraid to step outside of your comfort zone and try something new.Consider audiobooks or e-books if you prefer a different format.Follow your favorite authors on social media to stay up to date on new releases and events.

Recommendations for Contemporary Romance Novels

Ready to dive into some contemporary romance novels? Here are some recommendations to get you started:

Taste by Melanie HarlowFinding You by Lena HendrixThings We Hide from the Light by Lucy ScoreFlawless by Elsie Silver

My own series starters include:

Last Call (Boys of Bridgewater) by Bella MichaelsPop & Pour (Grado Valley Vineyards) by Bella MichaelsAnd So, We Dance (Military on Main) by Bella Michaels

 

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Locanda del Mare, Cefalù, Sicily

Mazzie

“Are you kidding me right now?” 

Lorrie had been the first one to spot him. I’d told the girls about Lucia’s hot pool boy, which made us even more excited to hit the pool today. After running, and then walking back up the hill to get here, I couldn’t wait to dive in.

“We can’t all look at the same time,” I said, putting down my bag.

“Um, yes, we can.” Diana may have had a boyfriend, but that didn’t stop her from admiring and, judging by her expression, Lucia had been right about Gian. Apparently, there was quite a bit to admire.

“Is he real?” Teresa asked.

As all three of them openly gawked at the pool boy, I pulled a book out of my bag, knowing I wouldn’t get a word read of it. After spending the night in Cefalù drinking copious amounts of the best wine I’d ever had in my life, I’d be shocked if I did anything but recover and chat with the ladies this afternoon.

“Mazzie, you’ve got to get a look at this guy,” Lorrie said. 

“I’m trying not to be so obvious,” I said, removing my cover-up and tossing it next to the book. I was planning to jump right into the pool.

That is, until I turned around.

So much for not joining the gawking club. It would take a feat of strength I didn’t possess not to look. And I couldn’t even see his face. Gian walked away from us toward the pool house, his body exactly what I’d imagine a rugby player’s to look like.

Admittedly, I had never met a rugby player, but somehow I knew they had amazing thighs. His upper body was muscled but not in an overly weightlifter-like way. It was, in a word, perfect. Even so, his body had nothing on his face. 

“Holy shit,” I murmured as the others pretended not to pay attention to him. But I knew better. Every single one of us still watched him in some way. Me, as openly as ever. I just couldn’t look away.

“Oh my god,” Lorrie said. “I think he’s coming over here.”

Though he wore sunglasses so we couldn’t see his eyes, every ounce of the man screamed confidence. Maybe too much, which was an immediate turnoff for me.

“Please, please, please, dibs,” Teresa said. 

Lorrie was married, Diana on the cusp of an engagement after two years of dating, which meant only Teresa and I remained single.

“He’s all yours,” I said. There was no way a guy who looked like that would ever pick me over Teresa, for starters. Plus, I was looking for commitment. This guy most certainly was not. He had that “serial dater” air about him and was definitely used to women throwing themselves at him. I had no desire to be one of those women.

“Buongiorno,” he said as he came up to us.

Lucia had said he was American, but he greeted us with a perfect Italian accent, as if he belonged here.

“Buongiorno,” the others murmured. 

Never having been in the presence of a guy so hot—in real life and not on the other side of my Netflix screen—I apparently had lost the ability to speak.

“Gian DeLuca,” he said, now firmly American. He shook Teresa’s hand first, her being the closest to him. Then Lorrie’s and Diana’s. I was the farthest away, and by the time I discovered my legs did actually work, the moment had passed. He was still far enough from me that a quick wave seemed more appropriate.

He waved back but didn’t turn his gaze from mine.

“Who is Mazzie?” he asked.

Oh boy.

“That’s me.”

Gian took off his sunglasses. I’m pretty sure Teresa let out an actual sound, and though no one acknowledged it, I was certain she’d already lost her ability to feign indifference to him. Which, for a guy like Gian, could be the death knell.

Guys like him liked the chase.

But I didn’t blame Teresa for her momentary lapse. His chocolate brown eyes turned to each of us, one by one, as if attempting to peer into our very souls. How did a pool boy manage such intensity? One normally reserved for a person whose life experience was so vast and varied that they seemed to have all the world’s answers in the palm of their hands?

