Heidi McLaughlin – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Heidi McLaughlin – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Fri, 03 Apr 2026 23:14:43 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Heidi McLaughlin – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Maybe It’s Fate Read Online Heidi McLaughlin http://www.ilovenovels.com/maybe-its-fate-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Fri, 03 Apr 2026 23:14:43 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/maybe-its-fate-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Contemporary Authors: Heidi McLaughlin Advertisement

Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)

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In a moving story of love and loss, a corporate consultant leaves her life behind to care for her dying friend’s children—and finds hope with the small-town coach who steps up to the plate with her.

From the author of The Art of Starting Over comes a heartfelt portrait of what it means to build a family, as a young woman navigates grief, guardianship, and the bittersweet gift of falling in love.

The only thing that could pull Antonia Bernardi away from her high-powered career is her lifelong best friend. And with two children and a cruel prognosis, Miriam Vaughn needs her now more than ever.

Antonia drops everything—her job, her relationship—to be there for the Vaughns. Playing mom to Miriam’s teenage son and seven-year-old daughter is a tall order made heavier by grief. But the kids need her, and she needs them.

Then there’s the boy’s coach and mentor, former MLB star Weston Schmidt. He’s a pillar of support, a safe space for Antonia to rest. But there’s too much going on to even think about romance … or maybe that’s exactly why they should.

Adjusting to life without her best friend, Antonia leans into her new role as guardian, doing work she loves and repairing the old farmhouse Miriam cherished. Nothing can stop the world from spinning—but Antonia has every reason to keep on going

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

At seventeen, you thought you had your entire world figured out. Your parents were wrong about everything, and the boy you were in love with—the one everyone had warned you about—was the love of your life. Deep down, a part of you knew he was going to hurt you, destroy your faith in men, in the world. But you didn’t care because, at that moment, he was your whole world, and he’d told you there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you.

Except stick around when the line on the stick turned pink or blue or appeared twice. And while you were happy because a baby meant you’d be with him forever, he had other ideas.

As did your parents. They were deeply religious and didn’t understand why you’d insisted on disobeying them. Why would you throw your life away for a boy who didn’t care about anyone but himself?

I love him, Daddy.

Love wasn’t enough. At least not to him.

Love meant something else to him, and as long as everything was just the two of you, there weren’t any issues.

Three of you became a problem.

I lay back and stared at the blue sky. I tried to imagine the clouds forming those shapes everyone saw when they gazed upward, but all I saw were mounds of cotton balls floating off to someplace better than where we were.

My best friend, Antonia, lay beside me, her hand in mine, staring at the same sky, the same clouds, the same nothingness.

“Maybe I should do what my parents want and give the baby up for adoption.” Instinctively, my hand covered my lower abdomen, where my little pea nestled.

“I can go with you, if you want to speak to someone about it.”

Antonia had always been by my side since we were three. Although I didn’t remember us at three, four, or five, I did remember us starting kindergarten together. Our teachers called us “inseparable busybodies,” and they wanted us in different classes. The joke was on them. The powers that be, thanks to Antonia’s aunt being the registrar at school, put us in the same class every single year. It wasn’t until junior high that we had different classes.

Different likes.

Always best friends.

“What if I keep her?”

“Is it a girl?”

I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I guess it could be a boy.”

“Or twins.”

I groaned at the thought and covered my face as a fresh wave of tears began to fall. “What have I done?”

Antonia let go of my hand and propped herself up on her elbow. “Nothing that any of our classmates haven’t done. We’re graduating soon, Miriam. Things will be okay. You can still go to college if you want.”

I did want to, but I knew my parents wouldn’t foot the bill if I had this baby. I’d heard about some programs, though. The government gave a lot of financial aid to single moms, and I could take out a school loan.

“If I keep this baby, we won’t be able to go to school together.” Going away to a big school like the University of Arizona had been our dream. Now it was just Antonia’s unless I made the right decision. Or the wrong decision. It was hard to know which decision fell into the right category.

“If you keep this baby, you’ll be a mom, Miri.”

“I know.” My words were barely above a whisper. Being a mom was something I’d always said I’d do. Sure, I wanted a career, but I wanted children too. I just never thought I’d be a mom at eighteen.

“When do you have to decide?”

Without asking, I knew what she meant. I supposed when you were early in your pregnancy, everything was on the table.

“Soon.” I already knew I wouldn’t be able to do it, to follow through with ending my pregnancy. The father—the boy—I had considered the love of my life didn’t want anything to do with me or his child. He’d walked out on me, saying he had bigger dreams and aspirations than working some nine-to-five job so he could buy diapers and formula. This was news to me, since he’d already dropped out of high school and had a part-time gig at the auto shop.

Antonia lay back down, scooching closer to me. We tilted our heads toward one another, both sighing.

“Maybe my parents can help?”

She had the best parents. Renzo and Carmela Bernardi were kind and gentle, and they let Antonia and her siblings, Rocco and Isabella, do anything they wanted, as long as they obeyed the law.

“Renzo would hunt . . . him . . . down.” I couldn’t even bring myself to say his name. Anyone who walked out on their pregnant girlfriend didn’t deserve a name.

“He would.” Antonia squeezed my hand. “So would Rocco.”

The thought of her family helping me this way brought more tears to my eyes. Why couldn’t my parents feel the same way?

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Relic in the Rue (Bourbon Street Shadows #2) Read Online Heidi McLaughlin http://www.ilovenovels.com/relic-in-the-rue-bourbon-street-shadows-2-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:20:41 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/relic-in-the-rue-bourbon-street-shadows-2-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Genre: Alpha Male Authors: Heidi McLaughlin Series: Bourbon Street Shadows Series by Heidi McLaughlin
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Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >100

A relic that rewrites truth.
An existential threat.
And a love that might not be real at all.

Bastien Durand, once an angel and now the most relentless supernatural investigator in New Orleans, thought the last crisis was behind him. But when a cursed grimoire surfaces at Rousseau Auction House—and a shadowy informant threatens the woman he loves—he’s dragged into a new game with stakes that are anything but routine.

The grimoire was bait. The real prize is an artifact known only in whispers—the Shadowglass Mirror, a relic said to reflect a soul’s truest nature . . . and the ability to bend it to someone else’s will.

The one orchestrating this? Gideon Virelli—a manipulative scholar who knows far too much about Bastien and Delphine’s connection, and her hidden power. Gideon doesn’t just want the relic—he wants Bastien to question everything he spent centuries protecting, including the tether that binds him to Delphine, the choices that built their love, and the very nature of the magic they were never meant to share.

