Copyright © 2020 Tanya Gallagher
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations within critical reviews and otherwise as permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
ISBN: 1-7339541-2-9
ISBN-13: 978-1-7339541-2-9
Visit:
tanyagallagherbooks.com
For the ones who love with their whole hearts.
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Enter the indulgent world of the Renegade Hotels…
When single dad Dylan can’t ignore the chemistry between himself and his friend-turned-nanny, Kaitlyn, he must choose between guarding his heart—and his daughter's—or losing the woman he's come to love.
Single dad hero with an adorable daughter
Billionaire meets everygirl
Friends to lovers
Los Angeles backdrop
Maple syrup fiascos
Naughty sleepovers
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Also by Tanya Gallagher
About the Author
1 Greer
“Today’s the day,” I call, swinging into my kitchen in a pencil skirt and silky blouse as the scent of fresh coffee girds me for battle against another cold November morning.
My roommate Molly glances up at me from her phone, already half a cup of coffee deep in her morning ritual of caffeinating while preparing for the yoga classes she’ll teach later in the day.
“Monday?” she guesses, running a hand through her long black hair. “The day you finally show up at work on time?”
I roll my eyes and snatch a Polaroid of me and my ex from the front of our refrigerator. “The day I dispose of all things Damien Price.” To emphasize my point, I pop the lid of my kitchen trashcan and drop the offending photograph inside. Damien’s blue eyes and handsome smile disappear beneath a banana peel and a half-empty container of raspberry Greek yogurt.
“Good riddance.” Molly lifts her mug in a toast. “You should have done that two weeks ago.”
“Cut a girl some slack.” I wrinkle my nose at her. “It was the eve of my thirtieth birthday. I was mourning both the loss of my twenties and my short-lived relationship.”
Molly shakes her head at me, her beautiful Filipino face skeptical. “You didn’t even seem like you liked Damien that much.”
I clutch my heart dramatically to offset the fact that her comment stings. “It was still a punch to my ovaries.”
“Speaking of which, while you’re at it, add this to the stack.” Molly waves an informational flyer about freezing my eggs in my direction, dispensed by my ever-so-thoughtful-but-emotionally-clueless doctor.
That’s what I get for being responsible and scheduling my annual physical on time.
I groan. “What is it about turning thirty that makes everyone think your life is suddenly over? Even if you’re totally fine being single—which I am, thank you very much—everyone else has opinions about how you must not be doing okay.”
“True,” Molly says. “But to most people, you’re staring down a new decade while trying to pretend the number of eligible guys isn’t dwindling like snacks at an Overeaters Anonymous meeting.”
“Ouch.” I tilt my head, and my hair cascades around my shoulders. “Are you with me or against me?”
“With you,” Molly assures me. She points at a to-go mug on the kitchen counter. “I even got you coffee.”
“You’re the best.” I grin and stamp a kiss on her cheek. Molly and I have the same love languages—food and coffee—though her daily yoga practice keeps her lithe and toned, while my aversion to breaking a sweat means my curves are a little more generous than hers. Potato, potahto, right?
I pull on a coat, then gather my coffee mug and my purse as I tell my friend, “Monday’s not going to get the best of Greer Lively.” Then I slip out the door of my Wallingford apartment to walk the half block to my bus stop.
I love my little corner of Seattle—the small boutiques mixed in with cozy cafes and restaurants, the way I’m close enough to get to just about everything I need in fifteen minutes. But my neighborhood fails to impart its normal vigor, and I’m still thinking about Damien as I reach the bus stop and start pacing the sidewalk.
I frown into the dark morning and try to think of happier things.
Puppies.
Truly excellent movies.
Donuts.
It doesn’t work.
Jesus. It’s not like I even liked Damien that much, but to leave me so blindsided by our breakup?
Unforgivable.
Also, massively inconvenient.
As if it wasn’t bad enough to have him dump me, there’s the possibility that we’ll run into each other while I’m rocking today’s pity-ice-cream-induced pimple, since we both work for the same mid-sized tech company, WanderWell. We met at the salad bar in the cafeteria and bonded over a shared love of croutons. What can I say? If you add croutons to a salad, it’s practically a sandwich, which is the only way a salad’s bearable, in my book.
The 62 bus arrives at the curb in a shudder of brakes and a puff of exhaust. I swing onto the bus and wedge myself on a seat next to a woman knitting what appears to be a sweater for a Great Dane out of pink chenille yarn. The second the bus rumbles into motion, I feel a prickle of awareness run down my spine.
I turn and look over my shoulder, trying not to make eye contact with the person directly behind me.
Oh god, Damien’s staring at me.
Or, his picture is, anyway.
In addition to being good-looking and smart, he’s also the