To be fair, he was no boy. Gian was all man, and now I understood Lucia’s inside joke. She knew we’d be in for a treat this afternoon, and by the looks of it, Teresa was already smitten. 

“Lucia told me you might be coming to the pool today,” he said to us. Or, more precisely, to me. “I’m happy to give you guys the lay of the land.”

“You’re American, obviously,” Teresa said, not even remotely hiding her appreciation.

“I’m from Pennsylvania. How about you all?”

Jesus. How were we supposed to carry on a conversation with him? I’d dated guys with abs before, just not six of them. He must have done a million push-ups a day.

“Everyone but me is from Arizona,” Teresa answered.

“And you’re from?”

You’d swear the woman had just been handed Willy Wonka’s golden ticket the way she beamed at him. Teresa usually had more game than this. Gian’s extraordinary looks were really throwing her off.

“The San Fernando Valley.”

“Here on a girls’ trip?”

“Yep. It was Lorrie’s idea.”

Lorrie raised her hand like she was in a third-grade class. I was losing the battle to contain my laughter at everyone’s responses to this man. 

“I have family in Sicily,” Lorrie said. “Like four generations back, but enough that we’ve come here four times now.”

“Where in Sicily?” he asked her.

The two of them talked about places I’d never heard of before. With his attention on my friend, I let my gaze roam a bit. His swimming trunks left little to the imagination. Without warning, I envisioned myself under him. Naked. He was probably really good at sex, given the extensive amounts of practice I was sure he’d had.

Oh shit.

He caught me. Who would’ve thought he’d dart his eyes my way during a full-on conversation with Lorrie? But he did. For a brief second I thought maybe he didn’t notice my wandering gaze, but even though he looked away and re-engaged Lorrie in a discussion of west versus east coast, the corners of his lips tugged upward. 

Yep. I’d been well and truly snagged.

“So how did you end up working here from Pennsylvania?” Diana asked. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet during the exchange but was clearly as smitten as the rest of us.

“We have family ties to Lucia’s father, so when I was looking to come out for an extended stay, they arranged it.”

“How extended?” Teresa asked, looking like she wanted an early lunch, and on the menu, Gian from Pennsylvania.

“The summer.”

All three of the ladies swooned. I might have made a sound too, imagining being here for the whole summer.

“It was my sister’s idea. She thought I needed to get away, and arranged the whole thing.”

“You have a pretty amazing sister.” Teresa smiled at him as if she were already planning to make Gian’s sister her own sister-in-law in the near future.

“She is pretty amazing.”

It was the first time since we’d met him that Gian didn’t say the words with a swagger.

“What do you do for a living that you can pick up and move to Italy for the summer?” Teresa asked.

I wondered the same thing.

“I own my own marketing firm so it’s pretty portable.”

“So not just a pool boy?” Teresa smiled as if she’d won the lottery for the second time that morning.

“Not exactly. But I’m happy to help with anything you need while you’re here. Have you made it into town yet?”

When he said, “Happy to help,” Gian looked directly at me. Incredibly, he seemed to be flirting. With me. The cute redhead and not the bombshell blonde. Teresa was going to kill me.

But maybe she didn’t notice. Lorrie answered him, and I hung back, content as always to let someone else take the lead. It wasn’t until Gian had given us all of his recommendations that he gave his attention to me again.

“So you’re the quiet one, I take it?”

Diana nudged me not so gently with her elbow as if I hadn’t heard him ask the question.

“Sometimes,” she answered for me. “Until you get to know Mazzie. In which case, she’s anything but.”

“A unique name, Mazzie,” he said, his words slick and smooth like his moves.

“There’s a story behind it,” I replied, not offering said story.

“I’d love to hear it.”

This time, I was pretty sure Lorrie noticed too. There was no mistaking it now. Gian, the mega-sexy pool boy, was openly flirting with me. Why? I couldn’t be so sure. And unfortunately, though Teresa had claimed him, my body didn’t seem to get the message. The way he looked at me made parts of my body tingle that hadn’t in a long time.

Since Dad passed, to be precise.

