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A family worth staying for…
Brynn Catalano is in Comeback Cove to help her cousin with a relationship crisis and plan an anniversary celebration for the local dairy. Sure, her new landlord, Hank North, is worth a second look…or three! But she’s here only for a short time, and definitely not for romance, especially with a headstrong single dad who says he doesn’t need her help.
Still, she can’t resist Hank’s daughter, Millie. The girl is almost as irresistible as her gorgeous daddy, and Brynn is surprised at how easily their twosome accommodates her…and how much she likes that. Yet when the job and the crisis are over there’s nothing to keep Brynn here. Or is there?
“I need a beer. Care to join me?”
Hank meant to say no—after all, he still had a full night ahead—but what kind of host would he be to say no? Or, for that matter, what kind of guest?
The bottle was halfway to his lips when Brynn made a small sound. “Crap! I always forget. Would you like a glass?”
“No, thanks. This is fine.”
“You’re sure? I’m a horrible hostess, sorry. I never remember the gracious touches.”
It was so unexpected—the organizational queen, forgetting something—that he felt himself relaxing. Maybe even grinning. “You’re feeding me, and you made my kid happy. I can’t think of anything more gracious than that.”
A slight hint of pink rose in her cheeks, spreading down her neck to the creamy bit of skin visible in the V of her jersey. It was an intriguing sight, for sure. He could swear there was a little freckle at the point of the V. Or maybe it was a fleck of sauce. He couldn’t tell. Neither could he pull his gaze away.
My mother was one of ten girls, I came from a family of four kids, and I have five or six children of my own, so family is a topic that is near and dear to my heart. Nothing beats a family for intrigue, secrets, politics and shifting alliances, all mixed with need, support and love. There is no stronger system in the world—and no greater source of fodder for a writer.
Mwahahahahaha.
Writing this book took me back to the days of my childhood, when all my best friends were related to me. I remembered sleepovers with cousins. Secrets with siblings. And our family’s famous Beach Days, when as many of us as could make it would trek to Rock Point Provincial Park on the shores of Lake Erie for an afternoon of swimming, barbecuing and togetherness. I remember wanting to trade a burger made by my mother for one from my aunt Verna, who made hers exotic by adding an envelope of onion soup mix to the meat. I remember stopping for ice cream on the drive home and having my first taste of mint chocolate. I remember the way the sand stuck to our skin and the slap of the waves as we jumped through them and the green-and-white pattern of the folding chairs my parents would bring with them. Were those days perfect? Anything but. But it is impossible for me to think of my childhood without my family, for they were my world.
I hope that as you read this book, you, too, will remember close ties with loved ones, and that you will become part of my reading family by visiting my website, www.krisfletcher.com. I’ll save one of Verna’s burgers for you.
Yours,
Kris Fletcher
Dating a Single Dad
Kris Fletcher
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kris Fletcher has never organized a festival or conspired to make someone fall in love, but she is a big fan of dairy products and considered it her duty to learn how to make homemade ice cream as part of the research for this book. Her husband still tears up when he recalls the roasted strawberry-rhubarb with dark chocolate flecks. Oh, the hardship.
A four-time Golden Heart finalist, Kris grew up in southern Ontario, went to school in Nova Scotia, married a man from Maine and now lives in central New York. She shares her very messy home with her husband and an ever-changing number of their kids. Her greatest hope is that dust bunnies never develop intelligence.
MILLS & BOON
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Heartfelt thanks and smooches are gratefully bestowed upon:
My children, especially those still living at home, for understanding that the word “deadline” has many different meanings that Mr. Webster never intended.
My husband, Larry, for being on board with easy meals and a messy house, and for making it possible for me to do this job that I love almost as much as him. And for listening to me that time it really mattered. I’m very glad we get to keep you, hon.
The folks at Express Computer Service, who have saved my computer bacon more times than I can count.
The Barenaked Ladies, for Boomerang.
The Purples, for listening to me freak out and reminding me, in the lovingest way possible, that I am a total dork.
My agent, Jessica Faust, for understanding author eccentricities (aka total dorkiness).
My editor, Piya Campana, for not freaking out after reading the early plans and incarnations of this book, even though she had every right to do so.
And my brother Ed for burning my Pop Tarts all those years ago.
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