Melanie Summers's Blog

A whole lot of shenanigans...

Paige Chadwick is having the worst day of her life. Her tyrant boss has made her three days late for her sister’s destination wedding trip, and now she’s stuck on the wrong Caribbean island with the wedding just hours away.

Enter Mac Gamble, a grumpy yet irresistibly attractive pilot, who reluctantly agrees to get her to the church on time.

When a fast-moving storm leaves them stranded on a deserted island, they’re forced to rely on each other to survive. As they navigate their new surroundings, tempers flare and an undeniable attraction grows.

Amidst the stunning sunsets and white sand beaches, Paige starts to see that underneath Mac’s gruff exterior is a heart of gold.

Can these two opposites find a love as deep as the ocean, or will their differences stir up a hurricane of heartbreak?

Oh, I think you can guess the answer to that one... :) COMING AUG 22 TO PAPERBACK, E-BOOK, AND KINDLE UNLIMITED

CHECK IT OUT HERE

Hello my friends!

Today is the big launch of The Space Between Us! It's book 1 of my brand spanking new Brainiacs in Love series... and I'm in love. I've got all the symptoms: I can't sleep, I can't eat, this book is all I can think about. (Well, let's be honest, I can eat).

I wanted to answer a question a reader asked me recently: Why a STEM Romance?

Well, here's the truth: I was considering writing a hockey romance (cause they're all the rage these days), but the thing is, I don't like hockey (but let's just keep that between us because that kind of thing can get you kicked right out of Canada). It's noisy, cold, and smelly. Like really freaking stinky. Have you been in a dressing room in any hockey rink ever? Yeah, not a scent you forget. So, last fall, I'm scratching my head wondering if there's a way to make myself like hockey (turns out there isn't) when all of a sudden, this question popped into my mind: What do you like?

I like science. Love it, in fact. I'm a big nerd at heart. Can't get enough of learning about animals, plants, weather, space, the ocean, human anatomy, Grey's Anatomy, and all things sciency. I love it enough that I got a bachelor's degree in it way back when I didn't know about the horrors of cellulite. And that thought was enough to get me started on this series, set at a SETI research facility. (If you're not familiar, SETI stands for the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence.)

Umm, that's weird. Mel. Why SETI?

I'm glad you asked. Let me grab my soapbox. I'll be right back...Because the folks that do this work are the GOATs of both optimism and perseverance. They know full well that the chances we'll make contact in our lifetime is almost 0%, and yet they show up every day, hoping. And I'm sorry, but if there's anything this work needs right now, it's hope. Optimism. The belief that we can work hard and do what seems impossible.

But there is one man who wholeheartedly disagrees with me about all of this. Ty Sterling. Cynical Billionaire and hero of our story. He's convinced SETI is insane, and not only that, he's totally pissed that his business partner, Dick Napper (Remember Dick from Beach Please?), gave them funding in the first place. His goal is to shut the program down ASAP.

Enter Gwendolyn Fox, SETI researcher, professional arguer, and hater of Ty Sterling. No way in hell is Gwen going down without a fight.

Things are about to get interesting, people!

Read it here (for free on Kindle Unlimited)

Happy reading!

xoxo,

mel

Hello all!

Is it too late to say Happy New Year? I think it might be, but I'm saying it anyway because I've been so busy working on my upcoming release that I completely forgot to wish you all the best in 2024!

So I'm doing it now: Happy New Year! I wish you and yours all the best in 2024, which includes love, friendship, and of course, books that make you snort coffee out of your nose.

Speaking of snort-laughing, I am SO UNBELIEVABLY FREAKING JACKED to be sharing this news with you today. My proofreading team is just finishing the final polishing on what I'm pretty sure is my best book yet.

Cocky, I know. But I also think it may be true. According to Melissa, my amazing PA, editor, and wonderful friend, who has read everything I've ever written, this one is the bee's knees. As diplomatic as Melissa is, I've come to know the difference between a book that she thinks is good and one that she freaking loves. And this book is in the second group. She literally wrote me to say, "I laughed, I cried. It was better than Cats."

I also loved this one so much, I found myself rereading THE ENTIRE thing over and over even though I'm insanely busy and was just supposed to be popping through to make a few quick changes. (Plus, I already know how it ends.)

Anyway, here's a little about it in this edition's segment of....

REALLY BIG BOOK NEWS

Love just might be the final frontier…

S.E.T.I. researcher, Gwen Fox, is a woman on a mission—to answer the cosmic question of the ages: Are we alone?

Along with her work family, Gwen is perfectly happy spending her days listening for extraterrestrial signals— until the worst happens. They get word that they’re about to be shut down by Ty Sterling, their billionaire backer whose heart is as cold as interstellar space. About to lose everything, Gwen has no choice but to travel to Peru to change his mind.