I swallowed, unsure how to answer.

“She’d love to tell you,” Diana said. “Why don’t you join us? Or do you have to work?”

I was going to kill her.

He scanned the group, clearly undecided, and then locked eyes with me. If Gian was looking for permission, I wasn’t going to give it to him. Teresa had made her interest clear, and a friend didn’t encroach on another friend’s claim.

My chin lifted, as if defying him. But that only made Gian’s smile wider.

“Sunday is my day off, actually. I have a few things to take care of,” he said to Diana and then focused on me once again. “But I’d love to join you. It’ll be nice not to struggle through Italian for a bit.”

“Ooo, and you can teach us some Italian too.” Teresa wasn’t giving up her claim anytime soon. 

“Tornerò il mio simpatico piccolo lettrice,” he said as if Italian was his native language. Before he could translate for us, Gian put on his sunglasses and began to walk away. “I’ll see you ladies in a bit.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” Teresa hadn’t waited long to give her assessment of him.

As all three of them swooned, I watched him walk away. Despite myself, I was finding it extremely difficult to peel my eyes from him.

“I wonder what he said? Did you catch any of that, Lorrie?” Diana asked. Of the four of us, she knew the most Italian.

“Just a word or two.”

“Which ones?” Diana demanded.

Teresa narrowed her eyes on me. The hairs on my arm raised at her expression.

He’d said something about me.

“That he’ll be back,” she responded. 

But there was more to it. And by the way Teresa continued to look at me, our relaxing poolside afternoon had just taken a turn.

…….

Keep reading Meet, Play, Love available now on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited.

Locanda del Mare, Cefalù, Sicily

Mazzie

“Say it. I was right.”

After tearing through the place like none of us had ever seen an Italian villa before—because none of us had ever seen an Italian villa before—Diana and I pushed the patio doors open and stepped outside. 

“The Mediterranean Sea,” Diana murmured as we looked off into the distance below us. She took a big, deep breath, as if soaking in the Italian air might actually bring us love and fortune, making all our wishes come true.

I really hated to burst her bubble. “Actually, it’s the Tyrrhenian Sea.”

My best friend looked at me as if I’d said she should eat a green bean.

Diana hated vegetables.

“I’m serious,” I said. “Mainland Italy is that way, the Mediterranean to our west and south. But that, my friend, is the Tyrrhenian Sea.”

“How do you know literally everything? It’s freaky.”

“If I knew everything—” I stopped myself. This trip was about letting go, not talking about my cluster of a life and bringing the group vibe down on day one. So instead of saying, If I knew everything, I’d know how to move on . . . how to forget, I said, “If I knew everything, I’d know where to find wine right now.”

“Oh. My. God.” A voice behind us echoed my thoughts exactly.

Teresa stepped outside with us. She was more Diana’s friend than mine, but we’d gone on two girls’ trips together, so I knew her a bit. “This view is insane.”

As the three of us took it all in, I peeked at my old friend.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely to Diana. Since I didn’t actually have any siblings or parents now, Diana was the closest thing I had to actual family. 

“You’re welcome,” she said, understanding. “So do we unpack, explore, or drink wine?” 

All three of us exchanged glances and said, “Wine,” at the same time.

“I saw a little store about two blocks away.” Teresa, a teacher, went right to work. Her efficiency always impressed me. “Yep,” she said, looking down at her phone, “it’s still open. Lorrie?” She turned to our fourth companion just joining us. “Feel like a quick walk to get some wine?”

“Hell yeah, let’s do it.”

“We can come with you,” I said, but no one was listening. 

“If there’s anyone who needs to soak this up immediately,” Teresa said, “it’s you.”

With a quick smile for us both, she and Lorrie disappeared as I marveled at how easily everyone got along. Women could be tough. Friends of friends, even tougher. But this really was a great group of ladies. Another reason I’d agreed to the whole thing.

“You really found a great group of girls,” I said. “It was nice of them to volunteer for a wine run.” 

“They know you need this. I’ve said it before, but I’m really glad you came, Maze.”