To protect Delphine, Bastien must walk the knife’s edge between duty and doubt.
Because some mirrors don’t just show you who you are—
They show you the lie you’ve been living all along

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

Bastien watched Delphine’s taillights disappear down Chartres Street, her car swallowed by the October darkness and the oak canopy that turned the Garden District into a tunnel of shadow and shifting lamplight. She’d said “tomorrow” before closing the door—easy and certain, as though the word carried no weight at all. Tomorrow meant dinner at Jacques-Imo’s, meant conversation that didn’t require careful editing, meant the cautious optimism of two people who’d just survived something impossible together and were ready to see what came next.

The Veil breach was sealed. The amateur practitioner would wake in a hospital with nothing worse than confusion and a healthy respect for forces beyond their understanding. The Quarter’s wards held steady. For the first time in months, Bastien felt something dangerously close to hope.

His phone buzzed as he reached his car.

Unknown number. Text message. No words, just an image: a photograph of a grimoire under glass, its spine bearing symbols he recognized even in the grainy phone screen resolution. Laveau family marks. Genuine ones, not the tourist-trap reproductions that cluttered every voodoo shop on Bourbon Street.

A second text followed immediately.

Unknown Number: Café Du Monde. 11 PM. Come alone, or I send this to someone who’ll try to use it.

Bastien checked his watch. 10:17 PM. Forty-three minutes to cross the city, find parking, and walk into whatever trap this was.

He got into the car.

Café Du Monde at eleven on a Thursday night was neither empty nor crowded—just the scattered aftermath of a tourist day winding down, a few die-hard beignet addicts, and the staff who’d seen everything and registered nothing. Bastien chose a table near the back where he could watch for someone coming from all angles, ordered coffee he wouldn’t drink, and waited.

She arrived at 11:03.

The woman was perhaps sixty, silver hair pulled back in a style that suggested old Creole families and the kind of confidence that came from never needing to prove anything. Charcoal wool coat despite the October warmth. Leather gloves. Shoes that made no sound on the tile floor. She crossed the courtyard with the fluid precision of someone accustomed to being watched but not approached.

She sat across from him without asking. Set a cream-colored envelope on the metal table between them. The paper was thick, expensive, sealed with dark wax that caught the overhead lights and threw them back wrong.

“They said you’d know why,” she said. Her voice carried traces of French Quarter aristocracy, words reduced to essential syllables.

“And who would they be?”

“Someone who understands what Charlotte Lacroix left unfinished.” She pushed the envelope toward him. “Someone who knows what Delphine doesn’t know about herself. Yet.”

The locket against his sternum went cold.

Bastien took the envelope. The paper was cold—colder than October air should make it, cold enough that his fingers registered alarm. “What does he want?”

“What Charlotte left incomplete.” The woman stood, already turning away. “You have one week to find it. After that, we force the issue—and Delphine remembers everything at once. All three lifetimes. At the same time.” She glanced back over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “Her mind won’t survive it. But you already know that.”

She walked toward the river where the darkness took her.

Bastien broke the seal.

The wax cracked clean. Inside, three items arranged with surgical precision.

First, an invitation to the Rousseau Auction House. Exclusive viewing, seven nights from tonight. Rare occult manuscripts and relics of historical significance. The kind of event that drew collectors who knew better than to ask about provenance.

Second, the photograph from the text message. The grimoire under glass, with the Laveau family marks clear on the spine. But that wasn’t what made his breath catch. In the background of the shot, deliberately included, was another object: a hand mirror, its frame worked in silver that seemed to move in the photograph’s grain.

Third, a note. Four sentences written in ink that shimmered with iridescence.

Charlotte built a network of mirrors to track her soul across death. She died before completing the anchor. You know where she hid the final piece. Bring me the Shadowglass Mirror, or I’ll wake every memory Delphine carries and break her mind doing it.

The ink caught light that didn’t exist in the evening around him, held it, released it in patterns that made his vision blur if he looked too long. Mirror-forged ink. Pigment infused with reflection magic, a technique so rare that fewer than a dozen practitioners worldwide could manage it.

Someone understood Charlotte’s work. Understood what the mirror network was designed to do. And they were using that knowledge to leverage him through the one thing guaranteed to make him comply—the threat of harm to Delphine’s fragile, still-integrating consciousness.

He read the note again. The words didn’t change.

Bring me the Shadowglass Mirror, or I’ll wake every memory Delphine carries and break her mind doing it.

Bastien folded the items back into the envelope. Left cash on the table. The coffee sat untouched, growing cold in the October air while tourists laughed at nearby tables and the city continued its nightly routines, oblivious to the threat that had just been delivered in the space between dinner and midnight.

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A Doggone Driftwood Disappearance Read Online Heidi McLaughlin http://www.ilovenovels.com/a-doggone-driftwood-disappearance-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Wed, 07 Jan 2026 10:40:21 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/a-doggone-driftwood-disappearance-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love Authors: Heidi McLaughlin Advertisement

Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >29

When driftwood artist Marnie Lane’s one-of-a-kind Christmas star vanishes just days before the Seacliff Haven Christmas Market, the last thing she expects is a cryptic note warning her to “forget the past.” With the help of her lovable giant schnauzer, Finn—who has a nose for more than just seashells—Marnie stumbles onto a trail of buried secrets, seaside clues, and a mystery tied to her late father’s legacy.

As the festive coastal town prepares for its biggest event of the year, Marnie teams up with her former rival, the brooding yet talented Sid. Together, they must untangle a treasure map, outwit a secretive saboteur, and discover the truth hiding beneath the sand and snow.

With hot cocoa, holiday cheer, and a touch of seaside romance, Doggone Driftwood Disappearance is a heartwarming, murder-free mystery perfect for fans of clever pets, crafty sleuths, and Christmas by the sea

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Ihang the hand-painted “Open” sign on my shop door and take a deep breath. Pine and sea salt fill the crisp December air. Outside, Seacliff Haven is getting ready for the holidays. White fairy lights twinkle from every storefront along Harbor Street, and red velvet bows hang from the old lampposts. I can hear carol singers practicing near the town gazebo, their voices mixing with the crash of waves against the seawall.

My black Giant Schnauzer, Finn, presses his nose against the glass door, fogging it with his breath. He spots Mrs. Bruce walking her dachshund, Mustard, across the street.

“Just a minute, buddy,” I tell him, adjusting the coastal-themed wreath made of driftwood and sea glass on my door. “You can say hello to Mustard after I finish setting up.”