Armed only with scientific zeal and optimism, Gwen faces off against Ty, who just might be the most stubborn, cynical man in the galaxy. As the tension between the pair builds, so does the undeniable chemistry that neither of them saw coming. Against the breathtaking backdrop of the Peruvian jungle, the space between enemies and lovers begins to collapse.

Will Gwen and Ty discover that together they form a supernova of passion? Or will their budding relationship crash and burn on impact?

*** The Space Between Us is a swoony, adventure-filled, delightfully funny tale of a woman who will do anything to save her job and the stubborn billionaire who dared to get in her way. It’s a standalone rom-com with a little more spice than a regular Melanie Summers book.

*** WHAT TO EXPECT:

Enemies to lovers S.T.E.M. romance Billionaire Adventure, romantic settings, and a little danger Forced Proximity/Only one tent A secret cinnamon roll hero Loads of banter, awkward moments, and delicious tension

It's Party Time! (And by that I mean it's time to curl up with a brand new SPICY book!)

A HOLLYWOOD ENDING

When life hands you heartbreak, grab a sexy bodyguard…

America’s sweetheart Courtney Bennett had it all - fame, fortune, and a doting husband in one of Hollywood's most powerful men. But when he trades her in for a younger actress, Courtney's world topples down around her.

With paparazzi on her tail and nowhere to turn, she hides away in a secluded cabin in Colorado with her new (and deliciously hot) bodyguard, Damien Young.

As Courtney strives to rebuild her shattered heart, she finds herself drawn to Damien, the man determined to get her back on her feet again.

But as a man of honor, Damien won't take advantage of a woman in such a vulnerable state, no matter how undeniable their chemistry is.

A Hollywood Ending is a sizzling, opposites-attract romance. It’s much spicier than a regular Melanie Summers rom-com so you may want to grab a fan (or maybe a glass of cold milk).

What Readers Are Saying About Courtney and Damien...

"...great chemistry & the book got steamier toward the end. Damien is definitely a great book boyfriend to swoon about." ~ Jane in SD, Bookstagram

"Courtney and Damien may be my new favorite couple." ~ GettingLostinaGoodBook, Bookstagram

"This one was just so much fun... a must-read for me. Courtney was such a doll and I loved her personal journey. Damien was everything you want in a hero. A great combination of spice, cute romance, and humor." Novel Gossip, Bookstagram

"This is a light spice, opposites attract forbidden bodyguard romance. Great characters that you fall in love with. I really liked how the author built up the relationship between the two main characters. I was rooting for their happy ending through the whole book." ~ Jennifer M., Booksprout

“I absolutely loved Courtney and Damien's story. It's steamy, witty, and both Courtney and Damien are very likable.”

"This one is fantastic! Well written, uplifting, inspiring, and, well, very, very spicy!” ~ Raquel M., Booksprout

“I adored Courtney and Damien. As individuals. As a couple. No matter how hard they fought the pull, they were just adorable together. As much as I hated to see the pain she endured, I loved watching Damien lift Courtney back up and encourage her to keep going, keep fighting to recover everything her soon-to-be-ex was trying to take from her. (Her revenge moment is a thing of utter perfection.) I had so much fun getting to know these characters, I’m not really ready to let go of them yet.” ~ Kristen L, Booksprout

“Love Love Love Courtney and Damien!

Courtney's whole world has been turned upside down. Her husband is cheating on her and the people she thought were on her side stabbed her in the back. She wakes up in a strange guys room not knowing where she is or how she got there. Damien was hired to be Courtney's bodyguard while she's in Colorado. He thought he was protecting a pampered princess but quickly realizes that Courtney is in need of someone to help her realize just how wonderful she really is. I absolutely loved Courtney and Damien's story. It's steamy, witty, and both Courtney and Damien are very likable.” ~ Alreadycrzy, Booksprout

"This contemporary rom-com is page-turning with exceptional world-building and characters that are realistic and intriguing. Their journey is enthralling as they embark upon a Hollywood ending, an explicit romance that is consumed by steamy passion, lust, desire, and spice that brings all the feelings, opposites attract, a celebrity, a bodyguard, forced proximity, stranded alone together, feel good, heartwarming, humor, good guy hero, scandal, drama, heartfelt emotions, adventure, and more. I recommend reading this book by an extraordinary author who knows how to captivate her reader's hearts and attention with a Hollywood ending and an explicit romance that is sure to have readers begging for more." ~ Cateyes83, Booksprout

"Loved everything about this story!! This was an amazing experience!! I felt transported right into this story and I don’t mind admitting that I didn’t want to see it end!! Ohhh and the steam factor!!!! The chemistry was so good between these characters! Definitely a different kind of story than I’m used from Melanie but it was absolutely brilliant and way beyond five stars!!! A must read!!" ~ Marie E, Booksprout

I hope you're having a wonderful week!