Diana and I fell into a companionable silence. Which, of course, put my thoughts directly back to the reason everyone was bending over backwards to accommodate me. It had already been six months, but my father might as well have had a heart attack and died last week. The constriction in my chest at the thought of him being gone was so poignant that I might have sworn I was having one too. Except I knew better by now. It wasn’t a heart attack.

Just a broken heart.

He’d been my whole world. And now, Dad was gone. The bar that had been his legacy, gone. Our family home, gone.

“I still can’t believe he was that far in debt and never told me,” I said for the millionth time. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it,” Diana said as we sat down on the patio chairs. Locanda del Mare was part bed and breakfast and part resort, with each individual villa boasting its own small patio. The main building was just down the hill from us. “What would you have advised him? If he told you that the Village Barn was so far in the red?”

That was easy. “Sell it. Get himself out of debt,” I said, the answer obvious. I may not have ended up using my degree, but after four years in business school, it didn’t take much to know the Village Barn, as Dad wanted to run it, was a relic of the past. When he settled in Scottsdale years ago, things were very different. “Who runs a business that doesn’t make any money?”

“Your dad,” Diana said. “And that’s exactly why he didn’t tell you. To him, having that place was more important than making money.”

“You kinda need to do both to run a business.”

“I guess. But you know what he would say—”

“We only pass through once.” I could actually hear his voice saying the words in my head. No one was immune to my father’s life-isms, and that was his favorite of them all.

“In a practical sense,” I started, but Diana didn’t let me finish. 

“Sorry, Miss Financial Goddess, your right brain is on hold for this trip. No numbers talks or anything resembling analysis. I dragged you to Italy for a reason, and it wasn’t to be practical about anything.”

“That’s a myth,” I said, still enamored with the view. I really was glad Diana proposed this trip. “There’s really no such thing as right brain, left brain.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Hmm.” Diana frowned. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. It’s called the illusory truth effect. When you believe false information because you’ve been exposed to it so often.”

“I’d look it up, but I promised myself not to use the phone as much when I’m here. So instead I’ll take in the view while we wait for our wine and choose to believe you for now. Mostly because you’re always right.”

“So lots of wine and no phone. That’s your plan?”

“Yep. What’s yours?”

I didn’t really have a plan for Italy. Except to numb the pain that didn’t seem to be going away any time soon. But I wouldn’t dwell on that and drag the group down. “To figure out next steps.”

Diana didn’t have to ask what that meant. She knew I wasn’t crazy about my job, or my boss. Or my single status. And now that I had no family, or boyfriend, in Scottsdale, there wasn’t really a reason to stay, besides friends. Problem was, there also wasn’t really anywhere else for me to go.

Diana held up an imaginary glass. “To no phone, an amazing view and figuring out Mazzie’s life plan.”

I held up my own pretend glass too. “Cheers,” I said, thankful again for a friend like Diana.

“Salute,” she corrected me. “We are in Italy, after all.”

 

Chapter 2

Gian

“You are such a shit. A whole month and this is only the second video call. Show me everything.”

Lusanne sat behind the counter of her bakery, now closed, with her phone propped up in front of her. 

“You’ve been taking lessons on Italian Catholic guilt from Mom, Lus,” I said. “You see every picture I take.”

Scrunching up her nose as she always did when she was annoyed, my sister brushed me off. “A shared photo album isn’t a personal tour. Come on,” she prompted again.

“This is exactly why I haven’t done the video call.” Pushing aside the beads hanging from my door frame, I reluctantly turned the phone around, knowing I was in for at least a twenty-minute tour. Lusanne was a stickler for detail, and since this trip had been her idea, she’d been a real pain in the ass when it came to me documenting everything. Which was why I had hit share on photo album with her, mistakenly thinking that would be enough to appease her.

“Oooo,” she exclaimed after seeing my view. It was pretty spectacular. “I can see the ocean from there. It looks just like your pictures.”

“Imagine that,” I drawled, thankfully not able to see my sister’s eyes rolling at my tone. 

“Knock it off.” Her voice came through the phone as I walked. “Show me around. I want to meet Lucia.”

The owner of Locanda del Mare was only four years older than me. My sister, the baby of our family, was equally impressed with a thirty-two-year-old running such a sprawling estate. Coupled with the fact that Lucia was a beautiful woman, in addition to being incredibly capable, Lusanne had followed her on social media and been remotely enamored with her even before I came. 