Finn responds with a soft grumble that I’ve come to recognize as his “but I’m being patient” protest. I smile and run my fingers through his wiry black coat. His very pepper-colored eyebrows give him that perpetually thoughtful expression.

“Marnie Lane, guardian of beach treasures and spoiler of serious dogs,” I mutter to myself as I return to my workbench.

My shop, Driftwood & Décor, sits just two blocks from the shoreline. It used to be my father’s marine conservation office. The transformation from environmental headquarters to artisan shop happened three years ago, after Dad passed away unexpectedly. I inherited the building and his devotion to the sea—particularly the smooth, salt-worn pieces of wood that wash ashore after storms.

Today’s task demands my full attention: finishing my annual contribution to the Seacliff Haven Christmas Market auction. Each year, I create a signature piece to benefit the local marine conservation fund—Dad’s legacy. This year’s creation is my most ambitious yet: a three-foot driftwood star, meticulously assembled from pieces Dad and I collected during our final beach walks together.

I run my fingers along the smooth contours of the central piece—a curved length of maple that had once been part of an old sailing vessel, or so Dad claimed. His stories hovered somewhere between fact and coastal legend, but that was part of his charm. The townspeople of Seacliff Haven still talk about Samuel Lane with reverence. He was the environmental warrior who kept developers from turning our little slice of Rhode Island paradise into a row of impersonal condominiums.

The bell above my shop door jingles. Finn trots across the room with surprising grace for his size as Klara Hodge enters.

“My goodness, Finn! Still the most handsome gentleman in town,” Klara laughs. She’s balancing a cardboard tray with two large to-go cups. “I come bearing gifts, so please don’t knock them to the floor with those impressive paws of yours.”

Klara owns K’s Korner Kafé next door. Our morning coffee ritual has been intact since I opened my shop. Finn circles Klara regally as she navigates toward my workbench. Her silver-streaked hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and flour dusts the front of her apron.

“Peppermint mocha with extra whip,” she announces, placing one cup beside my tools. “You look like you needed the extra sugar boost today. That star is coming along beautifully, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I say and accept the cup. The first sip sends warmth through me. “I was up until two working on it. The auction’s only four days away, and I still need to secure these outer points and add the sea glass accents.”

Klara leans in to examine the star. Her reading glasses are perched on the tip of her nose. “Samuel would be proud, honey. It captures everything he loved about this place.”

My throat tightens unexpectedly. “That’s the idea. Each piece comes from a specific beach walk we took together that last year. This one,” I point to a silver-gray fragment, “is from Lighthouse Point, the day we spotted that family of seals.”

“I remember you two coming into the café afterward, soaking wet and laughing about how one of the seals had splashed you.” Klara smiles. “He always said you had his eye for finding treasure in what others would dismiss as junk.”

“Driftwood whispers stories if you know how to listen,” I quote. It was Dad’s favorite saying, one he’d repeat as we’d comb the beaches after winter storms.

Klara squeezes my shoulder. It’s a comforting gesture I’ve come to rely on more than I’d like to admit. “Well, this star is going to fetch a pretty penny at the auction. Half the town is already buzzing about it.”

“Including Sid Gillespie, I assume?” I can’t keep the edge out of my voice.

Klara rolls her eyes. “Sid stopped in for coffee this morning. He mentioned that his piece for the auction is, and I quote, ‘going to make everyone forget Marnie Lane’s sentimental trinkets.’”

Irritation rises in my chest. Sid Gillespie, owner of The Lighthouse Gallery and my chief rival in all things driftwood, has been trying to outshine me since I opened my shop. His elaborate sculptures certainly draw attention, but they lack the connection to Seacliff Haven’s spirit that I try to infuse in every piece I create. At least, that’s what I tell myself when his prices soar above mine.

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Rye – Nashville Nights Read Online Heidi McLaughlin http://www.ilovenovels.com/rye-nashville-nights-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Thu, 25 Dec 2025 22:02:57 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/rye-nashville-nights-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Genre: Alpha Male Authors: Heidi McLaughlin Series: Series by Heidi McLaughlin
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Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

Rye Hayes has built the perfect walls around her heart—and for good reason. Ten years ago, a musician boyfriend left her with nothing. Now she manages Nashville's most respected songwriter venue, raising her daughter Lily and keeping "rock tourists" at arm's length.

Darian Mercer's fifteen-year career just imploded. His best friend and business partner betrayed him, leaving Darian with nothing but a legal mess and a one-way ticket to Nashville. Trading rock arenas for intimate songwriter rounds feels like starting over at thirty-four—if he can convince the skeptical venue manager to give him a chance.

When Darian performs, his raw honesty and authentic songs catch Rye off guard. Despite her better judgment, she offers him a regular slot. He's nothing like the selfish musician who abandoned her.

As their professional collaboration deepens, Darian's vengeful ex-partner arrives in Nashville with lawyers and a plan for revenge. Industry pressure mounts, custody of Lily becomes threatened, and Rye must choose between the life she's built and the risky promise of love.

Can a woman who's sworn off musicians trust her heart to a man whose ex-partner will stop at nothing to destroy him?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

darian

. . .

Nashville needs to be added to the list of cities that never sleep. It’s three in the morning, and the streets are alive–literally with the sound of music–and it doesn’t look like anyone is heading home soon.

I wait at the stoplight with my blinker on and my new–and hopefully temporary–home looming to my left. Rattlesnake Guitars is home to one of the best guitar teachers ever, according to my brother-in-law, Levi. Upstairs, there are two apartments. One for said teacher, Benny, and the other for wayward lost souls like myself.

A song . . . my song . . . A Reverend Sister song comes on the radio. The melody of “Broken Satellite” plays through the speakers of my car. It’s a song I wrote after watching my sister go through the most hellish experience of her life. We recorded it because I thought it would be cathartic for her. It wasn’t. The label screwed her over and made her choose between the band and her new boyfriend.

Love won out. As it always should.

A horn sounds behind me, so I take my foot off the brake and make the turn, and then turn into the back parking lot where Benny instructed me to park. It’s dark, desolate, and the type of place your parents warned you about. I swear, if I hear a bottle skid across the pavement or shatter, I’m out of here.

Shutting the car off, I sit there and stare at the darkened building. Off in the distance, streetlights flicker, and I can see the distinct glow of neon lights. I grab my duffel bag from the backseat and step out into the humid Nashville air. The metal fire escape clangs under my boots as I climb to the second-floor apartment that’s supposed to be my fresh start. I toe the doormat aside and bend to pick up the key left by Benny.