Thanks so much for being part of my writing life. I appreciate you.

xoxo,

Melanie

Hello, You!

Happy Friday! I hope you have a weekend of reading and relaxing ahead of you. I'm going to be doing my best not to check on my Amazon rank every ten minutes this weekend. This book-launching business is completely nerve-wracking, even after nearly a decade of doing it.

Anyway, Beach Please is all yours, complete with fun graphics, maps, and whatnot. You'll also get to see the cover for Pierce Davenport's latest book. Yay! Pierce from Whisked Away is back!

Here's a little about the book...

A hilarious and heartwarming story that’ll have you snort-laughing, swooning, and sighing with happiness…

Lola Gordon's dreams of a thriving surf shop were shattered when her ex vanished with all the money in their business account, leaving her on the brink of losing everything. With the bank set to auction off her beloved shop and its contents in just six weeks, Lola is desperate to find a solution.

When news of an exciting treasure hunt sweeps through the island, Lola sees it as her last chance to reclaim her surf shop and rebuild her life. There's just one obstacle standing in her way: she needs a boat.

Enter Aidan Clarke, a disillusioned Canadian expat seeking solace in the tranquil shores of Paradise Bay. Having recently discovered his fiancée's infidelity with his brother, Aidan wants to be alone. So when his parents decide to visit and hunt for a house near his seaside cottage, Aidan realizes he must create an illusion of happiness.

He proposes a deal to Lola: he'll provide the boat she needs if she agrees to pose as his live-in girlfriend.

As Lola and Aidan set sail on their adventure, the lines between fiction and reality blur, and their fake affection starts to feel all too genuine.

Join Lola and Aidan as their dreams are tested, their hearts are mended, and a sun-kissed romance awaits…

READ IT HERE!

The countdown is on. Only 6 short days until BEACH PLEASE launches!!

I've LOVED being back in Paradise Bay these past few months, and I have to tell you, I'm madly in love with Lola and Aidan. They're the bee's knees.

Of course you love them, Melanie. You made them up.

Yes, I know, but seriously, these two are just...ahhhh. Aidan's Canadian, which has been sooo fun for me to write, and Lola's a surfer chick who's also a trivia buff. I can't wait for you to meet them. For today, let's meet Aidan, and next week, I'll introduce you to Lola (otherwise this post is going to be hella long).

THE SETUP...

Lola Gordon's dreams of a thriving surf shop were shattered when her ex vanished with all the money in their business account, leaving her on the brink of losing everything. With the bank set to auction off her beloved shop and its contents in just six weeks, Lola is desperate to find a solution.

When news of an exciting treasure hunt sweeps through the island, Lola sees it as her last chance to reclaim her surf shop and rebuild her life. There's just one obstacle standing in her way: she needs a boat.

Enter Aidan Clarke, a disillusioned Canadian expat seeking solace in the tranquil shores of Paradise Bay. Having recently discovered his fiancée's infidelity with his brother, Aidan wants to be alone. So when his parents decide to visit and hunt for a house near his seaside cottage, Aidan realizes he must create an illusion of happiness.

He proposes a deal to Lola: he'll provide the boat she needs if she agrees to pose as his live-in girlfriend.

As Lola and Aidan set sail on their adventure, the lines between fiction and reality blur, and their fake affection starts to feel all too genuine.

Join Lola and Aidan as their dreams are tested, their hearts are mended, and a sun-kissed romance awaits…

SNEAK PEEK TIME!

CHAPTER 1

Party Boats, Life Goals, and Bachelorettes

Aidan Clarke

I won’t do it today. I won’t. It’s been six months. Time to move on and shed the rituals that may have served me well in the past (or maybe only served to prolong the pain). Whichever it is, today, I have to stop. It will be a birthday gift to myself. And possibly a gift to the people on any nearby boats docked at the pier. I’m not sure if they can hear it, what with me doing it in the cabin, but I do get an awful lot of strange looks from people around here.

Not that I care what they think. That was the whole point of moving to Santa Valentina Island in the first place—to get away from people whose opinions matter to me. If I wanted to be judged—or worse, pitied—I’d still be living in Canada. I’d be back in Calgary with plans to drive out to my parents’ ranch for a big birthday dinner with my four stupid professional hockey-playing millionaire brothers. But I’m not.

Instead, I’m here in paradise, starting over. Healing. Moving on. Which is why I won’t do it today. I’m going to stand here in silence while I wait for the coffee to brew and prepare the snacks for today’s snorkeling tour guests.

