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Boldwood Books - Aimee Brown

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163 pages

English

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'A loveable heroine and a swoonworthy hero - yes please! The perfect mix of humour, heart and romance.' Sandy Barker

Mercy Alexander doesn’t believe in love, let alone love at first sight.
There’s one sure fire way of steering clear of heartbreak, and that’s not to get your heart involved in the first place. So what is that irritating flutter she feels every time she sees Brooks Hudson, and why is she finding him so hard to ignore?

Brooks Hudson can’t understand where he’s going wrong.
Doting single father to six-year-old Ali, supportive co-parent with his ex, much-loved friend and respected colleague, not to mention he’s smoking hot. So why is he constantly being dumped, told in no uncertain terms he’s ‘too nice’? Since when was being nice a crime?

Mercy is in serious need of someone to restore her faith in men, and Brooks needs a girl he likes to stick around long enough for him to believe in love again. But when Mercy’s past threatens to remind her of everything she’s scared of, will love be enough to save the day?

You won’t be able to put Aimee Brown’s new sexy, swoony, sultry romance down. Perfect for all fans of Sariah Wilson, Lindsey Kelk and Abby Jiminez.

What readers say about Aimee Brown:

‘Loved, loved, loved this book. After reading The Lucky Dressthis was next in line to see if one of the characters gets a happy ending. Well all I’m going to say is please read it, an amazing book.’

‘I really enjoyed this fun, whirlwind romance, which I can really imagine on the big screen. I give this 5 out of 5.’

‘I just loved this novel, the characters are authentic, the story is gorgeous and it won't fail to bring a smile to your face.’

‘This is a book that any romantic lover will enjoy and the ones that are not fans of romance will not be disappointed, the story has a happy ending, of course, but the characters will have their path till the ending, because sometimes you have to be happy with yourself before starting a new relationship, don’t you think?’

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Publié par	Boldwood Books
Date de parution	23 mars 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781804268094
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,1500€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

LOVE NOTES

AIMEE BROWN
Thank you Andie Newton for being awesome.
(Didn’t think I’d do it, did ya? *I feel it in my bones* LOL)
CONTENTS

Prologue

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

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

A Note From the Author

Playlist

More from Aimee Brown

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE
BROOKS HUDSON

Six months ago…

‘Ugh,’ I groan, rolling over and grabbing my ringing phone from my nightstand. I finally get to sleep and someone interrupts me. ‘Yeah?’
‘I had a dream,’ she says, exaggerating each word.
She had a dream? Fucking hell. I thought divorce meant you didn’t call your ex-husband anymore after dark. Business and emergency calls only.
‘I also had a dream,’ I say, rolling onto my stomach and resting my head on my left arm. ‘It was great too. I had an ex-wife that didn’t wake me up to tell me about some stupid vision she’s had.’
She laughs into the phone. ‘You’ll never escape me; we have a child together, so like it or not, you get me for life.’
‘This is what our parents meant when they said we were too young to get married. I get it now.’
‘Will you listen? This seems important.’
‘You talk, I’ll sleep.’
‘Fine. I was in this room. It was all white. White walls. White floors. White rugs. White curtains. White—’
‘It was white,’ I interrupt her. ‘Yeah, I’m following, continue.’
‘An-y-way, grumpy, you were there, and besides Alijah and me, you were alone. Nobody else was there, not your parents, not Ty, or Oz, none of your friends. You were alone alone, Brooks. And it was one of those life-changing moments. Like, your death.’ She says it dramatically as if this is absolutely factual. A real Nostradamus moment.
‘Dun dun duuun…’
She laughs, but I’m sure it’s less because I’m funny and more that she doesn’t enjoy me making fun of her ‘supernatural’ gifts from the universe. Her reading people’s aura and drawing tarot cards in high school was a fun party trick that we all enjoyed. I’m no longer at that point in our relationship and haven’t been since she decided I wasn’t her pre-destined star-crossed lover. Aka: ‘the one’, soulmate, twin flame, the Ryan Reynolds to her Blake Lively, the Ben Affleck to her J-Lo.
‘After death, you can’t call me. Sounds nice. Quiet. Peaceful. Relaxing, even. Where the hell do I sign up?’
‘Funny,’ she says, not laughing. ‘This is serious, Brooks. I think you might die alone.’
‘OK, well, I appreciate the warning…’
‘Wait!’ she says, somehow sensing the incoming blast of silence that is me disconnecting our call. ‘There was a woman that walked in as I was leaving. She was beyond devastated. I think she might have been your soulmate.’
This makes me open my eyes, now staring at the ceiling, and not because I’m constantly searching for ‘the one’. After marrying and divorcing Norah, I know there is no such thing as soulmates. I don’t think anyone on this planet is meant for anyone else. Everything we do is the result of whatever choices we’ve made. There is no destiny. No fate. No karmic influence taking names and kicking ass. Bad things happen to good people, and evil, more often than not, gets away with it.
I have just one question.
‘Please tell me it wasn’t you?’
She heaves a sigh into the phone, clearly irritated with my apparent disinterest. ‘It wasn’t me. She had dark hair, emerald-green eyes, and heels higher than I have ever attempted.’
‘I like her already. Now I just need to hop on my trusty steed and search the world for this dark-haired, emerald-eyed, stiletto-wearing damsel and convince her to fall in love with me. I’ll do this, of course, in all the spare time I have between work, Alijah and you.’
‘You’re missing the point. She’s your literal soulmate. You won’t have to look for her. You’ll just find one another. That’s how fate works, Brooks. I can’t believe we were married so long, and you learned nothing.’
‘I learned how not to be married. It’s not so bad. A little lonely. But I’m surviving it.’
‘I forgot how irritating you are when awoken from a dead sleep.’
‘Glad I could remind you. Bye.’ I tap the end call button before she can say anything else and flip my phone onto silent.
My soulmate. Like I’m going to run after a woman my ex-wife sees in her dreams. No thanks.
1
MERCY ALEXANDER

