Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Mon, 21 Oct 2024 11:27:26 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Slap Shot Surprise (Cherry Tree Harbor #5) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/slap-shot-surprise-cherry-tree-harbor-5-read-online-melanie-harlow Mon, 21 Oct 2024 11:27:26 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/slap-shot-surprise-cherry-tree-harbor-5-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)

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In my defense, I thought the plane was going to crash.

Otherwise, I never would have blurted out those embarrassing things to a perfect stranger.

Did I mention he turned out to be a scorching hot superstar of professional hockey?

But wait, there’s more.

When the plane lands safely, I rush off, praying I’ll never have to face him again. My luck holds out for less than twenty-four hours, when I realize he’s a groomsman at the wedding I’m attending.

We end up having a drink and a good laugh about my panicked confessions, and when he invites me up to his room for some no-strings-attached fun, I say yes. After all, a headboard rattling one-night stand with a guy who knows how to put the puck in deep isn’t something a bookworm like me ever thought she’d experience.

Neither are those two little pink lines.

Now what’s crashing are all the plans Joe Lupo and I had for our lives–separately.

After all, we’re totally wrong for each other. He’s commitment-phobic and completely focused on his career. And I want to plant roots in my small town–with someone who chooses me.

Love? It’s out of the question.

Until Joe Lupo lines up his shot and aims straight for my heart.

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

ONE

mabel

In my defense, I thought the plane was going down.

Otherwise, I never would have said those things about my sex life to a perfect stranger.

And not just any stranger.

The man in the seat next to me was hot. I don’t mean regular hot. I mean next-level hot. The kind of hot that can momentarily distract you from your pathological fear of flying, which was worse than usual, thanks to terrible summer thunderstorms raging across the Midwest. Flights had been canceled or delayed out of a dozen different airports, including Chicago O’Hare, where I’d spent the last three hours getting more and more anxious about the fundamentals of aviation in general and the effects of thunderstorms on aircraft specifically.

Frantic internet searches had done nothing to quell my nerves.

Already on edge, I’d boarded the plane only to discover that my last-minute upgrade had resulted in my getting a window seat instead of the aisle. I always preferred an aisle seat since it would allow me to reach the nearest exit row more quickly in case of an emergency. Were the perks of first class going to make up for the anxiety I already had about this flight? Gravity wasn’t going to give a shit about my gold member status. People in the posh rows fell out of the sky at the same rate as the people in the back.

My plan had been to ask whoever had seat 3B if they wouldn’t mind switching with me in 3A. Then I’d immediately locate the nearest exit row and plan my evacuation route. However, I’d been struck dumb by the sight of the gorgeous, broad-shouldered guy who’d boarded a few minutes later, walked down the aisle, and stopped at my row. After tucking his roller bag into the overhead bin, he offered me a smile before dropping into 3B.

My heart fluttered. I felt strangely honored, like he’d chosen that seat. Like the cutest, most popular boy in school had gotten on the bus and slid in next to me despite all the other open seats.

He pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen while I stared unabashedly at the chiseled jaw with a hint of stubble, the tousled brown hair, the small scar near his temple.

He wore jeans and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves cuffed, revealing tanned, muscular forearms and a fancy black wristwatch. His legs were long, and I liked the way the denim hugged his thighs. He looked effortlessly sexy and cool.

Glancing down at my own clothes, I took a moment to inwardly bemoan this morning’s choices—I’d come straight from a conference session, so what I had on could loosely be described as business casual, but there was nothing cool or sexy about my camel trousers and pink blouse. Worse, I’d already traded my heels for sneakers and thrown my hair up in a ponytail. I’d worn my glasses instead of my contacts.

The guy stood up again to grab something out of his bag overhead, and I realized there was something familiar about his face. Did I know him from somewhere? I racked my brain, but I couldn’t place him. He was handsome enough to be a movie star, but I didn’t think that was it. Certainly it wasn’t anyone attending the conference I’d been at this week. The Small Museum Association had many smart, passably attractive professionals, but nobody in this guy’s league.

He glanced down and caught me looking at him. It was the perfect opportunity to ask about a seat switch, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Embarrassed, I adjusted my glasses and focused my attention out the window, where heavy sheets of rain were slanting down angrily from dark skies. Lightning flashed, and I sat back abruptly and yanked the strap on my seat belt to tighten it.

Why hadn’t I waited and flown home tomorrow morning? I still would have had plenty of time to make the wedding. Or I could have hopped on a train. Rented a car. Hitchhiked. Anything would have been safer than this airplane!

