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  PRAISE FOR ADRIANA LOCKE

  “Adriana Locke creates magic with unforgettable romances and captivating characters. She’s a go-to author if I want to escape into a great read.”

  —New York Times bestselling author S.L. Scott

  “Adriana Locke writes the most delicious heroes and sassy heroines who bring them to their knees. Her books are funny, raw, and heartfelt. She also has a great smile, but that’s beside the point.”

  —USA Today bestselling author L.J. Shen

  “No one does blue collar, small town, ‘everyman’ (and woman!) romance like Adriana Locke. She masterfully creates truly epic love stories for characters who could be your neighbor, your best friend—you! Each one is more addictive and heart-stoppingly romantic than the last.”

  —Bestselling author Kennedy Ryan

  “Adriana’s sharp prose, witty dialogue, and flawless blend of humor and steam meld together to create unputdownable, up-all-night reads!”

  —Wall Street Journal bestselling author Winter Renshaw

  ALSO BY ADRIANA LOCKE

  The Exception Series

  The Exception

  The Connection: An Exception Novella

  The Perception

  The Exception Series Box Set

  Landry Family Series

  Sway

  Swing

  Switch

  Swear

  Swink

  Sweet

  The Landry Family Series: Part One

  The Landry Family Series: Part Two

  The Gibson Boys Series

  Crank

  Craft

  Cross (a novella)

  Crave

  Crazy

  Dogwood Lane Series

  Tumble

  Tangle

  Stand-Alone Novels

  Sacrifice

  Wherever It Leads

  Written in the Scars

  Battle of the Sexes

  Lucky Number Eleven

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2020 by Umbrella Publishing Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542018456

  ISBN-10: 1542018455

  Cover design by Letitia Hasser

  Cover photography by Wander Aguiar Photography

  To Mom and Dad:

  You made me believe I could accomplish anything. Thank you for that.

  I love you.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  PENN

  How hard is it, Penn?”

  Dane’s keys hit the table. They skid into the saltshaker, sending it rattling around the tabletop. He shoots a raised brow that is some kind of warning my direction before he turns and signals for a coffee.

  “Well,” I say as Claire approaches the table, “I probably shouldn’t answer that. I am a gentleman, after all.”

  “You are not.” Claire side-eyes me as she sets a mug down in front of Dane. “You and the word ‘gentleman’ should never be used in the same sentence.”

  “But you just did.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Want me to accidentally-on-purpose miss the cup and pour this piping-hot liquid on your lap?”

  “You’ve tried that before. I’m too quick.”

  Claire snorts, her lips twisting into an amused smile. “I heard that about you.”

  My jaw drops in mock horror.

  “Will you two stop it? You fight like brother and sister,” Dane says.

  “That would make Claire’s dreams awkward.”

  Her gaze whips to mine, her eyes narrowed for my benefit. There’s a comeback on the tip of her tongue. I lean forward as if I’m waiting on her reply. She laughs instead.

  “I hate you,” she says before turning to Dane. “Do you want anything to eat?”

  “No. Thanks. Just trying to track this jackass down all morning.” He jabs a thumb my way.

  “Yeah, well, good luck now that you’ve found him. He’s sat in here for hours, giving me hell,” Claire says. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

  Claire walks away, swaying her hips a little for my benefit. It’s appreciated. I’d much, much rather think about her hips than whatever it is Dane’s going to rope me into.

  He sips his coffee beside me like it’s another morning at the Dogwood Café. The table of farmers by the door probably think it’s just Madden Carpentry having some breakfast before we find Matt, my best friend and Dane’s younger brother, and get to work.

  But it’s not.

  Something is brewing, and I don’t know what it is. What I do know is that Dane doesn’t start blowing up my phone at six in the morning on an actual workday, let alone my first vacation day in two years.

  Yeah. Something is up, and I’m not going to like it.

  “So?” Dane asks finally. “Did you lose your phone last night or something?”

  I tug it out of my pocket and slide it across the table. “Nope. It’s right there.”

  The irritation on his face is satisfying.

  “Then why aren’t you answering it?” he asks.

  “Do you answer calls when you don’t want to talk to someone? No. The invention of caller ID makes ignoring people a breeze.”

  He sighs. “Penn.”

  “Dane,” I mock, stretching my legs out in front of me. “What do you want so I can get on with my day?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “Then talk.”

  The longer he takes to explain whatever it is that’s going to ruin my day, the more my stomach twists. Visions of fishing and taking a nap while watching that show about shiplap slip away.

  It’s my turn to sigh. “I’m not going to be screwing off today, am I?”

  “Depends how you’re using the word ‘screw.’”

