Courting Mr. Emerson , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Melody Carlson

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

164 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

When the fun-loving and spontaneous artist Willow West meets buttoned-up, retired English teacher George Emerson, it's not exactly love at first sight. Though she does find the obsessive-compulsive man intriguing. Making it her mission to get him to loosen up and embrace life, she embarks on what seems like a lost cause--and finds herself falling for him in the process.A confirmed bachelor, George vacillates between irritation and attraction whenever Willow is around--which to him seems like all too often. He's not interested in expanding his horizons or making new friends; it just hurts too much when you lose them.But as the summer progresses, George feels his defenses crumbling. The question is, will his change of heart be too late for Willow?With her signature heart and touches of humor, fan favorite Melody Carlson pens a story of two delightfully eccentric characters who get a second chance at life and love.

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	05 mars 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781493416479
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0461€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Cover
Endorsements
Praise for All Summer Long
“Good food, renewed love, and the clear ocean make this winsome romance a perfect and inspiring summer read.”
Publishers Weekly
“A fast-paced, enjoyable tale sure to please those looking for a heartfelt story.”
RT Book Reviews
“All the romance of a summer in San Francisco is captured in this delightful story from an author who has made a career of tugging on our heartstrings.”
Family Fiction
Praise for Under a Summer Sky
“Moving from the breezy San Francisco of All Summer Long to the Deep South, this third volume in Carlson’s travel-based romantic series evokes another colorful and atmospheric setting for her quirky and endearing characters. A treat for aficionados of character-driven fiction.”
Library Journal
Books by Melody Carlson
Courting Mr. Emerson
F OLLOW Y OUR H EART S ERIES
Once Upon a Summertime
All Summer Long
Under a Summer Sky
H OLIDAY N OVELLAS
Christmas at Harrington’s
The Christmas Shoppe
The Joy of Christmas
The Treasure of Christmas
The Christmas Pony
A Simple Christmas Wish
The Christmas Cat
The Christmas Joy Ride
The Christmas Angel Project
The Christmas Blessing
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2019 by Carlson Management, Inc.
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-1647-9
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Books by Melody Carlson
Title Page
Copyright Page
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
one
G eorge Emerson didn’t need anybody. Or so he told himself as he carefully shaved with his straight-edged razor, just like he always did seven days a week at exactly 7:07 each morning. George knew that most men used more modern razors, but this silver implement had been left to him by the grandfather who’d helped raise him. Wiping his razor across a soft terry towel, he stretched his neck to examine his smoothly shaved chin in the foggy mirror. He could see better with his reading glasses, but after so many years of the same routine, George felt certain the job was done right.
As he closed the bathroom window, shutting out the humming “music” of his overly friendly neighbor, George wondered if there was some polite way to avoid Lorna Atwood this morning. She’d been puttering around her yard for the last ten minutes, and George felt certain it was in the hopes of catching him on his way to work.
As he replaced the cap on his Barbasol shave cream and returned his razor to its chipped ceramic mug, a pinging in the kitchen told him that the coffee was done. The automatic-timed coffee maker was one of the few modern perks that George had been talked into a few years ago. But, as with most electronic devices, he still didn’t fully trust the fancy machine. What if it got its wires crossed and decided to make coffee in the middle of the night?
George peeked out the kitchen window as he filled his stainless steel travel cup with steaming coffee, only to see that Lorna was now sitting on her front porch. He slipped two thin slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster, removed a hard-boiled egg from the fridge, and poured himself a small glass of grapefruit juice. This was his standard weekday breakfast. On weekends he’d sometimes fry or poach himself an egg or, if feeling particularly festive, he might stroll over to the Blue G oose Diner and splurge on pancakes and bacon, which he’d leisurely consume while reading the newspaper. Although it had probably been more than a year since he’d indulged in that.
But today was Friday, and by 7:27, George’s breakfast was finished, his dishes washed. With his travel mug refilled and briefcase in hand, he locked his front door, checked to be sure it was secure, then checked again just in case. Lingering for a moment, he pretended to check his watch, glancing left and right to be sure Lorna wasn’t lurking nearby.