The hot stranger took his seat again, calmly buckling up. “Looks bad out there, doesn’t it?” He had a nice voice.

I nodded and braved another look at his face. His eyes were midnight blue, his brows thick and dark. I wondered how he got that scar on his temple. He had a second scar, a tiny vertical white line, just above his upper lip. Maybe he’d been in a car accident or something. Or maybe he was a boxer.

I realized I’d been staring at him for too long without speaking. “Yes, it does,” I said, “and unfortunately, I’m—” Hiccup! I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Sorry. I get the hiccups when I’m nervous.”

He laughed, but in a nice way, and handed me one of the little mini bottles of water resting on the armrest between us. “Here. Drink this.”

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Small Town Swoon (Cherry Tree Harbor #4) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/small-town-swoon-cherry-tree-harbor-4-read-online-melanie-harlow Fri, 15 Mar 2024 06:57:44 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/small-town-swoon-cherry-tree-harbor-4-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Forbidden Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >101

Only in the movies does the Hollywood heartthrob fall for the small town diner waitress.

So when Dashiel Buckley returns to Cherry Tree Harbor for a wedding, I’m determined not to let my massive crush on my best friend’s older brother hijack my good sense.

(It happened once before. Do not recommend.)

But when my hand is injured, it’s Dash who steps in at the diner. The moment he realizes I can’t afford to fix my car, he takes care of it. And when he hears about the way my toxic ex treated me, he refuses to let it go.

Now it’s not just his blue eyes and sexy smile that have me swooning, it’s the way he wants to help me. Encourage me. Protect me.

I can’t resist.

Our text messages heat up. Our phone calls melt all my defenses. “Just friends” turns into “just once,” and “just once” becomes a distant memory. Night after night, he warms my bed, my body, and my heart.

But it can’t last.

Our dreams have us on two different paths–Dash wants the lights, camera, action of Hollywood, and I’ll always be a small town girl.

If only I could be his.

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

ONE

dash

“I’m sorry, Dash,” my agent said over the Bluetooth speaker in my car. “You didn’t get the part.”

“They said no?” I asked in disbelief as my SUV inched forward in L.A. traffic. I’d been so sure last week’s audition would finally be a yes. “But it went so well. I thought they really liked me.”

“They did, darling.” Izzie’s tone was soothing. “But they ended up going with a name.”

“I have a name,” I argued.

“Of course you do,” Izzie assured me, because it was her job. “But so far, the only thing your name is associated with is playing Bulge on Malibu Splash. We need to change that.”

I slumped in the driver’s seat as traffic came to a stop again. My agent was right. For the last five years, I’d played the hot but one-dimensional lifeguard on a beach show mostly popular with teenagers. Now that the final season was over, I was eager to move on to meatier, more mature roles. But despite the fact that I was twenty-seven, I couldn’t get a single casting director to see me as a leading man in a big-budget film.

Out the driver’s side window, I saw a billboard for an upcoming spy thriller, the kind of movie I’d give my right arm to be in. “I told you my friend Mike got seen for the next Katherine Carroll project, didn’t I? The wartime drama called All We’ve Lost?”

“Yes, Dashiel. You told me.” Judging by my agent’s tone, I might have mentioned it multiple times.

But I couldn’t help it. Carroll was one of the top directors in the industry, famous for her breathtaking visuals and heart-stopping action sequences. And she often cast lesser-known actors in major roles because she felt the audience’s lack of familiarity with them contributed to an overall sense of unpredictability and tension.

At the moment, I was feeling pretty lesser known.

“I saw the script. The role of Johnny is perfect for me,” I told Izzie as traffic began moving again. “A small-town guy who goes off to fight the war, gets shot and captured, and falls in love with a nurse behind enemy lines. She risks her life to help him escape, and then he risks his to go back for her.”

“Sounds romantic.”

“I can do that kind of part, Izzie.” I easily imagined myself huddled in a trench, nothing to my name but a rifle, a tattered love letter, and the will to survive. “Can you get me an audition?”

Izzie sighed. “You always get the same feedback after reading for those kinds of roles, Dash. They like you, but your work lacks emotional depth.”

The familiar words stung. “I’m working on it, okay? I’m going to sign up for some coaching with that method acting guy.”

“But method acting is about mining your life experiences for strong emotions. You need to connect more to your own feelings.”

“My own feelings are irrelevant,” I insisted. “It’s about the character.”

“You can’t convey the full range of a character’s emotional pain when you refuse to explore your own.”