  Sitting up, I cross my arms on the table. My tattoos bend and flex as I move. My latest ink, a small triangle that isn’t exactly straight because the guy who did it reeked of vodka, sits on my forearm like a permanent reminder of all the dumb shit I’ve ever done in my life—like this tattoo. And, most likely, whatever it is I’m about to agree to.

  It’s going to be terrible, or he wouldn’t have bothered to dance around the topic. He would’ve just said it. Dane doesn’t use lube.

  “I have an appointment in ten minutes,” I say, watching a car turn into the salon across the street from the café. “Whatever is so damn important that you chased me down while I was having breakfast—”

  “You weren’t having breakfast. You were flirting with Claire.”

  “For your information, I did have breakfast, and I was not flirting with Claire.”

  “You were totally flirting with me,” Claire says as she walks by.

  Dane waves a hand in my face, blocking the view of Claire’s ass. “Let’s bring your attention back here.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  “No.” His words are filled with equal amounts exasperation and irritation. “Look, as much as it pains me to say this, I need your help.”

  I knew it.

  I pull my wallet from my pocket and lay a five-dollar bill on the table for Claire. Avoiding Dane’s eyes isn’t easy work, but I’m a pro.

  “Penn?” he asks.

  “Catch ya later, Dane.” I get my phone and climb to my feet three seconds before he does. As I head to the front door, he’s just a half step behind me.

  The sunlight is warm against my face as I make my way outside. The cool breeze that held so much promise earlier is now a tease.

  “Just hear me out,” he insists as he catches up to me.

  I stop on the edge of the patio and raise my chin toward the sun. “I really do have somewhere to be.”

  “She can wait.”

  “It’s not a ‘she.’”

  “Sure it isn’t.”

  Lowering my eyes to his, I grin. “While I really love the fact that you think I have chicks lined up at nine in the morning, it’s not a ‘she.’ For real. The only thing on my to-do list today is ge
tting a haircut at Harper’s.”

  “Fine. Whatever you say. I’ll talk fast.”

  “You do that,” I say, letting the toes of my boots hang off the edge of the concrete.

  Dane looks at me with a seriousness that tells me this won’t be fun, and it won’t be quick. He winces. “Meredith Kelly is—”

  “Oh no.” My head swings back and forth. “I’m out.”

  “Penn . . .”

  I look at him with all the gravity I can muster. “The woman is nuts.”

  “She’s not nuts.”

  I slow blink. “She has a spa for her dogs.”

  “So, she’s . . . eccentric,” he says, waving a hand in the air like that dissolves my point. “That doesn’t mean she’s nuts.”

  “I don’t know what ‘eccentric’ means, but if it doesn’t mean ‘crazy,’ you’re wrong.” With another shake of my head, I start down the sidewalk.

  Memories of building Meredith Kelly’s house—reading her instructions on paper that smelled like flowers and changing the shade of pink in various rooms time and time again—filter through my mind. She was as sweet as her perfume and would send us cookies from some ritzy bakery in Nashville, but still. If Dane thinks I want to voluntarily sign up to do anything else for this woman, he’s lost his mind.

  If she were single, that would be another story. But she’s very much married. So I’m very much out.

  “It’s a kids’ camp thing,” he says, stumbling over the words.

  “Oh, a ‘kids’ camp thing.’ I know exactly what that means.”

  I stop and stretch my arms over my head. I yawn for good measure. Maybe Dane will take pity on me and let whatever this is go.

  He frowns.

  Maybe not.

  “I know Meredith is quirky, which is what ‘eccentric’ means,” he says like I’d care. “But she’s also got a really good heart and a lot of money.”

  “Good for her. I don’t have either.”

  Dane’s laugh barrels through the air. “You do too. The heart, that is. You have the financial sense of a monkey.”

  “Don’t tell anyone that, will ya?”

  “What? That you can’t manage money?”

  “No,” I say, making a sour face. “Everyone knows that. Don’t go spreading around that I’m a nice guy. It’ll give people expectations and shit.”

  He tries not to smile. “Fine. Now, back to the issue at hand—”

  “I don’t even like kids,” I whine. “They’re loud and they don’t listen and they fuck shit up. Your kid is the only one I can tolerate . . .”

  Shit. Dane’s eyes light up at the opening I just handed him on a silver platter.

  “And if you don’t help me here,” he says like I’m a child, “I won’t be able to take my sweet little Mia to the land of giant mice and princesses. Think how disappointed she’ll be if I have to tell her that her buddy Penn won’t help me out and is ruining her vacation.”

  “Low blow, Dane. Low blow.”

  “So, you’ll do it?”