“She’s off property,” I said, grateful for it. Lusanne was still trying to play matchmaker despite the fact that Lucia had a boyfriend, I wasn’t even remotely interested in a girlfriend, and we lived on two separate continents. 

“Ugh,” Lusanne exclaimed. “How about the kitchen?”

As I walked down the path to the main house, having anticipated Lusanne’s request, I said, “I’m on my way down there, but no one’s working.” It was late afternoon and Locanda del Mare only served breakfast on property unless it was a retreat week. If there were no writing or yoga retreats being hosted, the main building would be empty this time of day except for patrons mulling around the building soaking up the sea view. 

“Talk to me,” she said as I swung the phone from side to side, giving my sister the lay of the land. 

“About five minutes that way is the only store within walking distance. In the opposite direction, a cafe about ten minutes away. Otherwise”—I held the phone high—“you need to drive into town.”

“I still can’t believe you drive a Vespa. It’s so . . . Italian. I really wish I was there,” she said. 

I turned the phone back around. “You can come anytime. Lucia said anyone from the family is welcome.”

It was our family connection in Palermo that hooked me up with Lucia in the first place. Exchanging a summer-long stay for some odd jobs around the estate . . . it was a win-win for us both. 

“I wish,” she said. “There’s just no way with the bakery.”

My sister opened her new place just a few months ago, so getting away would be tough for her. “And Owen?” I pointed out. Her boyfriend also ran a few businesses of his own, and their relationship was too new for her to leave him. Lus and Owen were like two peas in a pod.

Better them than me. 

I had as much interest in being tied down to one person as I did in the yoga retreat Lucia had hosted last week. 

“And Owen,” Lus admitted. 

“Ok, the kitchen,” I said, about to walk inside.

Being raised by parents who owned a pizza shop, it wasn’t as odd a request as some might think, that Lus would want to see the industrial kitchen. A pang in my chest forced my feet to stop moving as I walked by the outdoor pizza oven. A vision of my dad pulling out a peel from a similar oven made me smile. 

“Holy pizza oven,” Lus said as I turned the phone back around so she could see it. 

“Forno per pizze,” I said, grabbing the peel from its hook and turning the phone back to me. “And this is a pala,” I translated. 

“Pala,” she repeated. “Say something else in Italian. You must have picked it up a little by now.”

I could think of a hundred sarcastic responses. Most of which, if I were back in the states, I would have responded with. But after a month here, I’d had a taste of what it was like not to be surrounded by my family. Not that it was the same anymore with our parents retired and spending as much time in Florida as they did Pennsylvania. Or since Lusanne moved to New York this past winter. But I still had my brother Tris and his wife in our hometown. And Mom and Dad, most of the time. Despite the fact that I was the so-called “wild child” of the family, the one who never took anything seriously, I was also my mother’s son. The “lover,” as Lus called me. And unlike my brothers, I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. 

Or admit I missed them. Missed her.

“Mi manchi sorellina.”

“What does it mean?”

Instead of answering, I deflected. “Wanna see the kitchen?”

“Yes,” Lusanne said. “And the pool where you spend your afternoons working”—she used air quotes for that last word—“and scoping out your next prey.”

“They’re not prey, Lus. I’ve only met two women here and both hit on me first, for the record.”

“It’s only been a month. Plus, I know for a fact there’s at least one more, judging from your pics on the beach.”

Shit. Forgot about that shared album.

“And you wonder why I didn’t video call you earlier. Lus,” I added as a text came through. “I have to go. Just got a message from Liz about IH.”

“Oh my god. Do you think you got it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Seems early for a decision but I need to check it out.”

Lus wasn’t happy to cut the call short. But she also knew how important a client Integrated Health could be for me. Landing the biggest health benefits company in the US would be a game changer. I did well for myself, but marketing for my siblings and other small businesses didn’t put me on the top of the food chain in terms of family success stories. 

All four of us were business owners. Lus with the bakery, Tristano with his top-notch restaurant, and Enzo with a global business worth more than five Integrated Health companies combined. 