Present day

‘Most boring couple ever,’ I whisper, glancing around at the guests.
This wedding looks like a last-minute backyard barbecue, but I know it’s not because this couple booked us a year ago. The whole place is casual. Besides the wedding party, the only man here wearing a tie is Dylan. Some of these people are in jean shorts.
Not that there’s anything wrong with a last-minute casual wedding. If it were me, though, and I’d spent this much money on a party to declare my love for some guy, people better wear ties and tiaras. Plus, I prefer dressier events because I like clothes and shoes. It’s like window shopping – a happy distraction from my mind spiraling that I’m playing my five hundredth wedding, and with each one, I’m reminded I’ll likely never find this happily-ever-after crap. Nor do I want it – or at least I didn’t think I did. But now that I’m thirty and helping my best friends plan their wedding, something inside isn’t settling into my usual bury-your-feelings ways. My head is trying to revive my heart that’s been in a decades-long coma, and believe it or not, it’s responding – and it’s painful. I’m certain I’d rather focus on who’s wearing what so I can describe it well enough to google and find it online later than continue listening to my insides whispering about something I’m terrified of.
‘Pachelbel’s Canon is a classic wedding song, Merc. Some people enjoy traditional,’ Dylan, my level-headed business partner, says.
‘Traditional would be black tie. This feels more like Elvis in velvet at a twenty-four-hour wedding chapel in Vegas.’
‘Elvis in velvet…’ He repeats my words, shaking his head with each one.
Weddings, we play at least one practically every weekend. Dylan and I run a company called Love Notes. Our shop is in downtown Portland, where we sell and rent stringed instruments and pianos, book gigs, give lessons and do private work for musician hires in our recording studio. Both of us play multiple instruments fluently, and we have a side gig once or twice a month as our stringed duo cover band, Violated. Bach and Beethoven aren’t songs you’ll find Violated playing. We shock the fancy right out of folks with pop, rock, rap and alternative hits. That’s right; I can play Nirvana on five instruments.
‘I don’t understand the world’s need to pair everyone off. Love doesn’t last. At least not for most people. It’s why our country’s divorce rate is through the roof. I think marriage licenses should have ten-year expiration dates, and if you choose not to renew, you’re over automatically. It’d be mostly painless because you knew it was coming, so you’ve probably discussed it. No one is to blame; your license expired, so you went your separate ways. It seems a little drastic, but I’d bet many people would take the easy out.’
Dylan stares at me, blank-faced, except for the you’re weird, and I don’t understand why I like it crooked grin he’s got plastered on his face.
‘You’ve got this romance vibe down,’ he says as he positions his cello.
‘Do I seem bitter?’
‘A tad.’
We get the cue from the wedding planner that our time to shine is now. The bridal party is on their way down the aisle to Canon in D, played via cello (Dylan) and violin (me).
Once the entire entourage of eight bridesmaids, eight groomsmen, a ring bearer named Buster (their Doberman) and a crying flower girl carried by her jean-cargo-short-and-flip-flop-clad father have made it down the aisle our performance ends.
Dylan leans into me. ‘Three years,’ he whispers.
I scrunch my face, inspecting the couple. I’d already guessed low because the groom had no reaction when the bride appeared at the end of the aisle. That’s my favorite part – seeing how the groom reacts to his bride. That one moment can tell me if it’s forever or not. But this guy didn’t shed even one tear. No heavy I’m so lucky sigh. Not even a crack of a smile. He just stood there stone-faced like her father threatened his life just before this moment. He showed more enthusiasm when his best man marched down the aisle, and they fist-bumped as they met. I can’t be the only person who noticed this. The couple isn’t even holding hands, just standing beside one another awkwardly. Not a great sign, so I see why Dylan guessed low.
We have this game we play at weddings. Not out loud or anything, primarily through whisper conversations as we sit at the back of the room watching a couple we don’t know marry and guessing how long they’ll last based on the ceremony alone. Some have the vibe of forever, but most don’t. Dylan is calling it early this time. Usually, he waits until the end so he has the whole picture because that’s the kind of guy he is. He’s careful with his decisions, no matter how big or small. He researches anything he wants to buy for months before finally dropping the cash. The man’s middle name is responsibility. Whereas mine is, maybe, cynical?
‘I’m going eight,’ I whisper back, intentionally guessing higher than him for the first time just for fun.
‘Eight?’
‘They each have at least eight friends, which means they’ll go to every one of them for advice when things start to fall apart, and it’ll take that long for them to agree. I could point out a dozen other faux pas, but considering he’s w