“I’m not refusing to explore it. I just don’t have any,” I lied. “I’m remarkably well-adjusted.” My emotional pain was nobody’s business. Not my agent’s, not any casting director’s, and certainly not the moviegoing public’s.

“Everyone has emotional pain, Dash. It’s just that some people keep it all buried, and good actors know how to mine it for gold.” Another big sigh. “You know what? I’m not booking any more auditions for you until you agree to a psychic healing with Delphine.”

I suppressed a groan. My agent was always threatening to drag me to her woo-woo friend who cleansed auras or something. She was convinced I had some sort of spiritual black cloud hanging over me. “I don’t need a psychic healing, Izzie. I just need a lucky break.”

“You want to play the sexy, romantic lead in a gritty wartime drama?” my agent pushed. “You want to make people believe you’d risk it all for love? You have to get out there and do it for real, Dash. Right now, you don’t have a place to go to dig into those emotions. You don’t let yourself feel.”

“I feel,” I protested in defense. “I choke up every time I watch Toy Story 3.”

“That is not the same! Have you ever even been in love? Do you know what it’s like to fall for someone so hard you’d put everything on the line to be with her, like that character does?”

“It’s called acting. I want to play the guy who falls in love, not be him.”

“What do you have against love?”

“Nothing! It’s just not for me.” I turned into the gym parking lot. “Love is for older people, Izzie. Like wrinkles. Or gray hair.”

“Are you listening to yourself? No wonder you can’t go deeper with your characters. Your focus is entirely on the surface level.”

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Make-Believe Match (Cherry Tree Harbor #3) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/make-believe-match-cherry-tree-harbor-3-read-online-melanie-harlow Thu, 07 Dec 2023 05:54:55 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/make-believe-match-cherry-tree-harbor-3-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

Fall in love with my enemy? No way.

Marry him to save my family’s struggling ski resort? That’s a different story…

Getting hitched is the only way I can inherit Snowberry Lodge, and I’ll do anything to spare my childhood home from the wrecking ball–even wear Devlin Buckley’s ring on my finger.

Not that I’ll enjoy it.

Sure, he’s charming and handsome, and that no-last-names one night stand we shared ended with a fantastically big bang (I saw stars I hadn’t seen in six months, if you catch my drift).

But I’ll never trust him–he was working for the company trying to bulldoze my life.

Right up until the day he knocked on my door with an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Marry him, and he’ll help me restore my family’s crumbling resort to its former glory–and get revenge on his ex-boss in the process. Once our goals are achieved, we’ll go our separate ways.

It’s temporary. Strictly business. Purely for show.

Until I realize how much I like it when he says "my wife."

Once we’re sharing a last name–and a bed–our make-believe match starts to feel a little too real.

And if I’m not careful, I could lose everything… my home, my dreams, and my heart.

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

ONE

lexi

My sweet, bird-boned little Gran added a teaspoon of sugar to her tea before yanking the rug out from under my life.

“I’m sorry, Alexandra. But the answer is no.”

“But Gran, you didn’t even let me finish!” I stared down at my notes, which I’d frantically scribbled last night after she’d announced she was leaning toward selling our beloved Snowberry Lodge to Black Diamond Resorts, a corporation that planned to tear it down. She was having lunch with the big bulldozing jerks on Tuesday to discuss their offer, so I only had two days to convince her to let me inherit early.

It was not going well.

“This place is too big for one woman to run on her own, darling. We’re facing a mountain of debt. I wouldn’t put that burden on you.” Gran took a tiny sip of her tea. “And while it saddens me to let it go, I’m afraid I don’t have a choice.”

“Please, Gran,” I said as panic rose in my chest. “Let’s not make any decisions yet.” Selling Snowberry would splinter my heart. My great-grandparents had built the charming little ski resort seventy-five years ago. My grandfather had been born here. My dad grew up here. My parents were married here.

All of my happiest memories of them were here.

Was it a bit outdated and unfashionable? Sure.

Had it steadily lost business to the mega-resorts that had sprung up nearby? No argument there.

Had my beloved late grandfather—who’d run Snowberry for the past three decades—been a visionary businessman? Definitely not. He’d loved the place just as it was and never saw fit to change anything.

We’d all known the resort was struggling, but we’d been shocked to learn how bad it really was after his death two years ago. Somehow we’d wobbled through a couple more seasons, kept the lights on and the lifts running, but the situation was dire.

We needed to renovate. We needed to rebrand. We needed money and marketing and modernization.