The thing is, I don’t need to do it anymore. At first it started out as a way to soothe the pain. But now that I’m over her, I keep it up as a way to remind myself that falling in love is, without a doubt, the worst choice a human can make. Idiotic. Nonsensical. Not ever happening again. And because I know this deep in my bones, I don’t need to keep doing it.

I’ve carved out an amazing life for myself here. When it all went down and I left Canada, I bought a catamaran and swapped out my previous life of working in cybersecurity for a major bank (hunched over a keyboard all day fending off hackers only to risk my life on the icy drive from my office to my condo) for something infinitely better. The perfectly free and easy, no-commitment life. I take two three-hour tours out a day—one at nine a.m. and one at one p.m., which means I’m not even committed to serving them a meal. Just snacks. My morning guests get a variety of pastries, scones, and fresh fruit, while the afternoon crowd gets tortilla chips, salsa, fresh guacamole that I make myself, and cookies. Then I spend the rest of the day blissfully alone doing whatever the hell I want.

The inspiration for buying the catamaran was simple—it’s a great way to meet women. Specifically, women who are here for a limited time and are looking for a little vacation fun with a free-spirited boat captain. But I’m not an animal. I have rules—no one vulnerable, no one intoxicated, and no one married or otherwise in a committed relationship. So far, it hasn’t worked out exactly as I expected because at least half of my guests are families (so not my preferred demographic), and of those who are single women, a surprising amount of them are going through a bad break-up or some other tragic life moment which immediately makes them a hard no. On the odd occasion that I have met a woman who seems to tick off all the boxes, I inevitably wind up asking her a few questions about herself over a bottle of wine, only to realize that she’s off limits. This means instead of a night of fun, I spend the entire evening listening to her talk about her ex/parents/whoever has hurt her, only to hug it out at the end and have her leave grateful while I head home to my little seaside cottage having not had the random hook-up for which I was hoping.

But there’s always a chance, and today’s group is looking pretty good—eight women who are here for a bachelorette party. Yes, ma’am, happy birthday to me. I’ll start out the day feeding them and helping them fit their snorkels and fins, then at some point, mention my sad-but-true sob story—that my fiancée left me for my own brother. That’ll garner some ‘awww, you poor thing,’ energy, which, with any luck, will turn into some hot, meaningless birthday sex.

The kettle reaches 200 degrees—the perfect temperature for French press coffee. I pour the water over the freshly-ground beans, then rest the plunger carefully on top while the coffee brews, its comforting scent tickling my nose. In precisely four minutes fifty-four seconds, it will be brewed to perfection, which is exactly the length of time to do it once.

Just once couldn’t hurt, right?

Screw it. I know I said I wouldn’t, but it’s my birthday. I’ll let myself do it this one last time. But I won’t let myself sing along. That’ll help me put a stop to this nonsense. After this, I really will move on forever.

Turning my head toward the speaker, I say, “Alexa, play ‘The Winner Takes It All’ by ABBA.”

Alexa must be so sick of this by now. I’m sorry, Alexa. The keyboard starts up and I close my eyes, letting Agnetha’s pain remind me of how awful it was when I first found out. Agnetha gets it. Even though, as far as I know, Bjorn didn’t leave her for her own sister. I also doubt she grew up feeling like a complete reject on account of every single person in her family playing professional—or, in my mother’s case, Olympic-level—hockey, but Agnetha was too uncoordinated to skate a straight line.

Don’t sing. Do. Not. Sing. “I was in your arms…”

Dammit, I’m singing.

I belt out every word until my throat is raw. When the song ends, I open my eyes, only to see one of the guys who runs fishing tours staring at me slack-jawed through the cabin window. He gives me a quick nod, then shakes his head as he walks down the pier to his boat.

Yeah, buddy, enjoy fishing with a bunch of old retired guys today. You weirdo who peeks into other people’s cabins. I’ll be hosting a group of beautiful ladies, hopefully at least one of whom will be looking for a little captain action.

That wasn’t nice of me. Not very Canadian at all. Besides, technically I suppose I’m the weirdo. I should probably do that at home. Not that I’m doing it again because … last time.

Plunging the coffee down with the exact pressure required to blend the oils to perfection, I tell Alexa, who just started playing Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares,” to shut off the music. Time to get prepared for the tour. These snack trays won’t make themselves.

It’ll be a bit of a tricky day because I’ll be dodging birthday calls from my family, especially from Lawson the Betrayer. That’s his new name. Fitting. He doesn’t know I call him that though because I haven’t spoken to him since it happened. He still tries calling me every two or three days, but I don’t pick up. I should just block him already and get it over with. I will. Just not today.