The key sticks in the lock, then turns with a grudging click. The door swings open to reveal a space that could charitably be called cozy. One room serves as a living area, bedroom, and office. A narrow galley kitchen connects to a bathroom barely large enough for a shower. But two massive windows face east, and when I flip the light switch, warm yellow bulbs illuminate hardwood floors that have seen decades of wear.

Zara has already moved most of my stuff in. Boxes labeled in her neat handwriting stack against one wall: Kitchen, Books, Darian’s Emotional Baggage (trust my sister to use humor as a coping mechanism). My guitar, the one I couldn’t fit in my car, leans against the far wall where the morning light will hit it in a few hours.

I set my bag down and pull out my phone, scrolling through seventeen missed calls from numbers I don’t recognize. Music blogs want to interview me about my next adventure. A&R reps sniffing around to see if I’m available for session work.

I unpack my 1972 Martin D-28 first, running my fingers along the worn finish where my arm has rubbed against the body for fifteen years. She’s traveled from dive bars in Bakersfield to sold-out amphitheaters, survived every single tour and more late-night writing sessions than I can count. The guitar holds the weight of every song I’ve ever written, every melody that kept me sane when the music industry tried to grind me down. I sit down in the chair, ignoring everything around me, and begin strumming.

Heavy footsteps echo through the hallway, and then there’s a loud thumping. I check my phone: 615. How did I lose almost three hours? I go to the door and lean against it, much like Zara and I used to do when we were younger and wanted to hear what our parents had to say about us. The thumping stops, but keys jingle, and then there’s the faint sound of a mechanical beeping, which I’m guessing is an alarm system.

I feel in my pocket for my key and head downstairs, each step creaking a different note on the narrow staircase. At the bottom, a glass door marked Private gives way into the guitar shop. I knock, wave, and wait for who I’m assuming is Benny to give me the okay to enter.

The guitar shop spreads out like a musician’s fever dream—vintage Martins and Gibsons hanging from every available wall space, mandolins clustered together like family reunions, a 1965 Fender Telecaster that probably costs more than most people’s cars.

“Morning.” Benny emerges from behind the counter, coffee mug already in hand despite the early hour, and extends his hand to shake mine. He’s maybe sixty, with silver hair and the kind of weathered hands that come from decades of restringing guitars and adjusting neck tension. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“Just got here,” I tell him. I wasn’t supposed to arrive until later, but sleep evaded me at all the hotels Zara booked along the route. Driving calmed me, even though it gave me way too much time to think.

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Whispers from the Lighthouse (Westerly Cove #1) Read Online Heidi McLaughlin http://www.ilovenovels.com/whispers-from-the-lighthouse-westerly-cove-1-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Wed, 19 Nov 2025 18:27:53 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/whispers-from-the-lighthouse-westerly-cove-1-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Genre: Alpha Male Authors: Heidi McLaughlin Series: Westerly Cove Series by Heidi McLaughlin
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Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >108

Some secrets refuse to stay buried . . . even for twenty-five years.

When tourist Melissa Clark vanishes near Westerly Cove's historic lighthouse, Detective Brooks Harrington expects a routine missing person case. Instead, he's paired with Vivienne Hawthorne, a tea shop owner who claims her family can speak to the dead.

The case mirrors a twenty-five-year-old mystery—teenage Lily Morgan, who disappeared while researching the same lighthouse. Both women were asking dangerous questions about the town's buried secrets.

Vivienne's visions reveal corruption deeper than anyone imagined, but skeptical Brooks believes in evidence, not psychic abilities—until her insights lead him to clues logic couldn't uncover.

Racing against time, they must navigate their growing attraction while confronting enemies determined to keep Westerly Cove's darkest secrets buried forever

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

vivienne

Saltwater soaked through Vivienne Hawthorne’s nightgown and dripped from her hair onto her pillow. Seaweed clung to the sheets. Three parallel scratches marked her forearm—wounds from a drowning woman’s grip that existed only in visions but left real blood on her skin. Her lungs burned with phantom brine. When she coughed, seawater spattered across her palm.

“Not again.” She touched the scratches. The vision had torn through her while she slept, violent enough to scar her body.

Beyond her window, the structure stood on its rocky cliff. October fog had blanketed Westerly Cove for three days, carrying whispers in voices only she could hear—fragments of pleas and warnings that made her skull ache. At its peak, three ravens perched in perfect symmetry. Death was circling closer.

She moved through her apartment above The Mystic Cup, checking the protective barriers. The salt line at the eastern window had been disturbed—a thin break where restless spirits had tested it during the night. Vivienne repaired the line with fresh sea salt, whispering the old words her grandmother had taught her. The iron nails in the doorframes showed tarnish marks from recent spiritual activity that grew stronger each night.

In the kitchen, she prepared chamomile tea. Three drops of blessed water went into the steaming cup. “Grant me clarity to see what must be seen, strength to bear what must be borne.” The ritual centered her energy after intense visions. Without it, otherworldly messages would drain her for hours.

The sight had manifested when she was eleven. Twenty-five years of learning to work with it. The Hawthorne women had served Westerly Cove through the centuries, each finding her own way to use the gift. Her mother had struggled with it until the burden became too much. Vivienne would find a way to honor her family’s legacy while maintaining her own wellbeing.

“What are you trying to tell me?” The spirits communicated best when approached with patience and respect. As a pre-teen, standing on these same cliffs, she’d witnessed her first death echo—a sailor walking into the sea, his body already recovered miles down the coast. The vision had exhausted her for days but had brought closure to his family.

Grandmother Emmeline had called it “the sight” and taught Vivienne that the dead communicated in fragments and whispers, in sensations and prophetic dreams. Each generation manifested it differently. Great-grandmother Josephine had visions through water that helped prevent maritime disasters. Grandmother Emmeline could read impressions from objects. Vivienne’s mother, Cordelia, had heard the dead singing—beautiful at first, but eventually overwhelming.

The gift demanded respect and careful boundaries.

The antique grandfather clock in the hallway chimed seven times. The Mystic Cup needed to be open by eight, and Tuesday mornings brought the book club ladies craving her specialty lavender scones and readings.

Vivienne set her teacup down and rose to prepare for the day. At thirty-six, she’d learned to embrace her role as Westerly Cove’s resident medium.

The Hawthorne family had anchored this town since before anyone called it Westerly Cove. Most locals accepted Vivienne’s abilities, even if they couldn’t fully understand them. Some sought her for readings, others for her baked goods, and a few simply to gawk at the “witch,” as Mrs. Mary Pennington from the historical society still whispered behind her back. Mrs. Pennington’s own great-aunt had consulted Emmeline Hawthorne for communion with her departed husband.