None of us could compete with him.

But at least, with IH as a client, I could inch my way up a little higher than a two-employee marketing firm. Just me and my personal assistant, Liz, and that was it. 

“Fine, but if it takes you another month to call, no chocolate peanut butter cupcakes when I see you next. And I know how scarce peanut butter is in Italy.”

“Ouch.”

Another text from Liz. My heart began to pound. Something was definitely up. 

“Promise to call soon. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As we hung up, I immediately opened my text messages, silently praying Liz had sent good news.

…….

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Italy was supposed to be an uncomplicated trip with the girls. 

But that was before Gian DeLuca. 

Before the rainstorm that forced us into the same small villa. 

My broken heart does not need an American marketing executive playing pool boy at Locanda del Mare for the summer. An arrogant commitment phobe who wants to drink his way through Sicily just to prove his sister wrong. He was never the right man for the Eat Pray Love quest she sent him on, and I’m not right for him. 

Besides, I’m here to sort out my future, not help Gian add me to his litany of Italian conquests. 

Did I mention a rainstorm, a washed-out road, and a forced overnight stay at a Sicilian vineyard?

So much for uncomplicated.

 

 

 

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Chapter 1

Mazzie

Locanda del Mare, Cefalù , Sicily

“Say it. I was right.”

After tearing through the place like none of us had ever seen an Italian villa before—because none of us had ever seen an Italian villa before—Diana and I pushed the patio doors open and stepped outside. 

“The Mediterranean Sea,” Diana murmured as we looked off into the distance below us. She took a big, deep breath as if soaking in the Italian air might actually bring us love and fortune, making all our wishes come true.

I really hated to burst her bubble. “Actually, it’s the Tyrrhenian Sea.”

My best friend looked at me as if I’d said she should eat a green bean.

Diana hated vegetables.

“I’m serious,” I said. “Mainland Italy is that way, the Mediterranean to our west and south. But that, my friend, is the Tyrrhenian Sea.”

“How do you know literally everything? It’s freaky.”

“If I knew everything,” I stopped myself. This trip was about letting go, not talking about my cluster of a life and bringing the group vibe down on day one. So instead of saying, ‘If I knew everything I’d know how to move on. . . how to forget,’ I said, “If I knew everything I’d know where to find wine right now.”

“Oh. My. God.” A voice behind us echoed my thoughts exactly.

Teresa stepped outside with us. She was more Diana’s friend than mine, but we’d gone on two girl’s trips together so I knew her a bit. “This view is insane.”

As the three of us took it all in, I peeked at my old friend.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely to Diana. Since I didn’t actually have any siblings, or parents now, Diana was the closest thing I had to an actual family. 

“You’re welcome,” she said, understanding. “So do we unpack, explore or drink wine?” 

All three of us exchanged glances and said, “Wine,” at the same time.

“I saw a little store about two blocks away.” Teresa, a teacher, went right to work. Her efficiency always impressed me. “Yep,” she said, looking down at her phone, “it’s still open. Lorrie,” she said to our forth companion just joining us, “feel like a quick walk to get some wine?”

“Hell yeah, let’s do it.”

“We can come with you,” I said, but no one was listening. 

“If there’s anyone who needs to soak this up immediately,” Teresa said, “it’s you.”

With a quick smile for us both, she and Lorrie disappeared as I marveled at how easily everyone got along. Women could be tough. Friends of friends, even tougher. But this really was a great group of ladies. Another reason I’d agreed to the whole thing.

“You really found a great group of girls,” I said. “It was nice of them to volunteer for a wine run.” 

“They know you need this. I’ve said it before, but I’m really glad you came.”

Diana and I fell into a companionable silence. Which, of course, put my thoughts directly back to the reason everyone was bending over backwards to accommodate me. It had already been six months, but my father might as well have had a heart attack and died last week. So poignant was the tightness in my chest at the thought of him being gone that I might have sworn I was having one too. Except, I knew better by now. It wasn’t a heart attack.

Just a broken heart.

He’d been my whole world. And now, dad was gone. The bar that had been his legacy, gone. Our family home, gone.