I understood why my frail eighty-five-year-old grandmother didn’t want to take it all on. But let it go just so some greedy suits could tear it down? See my childhood memories reduced to rubble? Watch a wrecking ball smash not just my home but my family’s legacy?

No fucking way.

Snowberry was everything to me. And I was determined to hang on to it, even if I had to chain myself to the chairlift.

Which I might.

“Your Uncle Roddy thinks I should sell,” said Gran, whose ever-present bubble-gum pink lipstick had left a mark on the edge of her teacup. I stared at it, thinking, Of course he does.

My dad’s brother Roddy had abandoned Snowberry Lodge two decades ago, right along with his wife and kid. Currently, he lived in Miami Beach and was engaged to a woman young enough to be his daughter (my cousin Tabitha, who couldn’t stand either one of them . . . not that I blamed her).

While he wouldn’t make any money on the sale of Snowberry in the short term, he saw dollar signs for himself down the road if Gran banked millions. He was her only living child.

But he didn’t give a shit about the place. He never had.

“Give it to me, Gran,” I begged. “I can turn it around. I’m young, I’ve got the energy, and I’ve got all kinds of ideas for this place.”

“Ideas cost money,” she pointed out.

“I’ll get investors.” I said it with confidence, but the truth was I’d already had a few meetings with banks that had not gone well. They wanted business plans and projections. Profit and loss sheets. Cost-benefit analysis. Market research. I didn’t know anything about that stuff—I’d tried studying business in college, but the classroom hadn’t been for me. For the last nine years, I’d run our ski school during the winter and worked the front desk during the summer. I knew every square inch of this place like my own body—it felt like an extension of me.

Gran shook her head. “There’s no time for that, I’m afraid. And the truth is, darling, I couldn’t give Snowberry to you even if I wanted to.”

I blinked. “What? Why not?”

“I’m sorry to break it to you like this, but it’s time you knew.” Gran took another agonizingly slow sip of tea. “The will and trust your great-grandparents set up make it clear that only a married couple can inherit Snowberry Lodge.”

“Wait a minute.” I cocked my head, certain I must have misheard. “It’s in your will that whoever inherits Snowberry has to be married?”

“Yes.”

I gaped at her, goose-necked. “Why haven’t I ever heard about this?”

She lifted her bony shoulders. “One never wants to discuss morbid matters, darling.”

“Oh my God.” My temper was threatening to ignite, but I stayed calm. I wouldn’t win her over with fireworks—Gran appreciated civility. “But—but you can change the will, right?”

She shook her head. “It’s set up that way for a reason, Alexandra. This has always been a family-run resort. It’s too much for one person to handle alone, especially in the present circumstances.”

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Hideaway Heart (Cherry Tree Harbor #2) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/hideaway-heart-cherry-tree-harbor-2-read-online-melanie-harlow Wed, 16 Aug 2023 21:45:16 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/hideaway-heart-cherry-tree-harbor-2-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Contemporary, Erotic Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >97

All I wanted was a break–two weeks off from being Pixie Hart, country music sensation, and fourteen days of peace, privacy, and solitude as plain old Kelly Jo Sullivan.

But thanks to some overzealous paparazzi, my family refuses to let me go anywhere alone, and I’m stuck sharing this tiny cabin with a tall, dark, and bearded stranger.

And guess what? There’s only one bed.

Well, he can couch it.

Xander Buckley might be hotter than a stolen blow torch, and I get that he’s a former Navy SEAL and all, but the man gives new meaning to the words overbearing, overprotective, bossy alpha male. I can’t even post a photo on social media without him warning me it’s not safe, or take a morning jog without him following behind.

But he’s made it clear that what he says goes, and if I don’t like it, I can kiss my vacation goodbye.

Instead, I end up kissing him.

I don’t even know how it happened–one minute we were at each other’s throats, the next we were at each other’s mercy. What’s even more shocking is how good we are together. He understands my need for freedom, and I understand his need for control.

But emotional trust doesn’t come easily to me. And we’re on two completely different paths.

Without question, I’d put my life in his hands.

Just don’t ask me to give him my heart.

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

ONE

xander

I’ll just admit it. I’ve got an ego.

I’m not a jerk or anything—in fact, I think I’m a pretty good fucking time—it’s just that I have a lot of confidence that if a thing can be done, I can do it. And I tell it like it is.

But I’m also a nice guy. I believe in fair fights, second chances, and paying my debts. So when Kevin Sullivan called me that Wednesday night for a favor, I didn’t hesitate.