This latest vision pulsed with different energy—urgent, persistent. The girl within the structure demanded to be found. Unease settled in Vivienne’s stomach. Time was running out.

Resigned, she dressed in a deep teal dress that brought out her distinctive eyes—another Hawthorne legacy stamped on every female in the family line. Eyes that seemed to look beyond the present moment into realms where truth waited. She pulled her wavy auburn hair into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder, securing it with a silver clip that had belonged to her grandmother. Around her neck, she fastened the silver pendant containing a small piece of lighthouse stone that Emmeline had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Today, it hummed against her skin, responding to spiritual activity in the area.

Her heeled boots clicked on the old wooden steps as she descended the narrow staircase from her apartment. The massive Victorian building that housed both her apartment and The Mystic Cup had been a Hawthorne birthright, passed down through generations of women who had all served as bridges between the living and the dead.

Before unlocking the shop, Vivienne stepped out the back door into the garden. The morning air carried autumn’s bite. The garden overflowed with herbs both medicinal and spiritually beneficial. Rosemary for remembrance, lavender for peace, mugwort for enhancing psychic dreams, sage for cleansing. She gathered a few sprigs of fresh rosemary and lavender for the day’s baking.

Through the shop’s bay windows, Harbor Street was just beginning to stir, lights appearing in windows of other centuries-old homes.

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Curse in the Quarter (Bourbon Street Shadows #1) Read Online Heidi McLaughlin http://www.ilovenovels.com/curse-in-the-quarter-bourbon-street-shadows-1-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Thu, 25 Sep 2025 16:04:27 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/curse-in-the-quarter-bourbon-street-shadows-1-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal Authors: Heidi McLaughlin Series: Bourbon Street Shadows Series by Heidi McLaughlin
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Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >115

A cursed man. A haunted city. A love that defies lifetimes.

When fallen angel Bastien Durand walks the rain-soaked streets of New Orleans, he carries more than just the weight of his past—he carries the memory of a love that has haunted him for over a century. Working as a supernatural investigator in the French Quarter, he's learned to live with ghosts, both literal and otherwise.

But when ancient magic begins stirring in the shadows and familiar melodies drift through the night air, Bastien realizes his greatest torment may also be his salvation. A brilliant librarian with eyes he's never forgotten holds the key to secrets that span lifetimes, though she has no memory of the souls she's carried before.

As supernatural factions clash and the veil between worlds grows thin, Bastien must navigate treacherous magic, old enemies, and the devastating possibility that some curses are stronger than death itself. In a city where the past never truly dies, he'll discover that love—and loss—can echo across centuries.

But awakening the truth may cost him everything he's fought to protect.

A moody, slow-burn paranormal mystery set in a New Orleans where demons, witches, and fae itself walk unseen among the living.

Curse in the Quarter is the first book in the Bourbon Street Shadows series

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

NEW ORLEANS, 1906

The gas lamps cast dancing shadows along Royal Street as Bastien walked beside Delia through the humid November night. Their footsteps echoed against cobblestones still damp from the afternoon rain, and the air carried the mingled scents of jasmine, coffee, and the Mississippi River that wound its way through the heart of the city like an ancient serpent.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” Delia observed, her gloved hand tucked into the crook of his arm. “Even for my mysterious guardian.”

Bastien’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around the small velvet box in his coat pocket. Three months he’d carried it, waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect words. Tonight felt different—charged with possibility and the kind of hope that made even a fallen angel believe in second chances.

“Perhaps I’m simply enjoying the silence,” he replied, though his voice carried none of its usual steady confidence. “It’s not often we have the Quarter to ourselves.”

She laughed, the sound bright as cathedral bells. “Liar. You’re planning something. I can always tell when your mind is working through possibilities.” Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief in the lamplight. “You get this little crease right here.” She reached up with her free hand to touch the space between his brows.

The gesture was casual, intimate, born of months of such small familiarities. Yet it stopped him in his tracks. How could she know him so well when she didn’t know him at all? When the truth of what he was remained locked behind careful lies and half-spoken explanations?

“Delia.” Her name came out rougher than he intended.

“Yes?”

“What would you say if I told you there were things about me that might . . . surprise you?”

They had stopped beneath a wrought iron balcony draped with Spanish moss. The boarding house where she lived was still two blocks away, but Bastien found himself reluctant to continue. Once they reached her door, she would climb those narrow stairs to her small room, and he would walk alone through the empty streets as he had for decades before her.

“I would say that I already know you’re not entirely human,” she said simply.

The words hit him like cold water. His hand fell away from his pocket, and for a moment, the careful masks he wore threatened to slip entirely.

“Delia—”

“Oh, don’t look so stricken.” She stepped closer, her skirts rustling against the cobblestones. “Did you think I hadn’t noticed? The way you appear at precisely the moment I need you. How you seem to know things you shouldn’t know? How you never age, never change, while months pass around us?”

“Some truths are too dangerous,” he managed.

“And some truths,” she countered, “are the only things that make life worth living.”

Her hands found his face, drawing him down until their foreheads nearly touched. In the amber glow of the gas lamp, she looked like something from a Renaissance painting—all golden light and dark shadows, beautiful and ephemeral and utterly human.

“I don’t need to understand everything about you to know that I love you,” she whispered. “I’ve loved you since that first night when you found me lost in the fog near the cathedral. I loved you when you sat with me through my fever last winter, when you brought me books you claimed to have ‘found’ but I know you bought especially for me. I love the way you listen to my terrible piano playing as if it were opera, and how you always know exactly what to say when the world feels too large and too cruel.”

The ring box felt impossibly heavy in his pocket. This moment—this perfect, honest moment—was everything he’d dreamed of. All he had to do was speak.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he began.

But before he could continue, she had begun to hum.

The melody was simple, barely more than a handful of notes, but it wrapped around his heart like silk cord. She hummed it often while she worked, while she walked, while she sat reading by her window. It was uniquely hers—a little unconscious song that seemed to rise from some deep well of contentment.

“That tune,” he said, momentarily derailed. “Where did you learn it?”

“I don’t know.” She looked puzzled. “I’ve always known it, I think. My mother used to say I hummed it even as a baby.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “Strange. I never told you that before, did I?”

“No,” he said quietly. “You didn’t.”

But he would remember it forever. Every note, every gentle rise and fall of her voice. It would follow him through decades, through other cities and another life, an echo of this moment when everything seemed possible.

