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A FAIRY TALE BRIDE
Chapel of Love #0.5
Hope Ramsay
Released June 7th, 2016
Forever Yours
A CHAPEL OF LOVE SHORT STORY
After a very public career disaster,
After a very public career disaster,
journalist Jeff Talbert-Lyndon wants to escape from the world. Picturesque
Shenadoah Falls, Virginia, seems like the perfect place to relax and regroup
before heading back to real life. But when he discovers the charming bookstore
Secondhand Prose - and its lovely, slightly overwhelmed owner- he finds a
part-time job and a very tempting reason to stay...
Shenadoah Falls, Virginia, seems like the perfect place to relax and regroup
before heading back to real life. But when he discovers the charming bookstore
Secondhand Prose - and its lovely, slightly overwhelmed owner- he finds a
part-time job and a very tempting reason to stay...
Melissa
Portman is fighting a losing battle when it comes to saving her grandmother's
store - and selling the historic building may be her only option. Yet when a
handsome stranger wanders in one day, she wonders if her very own fairytale is
just beginning...
Portman is fighting a losing battle when it comes to saving her grandmother's
store - and selling the historic building may be her only option. Yet when a
handsome stranger wanders in one day, she wonders if her very own fairytale is
just beginning...
Melissa Portman almost laughed in the man’s face. He was most definitely not the teenager
Grammy had been searching for when she’d put the “Help Wanted” sign in the
window three months ago.
He was a grown man, probably her age or a little older, in his
late twenties or early thirties. He wore
clothes that branded him as someone who came from way, way out of town: a brown tweed jacket with elbow patches, a
striped button-down shirt, and a pair of skinny jeans that showed off his
muscular thighs. All in all, he gave the
impression of a hot college professor.
He also had dark, soulful brown eyes, too-long black hair that
curled over his forehead like a sensitive poet’s, and a well-groomed scruff of
beard that Melissa found way too attractive for her own good. To top it all off, he held Hugo in his arms
like a man who knew something about cats.
In fact, just watching his long fingers stroke the cat was vaguely
erotic.
No question about it. He
was delicious eye-candy. And she wasn’t
stupid enough to believe that he needed a job.
The guy was flirting.
Wow, that hadn’t happened in, like, forever.
She arched her eyebrow the way Grammy used to when faced with
the utterly absurd and said, “You want to work here? Really?”
She invested her voice with just the right tone of skepticism.
His mouth quirked and exposed adorable laugh lines that peeked
through his GQ-style stubble. “Really,”
he said. “I appreciate literature.”
His voice was low, deep, and had just the right hint of tease in
it — like he might be calling her out for the book she’d hidden beneath the
counter. Had he seen the title? She hoped not.
“Seriously,” he said, “I’m interested in the job.”
“It’s minimum wage,” she said.
“How much is that? I’m
new around here.”
No kidding. “$7.25 an hour.”
She managed to say this with a straight face.
The professor’s eyebrows lowered. “That’s not very much, is it?”
Obviously Mr. Professor had been spending all his time in ivory
towers or something. “Right,” she said,
nodding. “And that’s why we only hire
high school students. You’re a little old
for that.”
He continued to stroke Hugo as he gazed at her out of those
impossibly hot brown eyes. “I know, but
I need the work. I recently lost my
job.”
Something in the set of his broad shoulders suggested that he
was telling the truth, even if he was also flirting at the same time. A momentary pang of sympathy swelled inside
Melissa. She was in the same boat. She’d given up a good job with the Fairfax
County Public Schools in order to take care of Grammy, and now she’d be out of
a full-time teaching job until next September.
She didn’t know how she’d pay her bills.
Unless she sold the historic building that housed Secondhand
Prose. The Lyndons were willing to pay a
fortune for it—enough to pay all of Melissa’s bills, cover the property taxes,
and give her something left over to invest.
But selling out to the Lyndons was the last thing Melissa wanted to
do. In her heart of hearts, she wanted
to keep Secondhand Prose’s doors open.
But that was just silly, wishful thinking.
“I could be very helpful,” Mr. Professor said, breaking through
Melissa’s financial worries. “I’m good
at organizing things, and I have other experience and qualifications that could
be valuable to you.”
She eyed the cat and then his handsome face. “Aside from charming killer cats?”
His mouth twitched again.
“I’m an avid reader.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Aren’t we all? But really, there
is no job.”
“But the sign. And you’re
clearly short—”
“The sign has been there for a while. My grandmother put it up before she
died. I’m sorry, but there’s no job
available here.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry about
your grandmother.”
For an uncomfortable moment, their gazes caught, and the
kindness and concern in his eyes surprised her.
“Grammy was pretty old,” Melissa said, her voice barely hiding the
sorrow that had hollowed out her insides.
“So let me ring these books up for you, okay?”
Melissa picked up the books he’d laid on the counter while Mr.
Hottie Professor continued to lean his hip into the counter, his mere presence
disturbing the atmosphere and making Melissa adolescently self-conscious.
“That’ll be $25.00 for the books,” she said in her best
customer-service voice. She expected him
to hand over a credit card, but instead the guy pulled out a money clip that
held a big wad of bills. He sure wasn’t
a professor, not carrying cash like that.
He had to thumb through several hundred-dollar bills to find a five and
a twenty. So who was he? She was suddenly dying to know.
He put Hugo down, but the damn cat continued to circle his legs.
“Nice cat,” he said.
“His name is Hugo — well, his full name is Victor Hugo — and
he’s not friendly.”
“Could have fooled me.”
The cat meowed as if he knew they were talking about him. What was Hugo up to? He never made friends with strangers.
She handed the guy his bag.
“So, where are you staying?” she asked, hoping she might prolong this
conversation and get his name, email address, or even his profile on Match.com.
He took his bag and broke eye-contact. “I love your store. Next time I’m going to make friends with the
cat in the window.”
“Ha, I don’t think so.
Dickens is half-wild.”
“I already figured that out.
Have a nice day.”
And with that, the guy turned and strolled down the aisle toward
the door, looking amazingly like the hero in the romance novel she’d been
reading when he’d first arrived.
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Hope
Ramsay is a USA Today bestselling
author of heartwarming contemporary romances. Her books have won critical
acclaim and publishing awards. She is married to a good ol' Georgia boy who
resembles every single one of her Southern heroes. She has two grown children
and a couple of demanding lap cats. She lives in Virginia where, when she's not
writing, she's knitting or playing her forty-year-old Martin guitar.
Ramsay is a USA Today bestselling
author of heartwarming contemporary romances. Her books have won critical
acclaim and publishing awards. She is married to a good ol' Georgia boy who
resembles every single one of her Southern heroes. She has two grown children
and a couple of demanding lap cats. She lives in Virginia where, when she's not
writing, she's knitting or playing her forty-year-old Martin guitar.
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