I read a book by the name of Holly Freakin’ Hughes (which I reviewed on here) and loved it; swearing I would read everything by this author. Well, here it is—her second book and I have to say; I hate being an adult because all I want to do it sit down with a cup of coffee and dig into her words! The review of this book is yet to come but for now I will share the blurb and excerpt with you because I have no doubt you will love the words of Kelsey Kingsley as my as I do!
To Kinsey McKenna, Patrick Kinney was a persistent glob of sticky peanut butter. He had been stuck to the roof of her mouth, since they were both three years old, when fate seemed to send his family next door to hers. All the way from the coast of Ireland to River Canyon, Connecticut.
Over twenty-nine years, fate has been both kind and cruel and many choices have been made. Can things go back to when they were more innocent and magical? Patrick has a plan and just one night to try and take back the reins of his destiny and put the wrong things right with a trip down memory lane.
Fall in love again with this novella of firsts and second chances, in a little town where everything meant everything.
I hurried to lock the door, to flip the sign to CLOSED. Then, just as I was about to walk away, I saw him. He had changed out of his uniform, into jeans and a worn t-shirt that wrapped the slim frame saying he was his father’s son. The muscles it clung to and emphasized said he worked out and liked everybody to know it.
Arrogant Irish bastard.
I pretended to not notice him as I secured the lock, and I continued to pretend as I turned from the glass paneled door. He knew I had seen him, and I knew a smirk would blanket his face as he softly knocked on the metal frame. I wondered for a moment if I just continued to pretend, whether he would eventually walk away. But Patrick was persistent, always had been. And so, with reluctance and niggling excitement, I unlocked the door.
“Good evenin’, Kinsey Kinney,” he said in that gravelly voice belonging to his father, stepping inside as I closed the door behind him.
Locking the door again made me feel trapped, stuck, and like limitless possibilities had been laid out in front of him. But, I followed the rules, and the rules said I had to lock the door when the store was closed.
“Don’t ever call me that again.”
He cocked his head to the side, scratching the back of his neck. “So, you won’t be takin’ my last name?”
My head fell backward with a groan.
“Hey,” he said, shrugging those broad shoulders, “I’m just wondering what I’m supposed to call ya after we’re married.”
“In two seconds, I’m giving you your money, and making you leave.”
He held his hands up in surrender. I stole a glance at his ring finger, and I wondered if he ever missed it: the wedding ring. How long his hand had felt naked without it, if he had agonized over pulling it off and casting it aside forever.
“Okay, okay. Keep your last name. That’s cool. Very progressive.”
The truth was, I was never going to make him leave, and he knew it. Not when his blonde hair was styled like that, like he had just rolled out of bed. Not when his permanent five o’clock shadow clung onto his jawline for sweet life. Not when his holey jeans hung low on his hips and that strip of abdominal skin came into view when he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Not when I missed the way it felt to be so alone with him, so close.
Patrickinney. Peanut butter on the roof of my mouth.
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