They resumed walking, her humming trailing behind them like a benediction. The boarding house came into view—a narrow three-story building squeezed between a bakery and a milliner’s shop. Mrs. Thibodeau kept respectable rooms for working women, and Delia’s was on the second floor, facing the courtyard.

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The Temporary Wife Read Online Heidi McLaughlin http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-temporary-wife-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Wed, 09 Jul 2025 19:15:11 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-temporary-wife-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Heidi McLaughlin Advertisement

Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >35

When single dad Colby Marshall faces the unthinkable, his ex threatening to take sole custody of their son, he knows he'll do anything to protect his family. Even if it means asking the one woman who's always been off-limits to marry him in a last-ditch effort to prove his best friend, Gianna Stapleton.

Gianna's been Colby's rock for years through heartbreak, bad breakups, and late-night calls that were almost something more. But she's also fiercely independent, with no plans to settle down. Saying yes to a fake marriage wasn't in her plans, but the moment she slips that ring on her finger, the line between friendship and forever starts to blur.

As their carefully constructed facade becomes something far too real, they'll have to decide if the risk is worth it and if their hearts can survive falling for the one person they were never supposed to lose

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Colby

The papers landed on my workbench like a slap to the face.

I’d been running my hand along the grain of a custom dining table, checking for imperfections, when my phone buzzed. Lyla’s name flashed across the screen, and I’d made the mistake of answering. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Check your email, Colby. I’m done playing games.”

The line went dead before I could ask what the hell she meant. I wiped sawdust from my hands and pulled up my email, squinting at the screen through my protective eyewear. The subject line made my blood run cold: Petition for Modification of Custody Agreement.

My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the legal document. Words jumped out at me like accusations: unstable environment, inconsistent caregiving, lack of proper family structure. Lyla wanted full custody of Luca.

She wanted to take my son away from me.

I sank onto the wooden stool I’d built three years ago. The same week Lyla had walked out, leaving Luca behind so she could find herself. My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe.

Six years old.

Luca was only six years old, and she wanted to rip him away from the only stable home he’d ever known.

The workshop door creaked open, and afternoon sunlight streamed in. “Dad?”

Luca stood in the doorway, his dark hair sticking up in twelve different directions, just like mine did when I forgot to comb it. He wore his favorite Spider-Man shirt, the one with a small hole near the left shoulder that I kept meaning to throw away but couldn’t bring myself to touch. Lyla would have replaced it months ago.

“Hey, buddy.” I forced a smile and minimized the email screen. “Just working on Mrs. Henderson’s table. What’s up?”

He shuffled closer, his mismatched socks—one blue, one green—sliding across the concrete floor. “What time am I going to Miss Kay’s?”

Shit. I’d completely forgotten about dinner with my best friend and confidant, Gianna. We’d planned to try that new Italian place downtown, just the two of us for once. Luca was supposed to stay with my neighbor, Kay Redman, but I’d been so consumed with work and then the custody papers that everything else had fled my mind.

“Yeah, I forgot,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Did you finish your homework?”

“Yep. Math was easy. Reading . . .” He scrunched up his face. “There were big words.”

“We’ll work on those tonight.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Seven-thirty. Gianna had probably been waiting at the restaurant for an hour. “Go wash up for dinner. I’ll make us some mac and cheese.”

Luca brightened. “The kind with the little hot dogs?”

“The kind with the little hot dogs,” I said gleefully.

He raced back toward the door, which led into our kitchen, and I was alone again with the weight of Lyla’s ultimatum. I read through the petition once more, my anger building with each page. She claimed I worked too many hours, that Luca spent too much time with “inappropriate caregivers”—a not-so-subtle dig at Mrs. Redman and Gianna. She painted me as an absent father who prioritized his business over his son.

It was all bullshit, but I knew how these things worked. Lyla had money, connections, and the natural advantage of being Luca’s mother. What did I have? A woodworking business that required long hours, a support system she could dismiss as inadequate, and a track record of failed relationships.

My phone rang again. Gianna’s name appeared on the screen, and guilt twisted in my stomach.

“Hey,” I answered, trying to sound normal.

“Colby Marshall, you stood me up.” Her voice carried that teasing tone she used when she was half-annoyed, half-worried. “I ordered appetizers and everything. The waiter kept giving me pitying looks.”

“I’m sorry, G. Something came up.”

The silence stretched between us. Gianna knew me too well. She could hear the strain in my voice, the careful way I was choosing my words.

“I’m coming over,” she said.

“You don’t have to⁠—”

“I’m already in my car.”

The line went dead. That was Gianna for you. She was stubborn as hell when she thought someone needed her help. It was one of the things I loved about her, even when it drove me crazy.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and headed into the house. Luca had already set the table, complete with paper napkins folded into uneven triangles. The sight made my chest ache. This was our life. Simple, imperfect, but filled with love. How could Lyla claim it wasn’t enough?

The macaroni boiled on the stove when Gianna’s car pulled into the driveway. Through the kitchen window, I watched her climb out of her beat-up Honda, her long chestnut hair catching the porch light. She wore one of those flowing dresses she favored, something soft and green that made her hazel eyes look like forest pools.

She let herself in without knocking. She’d been doing that for years and Luca launched himself at her before she could close the door.

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The Road to Forever – Beaumont – Next Generation Read Online Heidi McLaughlin http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-road-to-forever-beaumont-next-generation-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Wed, 09 Jul 2025 19:14:38 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-road-to-forever-beaumont-next-generation-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Genre: Alpha Male Authors: Heidi McLaughlin Advertisement

Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

Quinn James thought he had his life figured out. Successful rock band, sold-out tours, and a future mapped out in front of him. But sometimes life has other plans.

When Sinful Distraction embarks on their biggest tour yet, Quinn finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about love, loyalty, and what he really wants.

As the miles roll by and the music takes on new meaning, Quinn discovers that the road between where you are and where you’re meant to be isn’t always straight. Some detours lead to dead ends. Others lead to destinations you never saw coming.

Sometimes the best songs come from the most unexpected places. And sometimes the road to forever starts with a single choice to let go of the past

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

ONE

My dad has always said the ocean cures all. Any other time, I would agree, but I’m not sure surfing, the waves, or the salt air can cure what I’m feeling.

Lost.

Sad.

Hurt.

Confused.

The water, beach, and sand aren’t going to make any of those emotions go away, nor can it fix them. It doesn’t matter how many times I take my board out, I still feel like my life is falling apart. The only thing the Pacific does for me is give me an escape from reality.

Even my music has suffered. Although, my sister Elle says lately I’m writing the best songs I ever have. I suppose this is the bonus of watching the woman you’re in love with slip away from you.