“I still can’t believe he was that far in debt and never told me,” I said for the millionth time. 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it,” Diana said as we sat down on the patio chairs. Locanda del Mare was part bed and breakfast and part resort with each individual villa boasting its own small patio, the main building down the hill from us. “What would you have advised him? If he told you that the Village Barn was so far in the red?”

That was easy. “Sell it. Get himself out of debt,” I said, the answer obvious. I may not have ended up using my degree, but after four years in business school it didn’t take much to know the Village Barn, as dad wanted to run it, was a relic of the past. When he settled in Scottsdale years ago, things were very different. “Who runs a business that doesn’t make any money?”

“Your dad,” Diana said. “And that’s exactly why he didn’t tell you. To him having that place was more important than making money.”

“You kinda need to do both to run a business.”

“I guess. But you know what he would say—”

“We only pass through once.” I could actually hear his voice saying the words in my head. No one was immune to my father’s life-isms, and that was his favorite of them all.

“In a practical sense,” I started, but Diana didn’t let me finish. 

“Sorry Miss Financial Goddess, your right brain is on hold for this trip. No numbers talks or anything resembling analysis. I dragged you to Italy for a reason, and it wasn’t to be practical about anything.”

“That’s a myth,” I said, still enamored with the view. I really was glad Diana proposed this trip. “There’s really no such thing as right brain, left brain.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Hmm.” Diana frowned. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. It’s called the illusory truth effect. When you believe false information because you’ve been exposed to it so often.”

“I’d look it up but I promised myself not to use the phone as much when I’m here. So instead I’ll take in the view while we wait for our wine and choose to believe you for now. Mostly because you’re always right.”

“So lots of wine and no phone. That’s your plan?”

“Yep. What’s yours?”

I didn’t really have a plan for Italy. Except to numb the pain that didn’t seem to be going away any time soon. But I wouldn’t dwell on that and drag the group down. “To figure out next steps.”

Diana didn’t have to ask what that meant. She knew I wasn’t crazy about my job, or my boss. Or my single status. And now that I had no family, or boyfriend, in Scottsdale, there wasn’t really a reason to stay besides friends. Problem was, there also wasn’t really anywhere else for me to go.

Diana held up an imaginary glass. “To no phone, an amazing view and figuring out Mazzie’s life plan.”

I held up my own pretend glass too. “Cheers,” I said, thankfully again for a friend like Diana.

“Salute,” she corrected me. “We are in Italy, after all.”

 

Chapter 2

Gian

“You are such a shit. A whole month and this is only the second video call. Show me everything.”

Lusanne sat behind the counter of her bakery, now closed, with her phone propped up in front of her. 

“You’ve been taking lessons on Italian Catholic guilt from mom, Lus,” I said. “You see every picture I take.”

Crunching up her nose as my sister did when she was annoyed, Lusanne brushed me off. “A shared photo album isn’t a personal tour. Come on,” she prompted again.

“This is exactly why I haven’t done the video call.” Pushing aside the beads hanging from my door frame, I reluctantly turned the phone around knowing I was in for at least a twenty minute tour. Lusanne was a stickler for detail, and since this trip had been her idea, she’d been a real pain in the ass when it came to me documenting everything. Which was why I shared her on my photo album mistakenly thinking that would be enough to appease her.

“Oooo,” she exclaimed after seeing my view. It was pretty spectacular. “I can see the ocean from there. It looks just like your pictures.”

“Imagine that,” I drawled, thankfully not able to see my sister’s eyes rolling at my tone. 

“Knock it off,” her voice came through the phone as I walked. “Show me around. I want to meet Lucia.”

The owner of Locanda del Mare was only four years older than me. My sister, the baby of our family, was equally impressed with a thirty-two year old running such a sprawling estate. Coupled with the fact that Lucia was a beautiful woman, in addition to being incredibly capable, meant Lusanne had followed her on social media and been remotely enamored with her even before I came. 

“She’s off property,” I said, grateful for it. Lusanne was still trying to play matchmaker despite the fact that Lucia had a boyfriend, I wasn’t even remotely interested in a girlfriend and we lived on two separate continents. 

“Ugh,” Lusanne exclaimed. “How about the kitchen?”