Lawson always was an asshat. Two years older than me and forever determined to show me he could beat me at anything. Obviously he could beat me at anything. He was two years older than me.

All right, so he wasn’t always an asshat. Not until six months ago when he started sleeping with the woman I was going to marry. In fact, of my four brothers, he and I were the closest. He was the only one in the family who seemed to have any appreciation of my skills—my ability to fix computer problems, the ease with which I could solve riddles and complete puzzles, and my mad Lego skills. Yes, my parents tried to encourage me, and my other three brothers certainly used me when they needed some tech nerd help. But Lawson actually seemed to like listening to me talk about my interests. He asked questions instead of giving me the cursory ‘uh-huh, yeps’ that my mom and dad would when I was excited about the latest version of The Legend of Zelda. So when he was the one who put my heart through the wood chipper, it was … unexpected. And by that I mean the most painful experience in all my thirty-one years (and I’m including the time I broke my nose so badly it was sideways on my face).

It’s a pathetically typical story. I got home a day early from an IT conference only to catch the two of them in bed. My bed. Where I used to snuggle up and inhale the scent of her right before I’d drift off into a peaceful sleep believing I was the luckiest man on earth to have a woman like her to love me. Cue the two of them scrambling to cover up, get dressed, and explain all at the same time. Caitlyn clutching my pillow to her chest and crying while he’s on all fours searching for his briefs. Cue my world being shaken to the core, my lungs feeling like they were going to collapse, and my legs turning to mercury, which is both a liquid and one of the heaviest metals on earth.

Side note: Most people say lead in this scenario (as in, my legs felt like lead), but lead is light enough to sit on top of mercury. That’s how heavy mercury is. But I digress.

Anyway, within a week, the story broke all over Canada. I’m not sure how the press found out that one of hockey’s royal family had cuckholded his little brother, but they did and it was big news. That’s when I decided to become an expat from Hockeylandia forever. I told Vivian, my overly sympathetic boss who will ‘never cheer for the Cougars again,’ that I was moving to Santa Valentina Island to become a boat captain. She felt so bad for me that she cried. Talk about an awkward Zoom call. It couldn’t have been worse if she’d forgotten to wear her pants.

Fast forward to me literally living as far away from an ice rink as a guy can get while still remaining on planet Earth. Honestly, that’s how much I hate hockey. I don’t even get ice in my drinks. I’ll suck back a lukewarm Coke rather than have that awful white stuff touch my lips.

After I get the snack trays set out on the counter and tidy up, I grab the freshly-laundered towels, roll them and set them up into pyramid shapes on various locations throughout the boat. Yes, if women love anything, it’s neatly rolled towels within their grasp.

I’m just finishing the last towel when I smell the stench of a cigar. I turn to see Stew Milner standing on the pier next to my boat. Stogie Stew, as he’s called by the locals, owns the biggest tour company on the island, Sandy Shores Snorkeling Adventures, which is honestly the dumbest name for a snorkeling tour company ever. It doesn’t even make sense. No one snorkels on the shore, Stew.

He grins at me while he chews on the cigar he’s holding between his finger and thumb (both of which are yellow—blech). “Zelda’s looking pretty fine. You almost ready to sell her to me?”

Zelda’s my boat. She’s a 47’ Passenger Day Charter Catamaran that I bought off a fellow from St. Lucia. She’s got seating for up to twenty-eight passengers, not including the trampoline. She has a small living quarters below deck including a galley, a bedroom with one double bed (and a cupboard full of condoms), a bathroom with a shower, and a tiny living room with a couch and TV. There are also another two toilets on the main deck for guest use. The best feature is a slide that drops people from the top deck into the warm Caribbean waters—a big hit, especially with kids. And I’m never selling her to Stogie Stew.

I involuntarily cringe, feeling somehow violated on Zelda’s behalf. “And give up the good life? Never.”

“Oh, you’ll sell her to me. It’s just a matter of time before you get sick of ferrying drunks around.” He turns to leave, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll pay you a fair price for her! Just let me know when you’re ready to give up!”

“Not going to happen,” I call back. I’d rather burn Zelda to ash than sell her to that guy. Sorry, Zelda. I didn’t mean that.

At ten minutes to nine, a taxi van pulls up next to the pier. And here they come, eight gorgeous women. I squint a little as they get closer. Are they … old ladies? Based on the grey hair and the fact that one of them is using a walker, I’m going to say yes. Which means my hopes for a birthday romp are pretty much over. Unless…?

No. They’re over, Aidan. Accept that.

I plaster a smile on my face and hold out my hand to help them climb the steps. “I’m Aidan, your captain for today. Which one of you lovely ladies is our blushing bride?”