“You don’t even have to ask twice, Sully,” I said as I opened the sliding glass door and went out onto the patio, still sweaty from a run. “Name the time and place.”

The voice from my past laughed. “Don’t you want to know what it is first?”

“Won’t matter. I know what I owe you.” My right leg bore scars that served as a daily reminder of two things—the heroism of the man I was talking to and how close I’d come to dying six years ago.

“It’s a job,” he said.

“Talk to me.” I grabbed the top of my right foot and stretched out my quad. Those five miles had been a little rough today, had taken me a little longer. I blamed the late August heat. Or maybe my injury. Definitely not my age—I might have been thirty-one, but I felt eighteen.

Mostly.

“I know you’ve been out of the game for a while, but—”

“Not that long,” I told him. “I just left Cole Security about six months ago.”

“That’s what I heard. You moved back home? Opened a bar?”

“The bar isn’t quite open yet. I bought it over the summer, but it needed pretty extensive renovations. If all goes according to plan, opening will be three weeks from tomorrow.” Which meant I really didn’t have time for a side gig right now, but that didn’t matter. If Sully needed me, I was going to come through. “Tell me about the job. Is it domestic or international?”

“Domestic. Practically right in your backyard.”

“My backyard?”

That didn’t make much sense. Currently, I was living with my dad in the house where my four siblings and I had grown up. I glanced at the lawn I’d mowed a thousand times, at the rose bushes our mom had loved and our dad maintained in her memory, at the towering maple tree my brothers and I used to climb while our little sister cried that she wanted to play pirate ship too.

My plan had been to move out over the summer, but the bar was eating all my savings. I even had my eye on a house not too far from my brother Austin and his family, but I’d had to choose between making a down payment and getting the sound system I really wanted for Buckley’s Pub—and I went for the sound. I wanted the place to be comfortable but high-end, somewhere you could wear your ball cap and team jersey but drink expensive-as-fuck whiskey while you watched the game.

“I’m in Cherry Tree Harbor, Michigan, Sully,” I told him, dropping into one of the chairs on the patio. “Who needs security way the hell up here?”

“My little sister.”

I tried to remember if Sully had ever mentioned a sibling. We’d known each other a couple months before I got injured, but as the newest guy on our SEAL platoon, he’d understood he was expected to be seen and not heard. “I’m not sure I knew you had a sister.”

“Her real name is Kelly Jo Sullivan, but professionally she goes by Pixie Hart.”

“Pixie Hart, the country music singer? That’s your sister? How did I not know that?”

“I don’t talk about it much,” he said. “People can get weird about it. And I’m protective of her.”

“I get it.” I was protective too, but fucking hell. A celebrity?

I scowled as I recalled the one and only time I’d agreed to provide security for a rock band. They’d ignored every single safety precaution, trashed their hotel rooms, and generally behaved like drunk, entitled brats, making it impossible for me to do my job. I’d vowed I’d never take another celebrity gig again.

But it was Sully—I couldn’t say no.

“So what’s the deal?” I scrubbed a hand over my beard. “She need security for a concert or something? Music festival?”

“No. She needs a twenty-four-seven bodyguard during her two-week vacation.”

“Twenty-four-seven for two weeks?” The job got even less palatable. “I want to help, Sully, but I’m about to open a business. I can’t leave town.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” he said quickly. “She rented a place outside Petoskey for the first two weeks of September. That’s near you, right?”

“Yes,” I said warily.

“She should not stay there alone, no matter what she says.”

“And what does she say?”

“She’s a bit resistant to the idea.”

“What’s ‘a bit?’”

“I believe her words were, ‘I don’t want some Navy SEAL goon up in my business while I’m on vacation.’”

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Runaway Love (Cherry Tree Harbor #1) Read Online Melanie Harlow http://www.ilovenovels.com/runaway-love-cherry-tree-harbor-1-read-online-melanie-harlow Tue, 09 May 2023 20:48:41 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/runaway-love-cherry-tree-harbor-1-read-online-melanie-harlow Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Forbidden Authors: Melanie Harlow Series: Cherry Tree Harbor Series by Melanie Harlow
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Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >95

Yes, I’m a single dad who needs a nanny for the summer.

But hire the stranded runaway bride who shows up on my doorstep in a wedding gown with no references, no skills, and no experience?

No one is that desperate.

Except within twenty-four hours, down-on-her-luck Veronica Sutton manages to charm my kids, my family, and half the population of Cherry Tree Harbor into believing she’s perfect for the job.