I don’t know how else to describe what’s going on between Nola and me. Lately, it seems like I’m pushing her to do something she doesn’t want to do—marry me. I want to set a date, marry her, and start a family. I know long engagements are a thing, but I feel like there’s no end in sight. She wants to get married back home, which I totally understand, and don’t fault her for. My family can and will travel. They’re the only ones I would want at the wedding anyway. Them, and my band.

The one aspect of the ceremony I don’t agree on is not having my sisters in the wedding. It’s not something I can get behind. I thought for sure Nola would understand, being as she has siblings, but she’s told me her bridal attendants are already planned. I honestly don’t understand how she can’t add the twins. They’re important to me.

I often wonder if she’s jealous of Peyton and Elle.

Or maybe it’s something else.

Maybe she’s still in contact with my half sister.

I shudder at the thought. Nola promised, swore up and down, she had no idea her roommate was my half sister. I believe her now, but at the time, I had my reservations.

Earlier this evening, Nola and I went over to visit with my sisters and their spouses, who happen to be two of my closest friends. We normally go over a lot when it’s not football season because it gives us all a chance to visit. I get to see Elle all the time, but when Noah is with the team, he and Peyton live in Portland, Oregon most of the time. Sure, I go up for some of his games, but it’s not the same. I love sitting around and shooting the shit with the guys and giving my sisters crap.

Tonight, something was off with Nola. I felt it long before we arrived. I made a comment about us getting a dog, which she didn’t like, and then the tension peaked when it slipped, I’d be heading out on tour soon. I know it’s my fault for not telling her, but honestly, she didn’t have the best time during the last tour. I don’t know if it was life on the bus or what. Each place we visited, I tried to do the tourist thing so we could see some sights together and make new memories, but after a bit, she didn’t even want to leave the bus.

Of course, it didn’t help that I told my sisters Nola loved being on tour. They’re used to this life. Nola isn’t. At times, I forget this and had assumed she didn’t mind traveling in a bus. My bad for not pestering her for the truth. But also, she knew this was my life when we started dating. It’s not like my career suddenly took off. She’s been with me from the start.

Mention of the tour set something off in Nola. She left Peyton’s, opting to take an Uber home. Part of me wonders if I should’ve followed her, but another part of me told her she needed her space. I let everyone believe what Nola told Peyton—that she had homework.

Noah didn’t believe shit. I might have confided in him about the strain in my relationship, but not with my sisters there. I know the twins well enough to know Peyton would try to fix things and Elle would make sure . . . well, I don’t want to even think about what Elle might do. Ever since Ben’s cancer diagnosis, she’s changed a lot but is still protective of her family.

After leaving my sister’s, I drive around for a bit instead of going right home. Nola hasn’t called or texted asking where I am or when I’m coming home. Maybe she doesn’t care or maybe she truly did have homework and is studying. Either way, I hate this feeling of dread building inside of me.

This is a new development in our years-long relationship, the fighting and tension. I don’t know what changed, but there’s been a wedge between us since the start of the year. I thought I could ignore it, but after what happened earlier in front of Noah, I’m not sure I can anymore. The way she acted—storming out like that—it was embarrassing.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

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The Art of Starting Over Read Online Heidi McLaughlin http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-art-of-starting-over-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Wed, 12 Feb 2025 07:22:24 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-art-of-starting-over-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Suspense Authors: Heidi McLaughlin Advertisement

Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

In this journey from first love to second chances, New York Times bestselling author Heidi McLaughlin brings a single mom and a widower back home to renew the spark that will light their way forward.

Devorah Campbell’s life falls apart under the pressure of one truth: her husband is having an affair with her best friend. So Devorah packs up her daughter and their shared heartbreak for small-town Oyster Bay, where she grew up. Her relationship with her father is still on the rocks, but Devorah has her brother there—and, unexpectedly, her brother’s best friend.

Hayden McKenna lost his wife a year ago and has struggled with single fatherhood ever since. Moving back home with his son is a last but best resort, a chance to start fresh, surrounded by family and old friends. But when Hayden runs into Devorah, his childhood crush, sparks fly as bright as ever. If only he could make her see them too…

Amid a swirl of hurt and healing, Devorah and Hayden grow closer, rekindling what they had all those years ago to discover that, sometimes, a new start means going back to the beginning.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

One

Devorah

There’s a moment in everyone’s life when their world crumbles around them. For Devorah Campbell, her moment came while she sat in a nail salon, getting a pedicure and scrolling through her phone on one of those popular vlogging apps.

She thought of her nine-year-old daughter, Maren, who was addicted to the videos, always laughing, dancing, and begging her parents to let her have an account. Devorah and her husband of fifteen years, Chad, had banned social media from their home. They felt that, while social media had some advantages, they didn’t outweigh the negatives for an impressionable young woman like Maren. To appease her daughter, Devy had signed up with one of those user1227985812426 numbers, left the profile and bio blank, and allowed Maren to watch on her phone. Together, they followed their favorite actors, actresses, musicians, and vloggers. A few fun accounts were mixed in from some of Maren’s classmates and Dev’s best friend, Ester.

While her favorite nail tech, Kristin, painted her toes hot pink, Devy moved her thumb up the screen to switch the video. She smiled when Ester’s newest video came on the screen, and she popped her earbud in so she could listen to what she had to say. She was always talking about their homeowners’ association drama, which they had quite a bit of—the “Don’t let your springtime lawn get over an inch and a half, or Nicole, the overzealous HOA president, will come knocking on your door” sort of thing.

“Am I the asshole? Ugh, I am. I truly am. I did the unthinkable, and I don’t know what I should do.” Ester sighed and shook her head. “I’ve been having an affair with my best friend’s husband, and I’m in love with him, and he loves me. I don’t know what I’m going to do when my best friend comes to me after her husband leaves her. What am I going to say?”

Devy’s heart hit her stomach and didn’t bounce back into place. Tears filled her eyes. She was Ester’s best friend. They had been since college and now lived one block away from each other, living the suburban mom life with PTA meetings, school plays, and whatever sport their kids were involved with. She’d held her hand when Ester’s husband filed for divorce. Ester’s daughter, Rita, was Maren’s best friend. They often spent the night at each other’s houses, sat next to each other on the bus and in class, and were generally inseparable.

Was Devorah the best friend?

Was Chad the other man?

She didn’t know what to do or what to think. The video started again, and Devy found herself listening to the words on repeat. Each time stung more than the next. There was no way Chad would ever cheat on her. They were happy and in love, high school sweethearts who went away to college together and never looked back on their small ocean-side hometown. Most of their classmates stayed, working in various family businesses or joining fishing or boating charters. Jobs neither she nor Chad wanted. Nor did they want the small-town life for Maren. They wanted her to experience life and go to school with more than ten kids. They wanted her to have more than they’d had.