They all titter and one of them shoots up her hand. “I am, but I’m not exactly blushing.”

“No, Loretta’s been with lots of men,” the one with the walker says.

“Joyce, you’re making me sound like a trollop.”

“I’m just being honest,” Joyce says.

“If I had known you were going to be honest, I wouldn’t have invited you,” Loretta says.

Joyce hands me her walker, then grabs hold of the railing and hoists herself up the steps while I stand, ready to help if needed. Once she’s aboard, she smiles up at me. “Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water?”

“Uh-oh, I can tell you’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” I ask with a wink. God, I hate myself sometimes.

They all laugh and a few of them agree, although they don’t sound too happy about it.

“Oooh! Look at the towels,” Loretta says.

“So lovely.”

“Where’s the food? Your brochure said there would be pastries.”

“Hold your horses, he can only do one thing at a time.”

Oh dear, I have a feeling this is going to be an excruciatingly long three hours.

***

Yes, yes it was. So much bickering. And calling me Captain Hot Stuff. And asking me to ‘do their backs,’ meaning lather sunscreen on them. In more than one case, it meant lifting skin folds to make sure I could get in the cracks. To be honest, I’m not sure if I’ve just spent my birthday morning being sexually harassed or not. I think I was. Thank God I don’t have a tour booked for the afternoon because I just want to go home and have a shower.

While I was out at sea (and out of range) I received the customary texts from my non-betraying brothers, Bennett, Hayden, and Wilder. But nothing from Lawson. Maybe his gift to me is a break from his pathetic attempts at reconciling. That would be surprisingly thoughtful, so clearly I’m going to have to keep my guard up.

By the time I clean up and head home, it’s nearly three o’clock. I go for a long run on the beach before showering. Now I’m going to spend a delightful evening totally alone. I’ll cook my birthday dinner of grilled snapper, brown rice, and veggies, then spend the evening binging the latest season of Formula 1: Drive to Survive while I play chess on my phone.

My phone rings and Scotia Dominion Bank appears on the screen. That’ll be my ex-boss Vivian calling to wish me a happy birthday. She’s so thoughtful. “Hey Vivian, how’s life in Toronto today?”

There’s a pause, then I hear, “It’s me, Lawson. Please don’t hang up. I had to beg the lady at the front desk to let me use one of their meeting rooms to call you.”

My stomach lurches. My heart squeezes. So many emotions all at once. Humiliation at him going to my old place of work, where they will undoubtedly recognize him since he’s an über-famous hockey god, then immediately remember that his brother used to work there. Red hot rage, searing pain, and inexplicably, guilt for having ignored him for so long, which is insane because I have every right to avoid him for the rest of my life. I open my mouth to tell him not to call me again, but nothing comes out. Just say it. Then hang up. At least you’ll have that one final thread of dignity you managed to salvage.

“Aidan, please. I really need to talk to you. I’ve never felt so sorry about anything in my entire life. In fact, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I deserve that. I do. I just … really miss you, man. You’re my little bro.”

“A fact you conveniently forgot when you started banging my fiancée.”

“Aid, I swear I never forgot. The entire time it was just killing me knowing—”

“If you called to tell me how hard this has all been on you, I’m going to hang up now.”

“That’s not why I called,” he says, letting out a heavy sigh. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, and I know it’s a long shot, but I was hoping we could find a way to get through this mess. I miss you, man. The guilt is…” He lets out a groan. “I can’t stop thinking about what we did to you. I’m worried about you. Mom’s worried. Everybody’s furious with me and with Cait. I’m playing like shit, to be honest. I don’t even have one goal yet this season.”

Cait. The sound of her name coming out of his mouth is like a sea urchin to the bottom of my foot. Clearly they’re still together, which is just a real punch to the beans. “Well, you should have thought of that before you betrayed your own brother. Actions have consequences.”

“I know. I know. I just…”

“What? Didn’t care? Couldn’t control yourself?”

“The second one. The thing is, I’ve been in love with her since the first time you brought her home to meet the family. For three years, man. I tried stuffing those feelings deep, deep down but…”

“But you failed miserably.”

“Yeah, I did,” he says. “I know I shouldn’t say this because it’ll probably come out wrong and piss you off even more, but I might be the only person who can actually understand how you feel.”

“That’s quite possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever come up with, which is saying something.” Now I’m just being nasty, and I won’t lie—it feels fucking incredible.

“The thing is, if you’re missing her even half as much as I wanted her for three long years, I get it. It was torture. Pure torture, which is why it’s killing me to know how much pain you’re in.”

I pause while I try to make sense of his half-baked logic. My brain quickly decides it doesn’t want me to admit how much this hurts. I’d rather have her think she didn’t mean that much to me. “I’m not in any pain at all, actually.”