  I stick out my bottom lip. “I don’t want to. I’m supposed to be on vacation too. Doesn’t anyone care about me?”

  My play for sympathy falls on deaf ears. Instead of capitulating, he shifts his weight and digs in for the kill.

  “This is going to get a ton of press, and we’ll get paid without having to chase anyone down.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath. “The Kellys are going to be investing thousands of dollars in Dogwood Lane, Penn. We have a great opportunity here to secure a lot of work. They already trust us. We know they’re going to pay well. And to be honest, we need to bank the money now so when winter comes and the projects slow down . . .”

  I toe a rock with my boot and try to hold my ground. But as he continues to stand next to me, I feel myself start to give in.

  Winters are hard on construction guys like us. The work slows, but bills still have to be paid. It’s not that bad for me or Matt, because we’re bachelors with basic rent and truck payments. For Dane, the guy with a family to take care of, it’s worse.

  I sigh. “Why can’t Matt do it? Isn’t he required by blood to be your right-hand man?”

  “He would, but the doctor hasn’t released him yet. He’s got another week or something.”

  “He fell off a ladder,” I deadpan.

  “Until you get your MD and release him to work, there’s not a lot I can do about it.” Dane blows out a breath. The lines around his eyes gather, the stress of potentially having to turn this job down evident on his face. “It’s just a week—two, tops. Basic framing and layout work at this point. If Mia didn’t have her heart set on this trip, I’d do it myself. But I can’t break her heart.”

  “Don’t use Mia against me.”

  He grins. “She already has her bags packed. I bet she’d cry herself to sleep for two weeks if—”

  “Fine,” I say before I can take it back. “But you’re an asshole for using your kid. Who does that? It’s dirty, Dane. Real dirty.”

  His shoulders fall in relief. “Just get it started, and I’ll take over when I’m back. And Neely said to tell you ‘thank you’ as soon as you caved.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I glance at my watch again. “You tell your fiancée this is going to cost her a pan of lasagna. And for the record, if Meredith even mentions the word ‘spa,’ I quit.”

  He beams. “Thanks, pal.”

  “Pal, my ass.” I start across the street. “Call me later.”

  “Will ya answer?”

  I look at him over my shoulder as I cross the centerline. “Probably not.” I flip him the bird for good measure.

  Two years. I just got suckered into giving up a vacation I’ve earned for two freaking years. Next time, I’m the one who is leaving town.

  Early.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AVERY

  Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  Harper’s voice rings through the small, sunlit room. I glance at her from atop a dilapidated ladder I found in the storage shed behind the salon. She’s looking at me over a stack of towels, a concerned curiosity etched on her face.

  “I’m hanging a speaker so I can bluetooth my phone to it,” I tell her. “I like to dance while I work.”

  Her laugh, easy and free, fills the room. She sets the towels down on her chair. “Just a heads-up, party girl: most of our clientele are farmers and ladies that play bridge. The only dance they know is the two-step.”

  I turn back to the wall.

  I didn’t know the two-step was still a thing. Come to think of it, I don’t know that much about life here in Tennessee in general. This is probably why experts tell people not to make big life decisions on a whim. Moving from Los Angeles to the smallest town I’ve ever imagined is definitely on the large side of the spectrum and probably not the wisest choice to make after two bottles of wine on a Wednesday. Even so, I feel pretty good about it.

  When I told her my plan, Mom thought I’d lost my mind. Dad was sure I was on drugs. Who wouldn’t want to live in LA, the daughter of a famous actress, and take advantage of all the perks of the situation?

  Me. That’s who. Mainly because the so-called “perks” make my skin crawl.

  I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t wake up another day and pretend to love the life I was living. It wasn’t even my life but more like roles in everyone else’s lives. How it got to that point I don’t know, but I was done.

  I was tired of being the daughter who toes the line. The only relationships my parents cared about when it came to me were the ones I had with their associates. As long as I didn’t embarrass Mom and Dad or hurt their connections—or want crazy things like family dinners—we were good.

  Work was exhausting on a soul level. There are only so many times you can have a man sitting in your chair and know he just got a blow job from someone in the back room right before his wife walks in. It’s maddening. But you have to keep those secrets or get blackballed . . . even when some of those secrets involve your friends.

  More than anything, I was tired of trying to be happy. Every man I met was a smooth talker, a one-upper, someone trying to position himself to use me somehow. It was all so superficial, and I felt that. Deeply.

  I didn’t know what to do, but I knew who would: Aunt Harper.

  “You’re going to have culture shock today,” she says. “When was the last time you charged fourteen dollars for a haircut?”

  “Um, never. You’re joking, right?”

  “I’m afraid not.” She laughs, clearly amused at my wide-eyed response.