After they graduated from Northwestern, Chad took a job in finance, while Devy went to work as an estate curator. She loved going into homes, especially older ones, and helping families liquidate their possessions. Her job was fun and never stressful, even when she had to work on weekends. The job, and her career, brought her a lot of satisfaction, and it allowed her time to always be present for Maren and whatever activity she had going on.

Ester’s voice brought Devy back from her reverie. She shook her head and looked at her friend’s face, frozen on her screen. She didn’t look sad, upset, or distraught. Shouldn’t she be, if she was having an affair with her best friend’s husband?

Chad would never do this to her. Nor could she fathom Ester being so classless as to make a video about their affair and put it online. Were people inherently evil? Devy had seen some truly nasty things on the internet, but this one took the cake, and she couldn’t stomach thinking this was about her.

“Devorah, please don’t move,” her nail tech said.

“Kristin, I need to go.”

“You’re almost done,” she said. “Five more minutes.”

Five minutes seemed like a lifetime. She sat there, with her phone clutched in her hand, while Kristin put the last coat of polish on her toes. One more drying cycle and she’d be free to go.

To where, Devy had no idea. She couldn’t do anything irrational, like burst into her husband’s office and ask if he was having an affair, or do the same at Ester’s office, demanding to know why she would post such a horrible video for someone to find. And if it wasn’t Chad, then why would Ester say “best friend” in her video?

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

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Sail Away with Me – Seaport Read Online Heidi McLaughlin http://www.ilovenovels.com/sail-away-with-me-seaport-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Tue, 28 Jan 2025 08:14:55 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/sail-away-with-me-seaport-read-online-heidi-mclaughlin Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Heidi McLaughlin Advertisement

Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >76

Embark on a captivating seaside romance by Heidi McLaughlin, the New York Times bestselling author of Forever My The Motion Picture. Experience the magic of a beachside romance, where love and adventure collide against the picturesque backdrop of Seaport. When Sail's reckless lifestyle catches up with him, his father forces him to return to his hometown of Seaport for the summer. Determined to pay off his debts, Sail plans to win a high-stakes sailing competition and return to his party-filled Miami lifestyle. However, everything changes when he meets Galvin at her father's diner. Sparks fly instantly, but their differing circumstances threaten to pull them apart.As Sail and Galvin spend their days sailing the open waters and their nights exploring Seaport, their connection deepens. Sail is determined to make Galvin fall in love with him, while Galvin tries to guard her heart against the inevitable goodbye. Can their love overcome the challenges of their conflicting lives?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

sail

. . .

Sail Carter groaned and rolled over to push his face into his pillow. The motion had his stomach performing a ten out of ten gymnastics routine. He sat up quickly, regretting it instantly when he felt his temples threaten to explode and his forehead pound so hard he thought someone was stepping on his head.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he hung his head below his knees. Blindly, he reached for the small garbage can he kept next to his bed. He opened one eye and peered at it, making sure it was in the right location before he heaved the liquid contents of his stomach into it. When nothing came, he stood gingerly, testing his weight on the balls of his heels before traversing the mess on his bedroom floor.

His hand touched the knob of his door, twisting the metal until the latch released. Sail pulled his door open, hard. Much harder than he needed and smacked the corner of the door into his bare toe. He cursed again and leaned into the wall for support as he made his way down the hall to the bathroom.

Sail slumped against the door for support. He thought about knocking, but the idea left his brain as fast as it had entered. He twisted the doorknob, fell into the bathroom, and collapsed in a heap on the cold tile, and likely dirty, floor.

The cold felt good though, and the idea of moving made him queasy. Sail either needed to puke the alcohol up or find food. A plate of greasy hash browns would do the trick, along with a strong cup of black coffee.

Sail stared at the toilet, the walls, and then shook his head. He was a mess, and the new school year had just started. He hadn’t gone back to Seaport over the summer, opting to stay in Miami and party.

The three Bs of the summer had been everything he’d hoped for: beaches, babes, and boats. The fourth b—booze—was an added luxury as far as he was concerned. He and his friends had spent every day lounging on a friend's yacht, either docked or out in the water, just beyond the reach of the average swimmer. Besides, there were sharks in the water there, and it was never safe for someone to swim that far out. When the month of August reared its ugly head, everyone agreed they’d slow down.

They hadn’t.

The partying increased, especially when the freshman arrived.

Sail’s hand combed over the tile floor in search of his phone. He was certain he had a class to get to, but when he tried to remember which one, his mind was fuzzy. Hell, he couldn’t even recall what day of the week it was and for all he knew, it was Saturday, and he could go back to bed.

A fist pounded on the door. “Hurry up, man. I gotta shit,” the voice on the other side said.

“I’m in the shower. Go downstairs.” The throbbing intensified. He held his head in his hands and groaned. A shower would help wake him up, then he’d get some coffee, and head to class.

Sail turned, leaned over the tub, and turned the water on. While it ran, he splashed his face with the cool water and then slapped his cheek twice to get himself moving. When another fist pounded on the door, Sail hauled his ass up.

At least to sit on the edge of the tub.

“I’m naked.” He warned whichever of his fraternity brothers was at the door. Thankfully, they didn’t knock again, which gave Sail a bit of a reprieve. He stood, looked at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror, and wondered just how fucked up he got last night. The last thing he remembered was doing a keg stand and someone betting him a hundred dollars. For what? He had no clue and also had no idea if he won or lost.

He undressed and stepped into the shower. The water felt good and did its job to wake him up a bit. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he’d struggle through the day though. Sail stood under the water for a long time contemplating life. His head hurt, his stomach was sour, and he had zero desire to do anything.

After washing his hair and body, he felt slightly better. He could at least face the day and its challenges without giving up right away. Sail rinsed off the soap, got out and dried off. He picked his clothes up off the floor without falling over, which was a win in his book this morning. When he opened the bathroom door, he expected to find a line of men holding themselves and doing the potty dance, but the hall was empty.

Back in his room, he surveyed the mess on the floor. He had only moved back in a couple of weeks ago and already the mess was out of control. Among the pile of dirty clothes were his books, takeout cartons, and beer cans. He picked up a shirt, scrunched his nose, and let it drop from his hand. Thankfully, Sail found a clean pair of boxers—at least he hoped they were clean—a pair of shorts and a shirt that looked and smelled okay.

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