“Come on, Aidan. It’s me. I know you.”

“No, for real. I’m totally over her. In fact, I’ve been having the time of my life. Meeting tons of women. Getting laid like crazy.”

“Really?” He sounds hopeful.

“Yeah, and the best part so far is that none of them floss their teeth in bed or eat lettuce with their hands, like some other women I know.”

He ignores my obvious digs at Caitlyn and says, “That’s great, Aid. I’m really happy for you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” I tell him. “If that’s all, I really have to go. I’m super busy with my catamaran business. Don’t call me from the bank again. It’s humiliating for both of us.”

“Please wait. That’s not all,” he says.

I blow out a frustrated sigh, then snap, “What?”

“Caitlyn and I are … well, I’m not, she is. We’re… having a baby and we’re getting married.” His voice sounds like it’s coming out of a long tunnel. I hear the words but it’s like I’m not really taking them all in. “We want you to be there. It would mean the world to us both.”

I must have slid out of my seat because I’m now seated on the tile floor. Am I rocking back and forth like some sort of young child? Yes, yes, I am.

For God’s sake, pull it together.

“Aidan? Are you still there?” he asks, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him.

I make some sort of sound. It comes from deep in my gut and resembles the lonely howl of a needy malamute who’s been left out in the yard too long.

“Was that a … dog?”

“Yes, I’m outside.”

“Oh, okay, it just sounded so close to the phone that I thought it was you. Look, I know it’s a big ask—for you to come to the wedding—but I don’t want to get married without my best friend by my side. And I can’t stand the thought of you not being part of our daughter’s life.”

“Daughter?” I ask, finally rising to my feet. I walk over to the window on wobbly legs.

“Yeah,” Lawson says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. How the fuck does he get to be so fucking happy? “We found out yesterday that we’re having a little girl. But we’re planning the wedding for after she’s born. Cait wants some time to get back in shape again and I’m hoping it’ll be enough time for you to decide you can be there. All I’m asking is that you think about it, okay?”

“Yeah, no. I’m not going to.”

“Not going to think about it or not going to come?”

“Both.” My gut flips. I’m taking a stand here and I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, but I do know this is something he and I are not going to come back from. But then again, that ship has already sailed, hasn’t it?

He blows out a long sigh. “Okay, I should have guessed that going in. I hope you’ll change your mind. There’s lots of time between now and then.”

“I won’t.”

There’s a long pause before he says anything. “For what it’s worth, not having you in my life is like having my right arm cut off.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“No. I just want you to know how much you mean to me, and that I wish I had fallen in love with anyone else.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t. I guess I gotta play the cards I was dealt.”

I let out a scoff. “How awful for you, especially since you dealt them yourself.”

I can picture him rubbing the back of his neck, his face screwed up with regret. “I suppose I did. I’ll let you go. Love you, man.”

“Bye.” I hang up before he can say anything else. I’ve heard about all I can handle from him for a lifetime. “Happy fucking birthday to me,” I mutter.

This feeling, right now—this gut-churning, nauseous, too hot and too cold at the same time feeling that seems like it may last forever—is the reason I will never fall in love again. Because love is Not. Worth. It. Love doesn’t care about you. Love will turn your life upside-down and leave you a complete mess. If life has taught me anything, it’s that being alone is far better than being rejected. So alone, I shall stay.

New plan for this evening. I’m going to get piss-stinking drunk.

Okay, that's it for me today!

I'll be back next week to celebrate the launch of BEACH PLEASE! It's going to be fun! Rosy and Darnell will be there, and we'll meet Lola's best friend, Penelope. You're going to love her.

And as always, I wish you love, peace, good health, and happy reading!

xoxo,

mel

CHAPTER ONE

"When I was growing up, I always wanted to be someone. Now I realize I should have been more specific." ~Lily Tomlin

This was definitely the most ridiculous thing Jessica Halloway had ever done. Embarrassing. Stupid, even. The worst part was that she knew it wouldn’t work, and yet she’d spent sixty-five dollars plus tax and shipping anyway. There was no way on earth that an herbal vagina steam bath was going to ‘reset her emotional wellbeing so effectively that she’d restore both her energy and sense of optimism to that of a toddler in just one use’ —despite what the glossy brochure claimed.

But KirasBestLife.com was having a Fall in Love With Yourself twenty percent off sale so Jess went ahead and ordered it, throwing a wish to the universe that this would finally be the silver bullet for which she’d been searching. And here she stood in her tidy bathroom, naked from the waist down, feeling utterly foolish, not to mention chilly, while she waited for the filtered water in the sandalwood steam bowl to cool.