And for me.

It’s not that I can’t see the appeal–those baby blue eyes? The endless legs? That mouth made for trouble? But I’ve got enough on my plate, raising two kids on my own and keeping the family business alive. I don’t have the time or the inclination to fall for an outspoken city girl.

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

ONE

veronica

Sometimes, when the universe wants you to change the course of your life, it sends you a sign.

Perhaps a recurring dream. Or you keep seeing the same numbers everywhere. Or hearing the same song over and over again.

Me?

I got a sext.

I had very little experience with sexting—none at all, really—but in my opinion, this one wasn’t bad.

It was from my fiancé, Cornelius “Neil” Vanderhoof V.

Hey Valerie. I can’t stop thinking about your naked body in my bed last night. Your sexy mouth. Those hands all over me. The way I licked every inch of your skin.

There were even some emojis. An eggplant. A cat. Some raindrops.

While I was taking it all in, another text arrived.

Suddenly I was subjected to an up-close and personal pic of the Vanderhoof family jewels, making it very clear that Neil was eager to repeat last night’s activities, right now if possible.

Look how bad I want you right now. Think we have time for an afternoon delight?

An afternoon delight?

Today?

There were a few obvious problems with this.

First, my name wasn’t Valerie.

Second, I hadn’t been in his bed last night.

Finally, we were going to be busy this afternoon.

GETTING MARRIED.

In fact, I was already tucked away in the little “bride’s room” off the vestibule of Cherry Tree Harbor’s charming little Chapel by the Sea. I was wearing the big white strapless dress Neil had liked best. My veil was pinned above the elegant chignon he had suggested. My makeup had been professionally done, and it was understated and classic—just like Neil had requested. He’d even sent me a photo from Pinterest so I could get the look just right.

A natural eye. A faint blush on the cheeks. A demure, nude lip.

“But I like a red lip,” I said.

“I know you do, teacup, but that’s more of a showy thing, isn’t it? Like stage makeup?”

My shoulders stiffened. Was that a dig at my past? When Neil and I met, I was a Radio City Rockette. He was in the audience one night, and he said when the curtain went up, he took one look at me and knew in an instant he had to have me. He waited with flowers at the stage door every night for a week before I finally gave in and had dinner with him.

“It’s just that Mother would prefer we keep things toned down,” he went on.

“Things like my personality?”

“Don’t make such a fuss, teacup. It’s just lipstick. And you know how she is.”

Did I ever.

I’d been putting up with Bootsy Vanderhoof’s subtle judgment and criticism for a solid year. She handed out her opinions like they were gold coins, about everything from my wardrobe (too black) to my job (too splashy) to my complexion (too pale) to my laugh (too loud).

“Yes,” I said through my teeth.

“Good.” Neil had given me a patronizing kiss on the cheek—he’d perfected that move—and moved on to how he’d prefer me to wear flats with my wedding dress instead of heels. He wasn’t short, but I was a solid five-foot-ten, and two-inch heels made us about even in stature.

This was not in keeping with the way Neil saw the world.

“But Neil,” I said, “I wore heels when I had my final fitting. If I wear flats with my dress, it will be too long.”

“No need to fuss, the shop will hem it for you,” he said confidently. “We’ve still got two weeks, and we’re certainly good enough customers. All three of my sisters bought their wedding gowns there.” His voice took on the haughty tone of someone who’d done a massive favor for you that you didn’t properly appreciate. “The Vanderhoof family has practically kept that shop in business.”

I pressed my lips together. I knew alllll about his three older sisters’ weddings—where they bought their gowns and what flowers they carried and what foods were served at dinner and what music was played at the yacht club receptions. Every one of them had done practically the same exact thing, as if the same June wedding was on repeat three years in a row—ours would be the fourth. The guests had to feel like they were in the movie Groundhog Day at this point.

But if I’d learned anything in the last year, it was that the Vanderhoofs of Chicago’s Gold Coast believed in tradition. Tradition ruled the day. You did not ignore it, buck it, or break it. You didn’t dare criticize it. You embraced it, reverently, eagerly, yet nonchalantly—no one likes a fuss—and then the Vanderhoofs would approve of you.

And the crazy thing was, I’d wanted that approval. I’d worked so hard to earn it, to be treated like I fit in to their family. Twelve months of allowing myself to be shaped into a different person. Of trying to distract myself from grief. Of doing my best to keep a promise I never should have made in the first place. I’d been so desperate to belong.

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