The sun seemed high in the sky for late May, but that was only because he’d never fully adjusted to the late-start days that Warner High had implemented last fall. Although it had disrupted his internal time clock, George had to admit that students seemed moderately more awake with an extra hour of sleep.
“Hello, Mr. Emerson,” Lorna Atwood chirped merrily. She popped out from the shadows of her front porch like a jack-in-the-box in Lycra. “Lovely day today, isn’t it?”
He peered up at the cloudless sky then nodded an affirmative. “Looks like a good one, for sure.”
“Especially for this time of year in western Oregon. Last year it rained all the way through May and June.” She hurried over to him with a hot pink coffee cup in hand. Had she coordinated it to match her lipstick? “Now, you didn’t forget about my invitation, did you?” Lorna looked hopeful.
George feigned confusion then tapped the side of his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Atwood, but I realized that I do have other plans for tonight. I hope you’ll please excuse me.”
“Oh, well.” Her smile remained fixed. “Perhaps another time. With summer round the corner, we should have plenty of chances to get together. I’ll just have to take a rain check from you.” She peered upward. “Speaking of rain checks, I heard it’s supposed to cloud up this weekend. Maybe I can collect on mine then.” She winked.
George forced a polite smile as he tipped his head and continued past her small yard. Her lawn was in need of mowing again. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to remind her of her rental agreement and that she was responsible for her own landscaping chores. The little yellow bungalow, owned by him, was nearly identical to the one he lived in—except his was cornflower blue. His grandparents had helped him to invest in these little neglected houses in the late eighties, back when real estate had been ridiculously low. He’d purchased the first bungalow for his own use shortly after acquiring his teaching position at the nearby high school. Since he had no interest in driving, it had made sense to live within walking distance of his work. And he’d been employed at Warner High ever since.
With the help of his grandfather’s handyman expertise, George had spent weekends and evenings fixing up his little blue house. It provided a good distraction from the dreams that had not gone as planned. Perhaps that was why his grandparents had encouraged him to take on three more little houses—to divert him from his pain and to keep him occupied. Of course, they wisely called it a “good investment.” Plus it proved a clever way to increase real estate values in his neighborhood. Buying derelict properties had seemed a bit reckless at the time, especially since residents were fleeing urban neighborhoods, flocking to the “safety” of the suburbs. But in the past decade, the trend had reversed. People returned to town, and rentals in his neighborhood were at an all-time high. His three rental bungalows, just one block away from downtown, never went unoccupied nowadays.
Mrs. Atwood, his most recent tenant, had been overjoyed to get in. Although she’d only been here a few months, George soon learned to exercise caution when engaging with her. The gregarious divorc ée could “chat” nonstop if given the opportunity. He suspected her husband had fled in order to attain some peace and quiet, although Mrs. Atwood claimed to be the victim of her ex-husband’s “midlife crisis.” To be fair, she wasn’t bad looking—just talked too much. And tried too hard.
George had performed some minor repairs on the bungalow shortly after she moved in. Grateful for his “improvements,” she eagerly invited him for dinner. When he declined, she insisted on baking him her “famous cherry pie.” He pretended to appreciate her gesture, but the overly sweet and syrupy pie wound up in the trash since George wasn’t big on desserts. Just the same, he penned a polite thank-you note and taped it to the clean pie plate that he discreetly placed on her porch very early the next morning. But since then, her efforts to befriend him had only intensified—and, short of rudeness or dishonesty, he was running out of excuses to decline.
George was no stranger to feminine attempts to befriend him, and over the years, he’d learned to take women’s flattering attentions in stride. It wasn’t that he was devastatingly handsome—he might be getting older, but he wasn’t delusional. Even in his prime, back in the previous millennium when his students had nicknamed him “Mr. Bean,” George had been aware that he was no Cary Grant. The comparison to the quirky BBC character may have been meant as an insult, but George hadn’t minded.
He actually kind of admired Mr. Bean. And George knew the kids’ teasing was the result of his buttoned-up attire. His response to kids dressing like gangbangers had been to step it up by wearing nappy ties and sports coats to school—an attempt to lead by example. Not that it had worked. But it was a habit he’d continued and, despite his fellow teachers’ preference for casual dress, George liked his more traditional style. Ironically, it seemed the ladies liked it too. At least they used to, and ones like Mrs. Atwood apparently still did.
Now that he was in his midfifties, George suspected that w