As I walked down the path to the main house, having anticipated Lusanne’s request, I said, “I’m on my way down there, but no one’s working.” It was late afternoon and Locanda del Mare only served breakfast on property unless it was a retreat week. If there were no writing or yoga retreats being hosted, the main building would be empty this time of day except for patrons mulling around the building soaking up the sea view. 

“Talk to me,” she said as I swung the phone from side to side giving my sister the land of the land. 

“About a five minutes that way is the only store within walking distance. In the opposite direction, a cafe about ten minutes away. Otherwise,” I held the phone high, “you need to drive into town.”

“I still can’t believe you drive a Vespa. It’s so. . . Italian. I really wish I was there,” she said. 

I turned the phone back around. “You can come anytime. Lucia said anyone from the family is welcome.”

It was our family connection in Palermo that hooked me up with Lucia in the first place. Exchanging a summer-long stay for some odd-jobs around the estate, it was a win-win for us both. 

“I wish,” she said. “There’s just no way with the bakery.”

My sister opened her new place just a few months ago, so getting away would be tough for her. “And Owen?” I pointed out. Her boyfriend also ran a few businesses of his own, and their relationship was too new for her to leave him. Lus and Owen were like two peas in a pod.

Better them than me. 

I had as much interest in being tied down to one person as I did in the yoga retreat Lucia hosted last week. 

“And Owen,” Lus admitted. “Ok, the kitchen,” I said, about to walk inside.

Being raised by parents who owned a pizza shop, it wasn’t as odd a request as some might think, that Lus would want to see the industrial kitchen. A vision of my dad pulling out a peel from a similar oven to the wood-fired one in front of me made me smile. 

“Holy pizza oven,” she said as I turned the phone back around so Lus could see it. 

“Forno per pizze,” I said, grabbing the peel from its hook and turning the phone back to me. “And this is a pala,” I translated. 

“Pala,” she repeated. “Say something else in Italian. You must have picked it up a little by now.”

I could think of a hundred sarcastic responses. Most of which, if I was back in the states, I would have responded with. But after a month here, I’d had a taste of what it was like not to be surrounded by my family. Not that it was the same anymore with our parents retired and spending as much time in Florida as they did Pennsylvania. Or since Lusanne moved to New York this past winter. But I still had my brother Tris and his wife in our hometown. And mom and dad, most of the time. Despite the fact that I was the so-called ‘wild child’ of the family, the one who never took anything seriously, I was also my mother’s son. The “lover” as Lus called me. And unlike my brothers, I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. 

Or admit I missed them. Missed her.

“Mi manchi sorellina.”

“What does it mean?”

Instead of answering, I deflected. “Wanna see the kitchen?”

“Yes,” Lusanne said. “And the pool where you spend your afternoons working,” she used air quotes for that last word, “and scoping out your next prey.”

“They’re not prey, Lus. I’ve only met two women here and both hit on me first, for the record.”

“It’s only been a month. Plus I know for a fact there’s at least one more judging from your pics on the beach.”

Shit. Forgot about that shared album.

“And you wonder why I didn’t video call you earlier.”

“Lus,” I said as a text came through. “I have to go. Just got a message from Liz about IH.”

“Oh my god. Do you think you got it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Seems early for a decision but I need to check it out.”

Lus wasn’t happy to cut the call short. But she also knew how important a client Integrated Health could be for me. Landing the biggest health benefits company in the US would be a game changer. I did well for myself, but marketing for my siblings and other small businesses didn’t put me on the top of the food chain in terms of family success stories. 

All four of us were business owners. Lus with the bakery, Tristano with his top-notch restaurant and Enzo with a global business worth more than five Integrated Health companies combined. 

None of us could compete with him.

But at least, with IG as a client, I could inch my way up a little higher than a two-employee marketing firm. Just me and my personal assistant Liz, and that was it. 

“Fine, but if it takes you another month to call, no chocolate peanut butter cupcakes when I see you next. And I know how scarce peanut butter is in Italy.”

“Ouch.”

Another text from Liz. My heart began to pound. . . something was definitely up. 

“Promise to call soon. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As we hung up, I immediately opened my text messages silently praying Liz sent good news.

 

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