Cherry Lane (Huckleberry Bay #3.5) Read Online Kristen Proby

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Novella Tags Authors: Series: Huckleberry Bay Series by Kristen Proby

Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)

From New York Times and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author Kristen Proby comes an all-new small town romance set in her beloved Huckleberry Bay series, Cherry Lane!

Sometimes, love is waiting in the most unexpected of places.

Zeke Cross is a big city guy who finds himself living in the smallest town on the face of the earth, running an auto repair shop with his best friend. Not just running, but owning. He’s not used to sleepy little towns. He craves noise, excitement, and people. And yet, he’s grown to love the town of Huckleberry Bay, and the people who have welcomed him into the fold. Almost everyone has been kind and accepting of the outsider.

Everyone except Cherry Dubois.

Cherry is a small town girl, and she misses the sleepy community from her childhood. Now, her home is overrun by move-ins, who seem hell-bent on bringing big city ideals to her little town, and ruining what she’s always had. Her neighbor, Zeke, is the most annoying of all, with his loud music and arrogant attitude. How is she supposed to think when he’s around? Sure, he’s handsome, but that almost makes it worse.

Then Cherry needs Zeke’s help, and she finds out that the big city guy isn’t all that bad, especially when he has his hands on her and makes her forget all the reasons why she doesn’t like him. But at the end of the day, will she be able to trust this man to stay for good, or will her worst fears come true?

**Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**

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One Thousand and One Dark Nights

Once upon a time, in the future…

I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.

I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and

the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast

library at my father’s home and collected thousands

of volumes of fantastic tales.

I learned all about ancient races and bygone

times. About myths and legends and dreams of all

people through the millennium. And the more I read

the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered

that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually

become part of them.

I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher

and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I

would not be telling you this tale now.

But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off

with bravery.

One afternoon, curious about the myth of the

Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to

see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar

(Persian: شهريار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then

sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written

and I had read that by the time he met Scheherazade,

the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand


Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived

in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged

places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had

never occurred before and that still to this day, I

cannot explain.

Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have

taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can

protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to

protect herself and stay alive.

Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.

And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a

point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.

And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that

he might hear the rest of my dark tale.

As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new

one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before

you now.



“My new neighbor just pulled in.” I’m on the phone with my best friend, Montana, as I peer through the slats of my blinds, waiting for the driver to hop out of the moving truck below. “I’m hoping for an older lady or someone single. And quiet.”

“You’re an old lady,” Montana replies with a chuckle. “And you’re not even thirty yet. You need to learn to live a little.”

“I work super early in the morning,” I remind her. “And the last people watched old western movies late into the night. It was either that, or there were shoot-outs next door. Either way, it wasn’t fun.”

“I’m hoping it’s someone hot,” Montana replies. “A hot man who’s going to come in there and sweep you off your feet and remind you what it’s like to be young and spontaneous.”

“Was I ever young and spontaneous?”

“It’s not too late to start now. Hey, I’ve got some customers. I’d better go. Keep me posted.”

“Will do. Save some of that huckleberry ice cream for me.”

As I set my phone aside, the moving truck’s door opens, and I hold my breath, waiting.

“What is taking so long?” I mutter. “Step out, damn it. Show yourself.”

It’s hot today, which is unusual for Huckleberry Bay. Being a seaside town, we get a lot of ocean breeze, but the air is still today, and the sun is blazing.

I’m almost sticky.

I could turn on the air-conditioning, but I’m cheap as hell.

Finally, I see a sneaker-clad foot sticking out of the truck, then blue jeans appear.

And then…I sigh as I see that Montana got her wish.

He’s sexy as hell and just upped the temperature in here by ten degrees, making me rethink the air-conditioning situation. I can’t help but notice he has no ring on his finger.

And he fills out a white T-shirt nicely with muscled arms and a chest that begs for a woman’s hands.

He has sunglasses on, aviators at that, so I can’t see his eyes. But his hair is brown, and it’s messy, like he’s been running his hands through it in agitation.

“Shit. He’s hot. Am I going to have to listen to him have sex all the time? I mean, looking like that, he must have women falling at his feet. Or, he’s attached.”

Scowling, I blow out a breath and step back from the blinds, deciding to go down and introduce myself.

I might as well see what I’m getting into with the new neighbor.

Slipping my feet into my old, pink flip-flops, I walk down the stairs to the parking lot and catch Mr. Sexypants as he opens the back of the truck.


He glances at me in surprise and then slowly pulls his glasses down his nose and looks me up and down, a smile spreading over his face.

He’s not hot.

He’s devastating.

“Hi,” he says in reply.

“Are you moving into 2F?”

“That’s me.” He leans back on the truck and folds his arms over his chest. “Am I lucky enough to have you as a neighbor?”