Welp, I guess this is happening, she thought.

She might as well do this today. It had been an awful evening. Her son Noah, at the tender age of fifteen, had gotten it in his head that he and his friends should throw a Halloween party in a hotel room. He’d come home from school and started begging Jess to borrow her credit card with the promise of paying for all of it himself. Obviously, she gave him a hard no, but that didn’t stop him from pressing the issue, then raising it again when her husband, Mike (who was already extremely stressed because he lost a major client to another accounting firm), got home from work. Then it was game on. She felt like she should have filmed and narrated it, nature-documentary-style. “The young male challenges the family patriarch yet again, hoping to prove his ability to outwit his father, and therefore be granted the independence he has so long desired. But it’s not to be today for the young buck. The father is unwilling to yield and hand over his credit card so his son can trash a hotel room or impregnate a female of the species. The young male will have to try again another day, when he is stronger and wiser.

The argument raged through supper, but finally died off when Noah was sent to his room to do his homework, which meant he was in there playing Call of Duty on his computer, but at least the fighting had stopped. So Jess sneaked up to the bathroom to give this latest cure-all a try. It had gotten to the point where Jess was that desperate.

She’d been miserable for so long now, she was willing to try anything. She had to find a way to ‘fill her cup,’ as her therapist, Fern, had told her. Although, Jess supposed calling Fern her therapist was a stretch. It’s not like she saw her regularly and Fern now had all the dirt on her. She saw her once, three years ago, about a week after the Canada incident—an event of which she was so ashamed, she still hadn’t told a soul. As soon as she booked the appointment, she felt horribly guilty about spending two hundred dollars for an hour (which turned out to be fifty minutes because Fern needs ten minutes to ‘reset’ before her next appointment). Jess gave her a lightning-fast laundry list of everything that might be wrong with her, as if ‘speed therapy’ were a thing. Now that she thought about it, why wasn’t speed therapy a thing? Million-dollar idea right there. But back to her list: a perpetual sense of doom, chronic irritability, and a general lack of enthusiasm about everything. Her hope was that in one session, she’d be given the insight she needed to fix herself up and carry on. With one perfect sentence from Fern, suddenly the clouds would part, the weight on her shoulders would lift, and she’d walk out into the daylight renewed, restored, and transformed.

But at the end, all Fern said was, “Do you think you value the opinion men have of you more than that of other women?”

“Umm … no.”

“Hmm … let’s put a pin in that and explore it next week.”

Fern opened her appointment book, which was conveniently on the side table next to her armchair. “I can do Monday at three.”

“I’m picking my kids up from school at that time.”

“Can your husband pick them up once a week?”

“His office is forty minutes from the school, and he doesn’t have the flexibility I do.”

Fern stared at Jess with that same neutral (yet totally judgey) expression. “What’s a good time for you?”

You can’t afford this. Her face hot with shame, Jess said, “I’m actually really busy. I was kind of hoping you could just… set me on the right track today so I could take it from here.”

“That’s not how therapy works, Jessica. It took years to build these unhealthy patterns you’ve described. You can’t expect to fix things in an hour.”

“Fifty minutes,” she muttered, adding, “technically,” as if it softened the dig.

Fern had the good grace to ignore it (or maybe she just didn’t want to lose a patient). “This is important. You owe it to yourself and your family to do the work. Before you burn out or worse, do something you regret. These issues, if left unchecked, can cause any number of irrational actions that carry with them the heaviest of consequences.”

“Right, yeah,” she told her, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “The thing is, for now, I can’t commit that much time.”

Tilting her head to the side, Fern sighed. “You need to set yourself as a priority. As Oprah says, you have to fill your cup first or you’ll have nothing to give others. Your homework this week is to figure out what you can give up that will allow you to do this work. You’ll find something, I’m sure.” Standing, she walked over to the door. “It was lovely to meet you, Jessica. Call me when you’re ready to get serious.”

Fast forward to now. Jess hadn’t tried to find anything she could give up to pay for therapy. She also hadn’t found a good way to tell Mike she needed a therapist. Instead, she convinced him they should get a puppy—to teach the kids about empathy and responsibility. But really she hoped it would distract her from her increasingly strong desire to get in her car and drive far, far away by herself. Forever. Probably to California, where she would live in a mint green VW van that she would lovingly convert to an adorable camper. She’d park it next to a white sand beach and fish her dinner out of the ocean while she watched the sunset. Yes, California was the place she’d go if she ever hit the point where she couldn’t take it anymore. People seemed much happier there than here in rainy Seattle.

After weeks of cajoling and showing him adorable puppies in need of forever homes on her phone, Mike finally cracked, and they picked up Baxter, an adorable light brown and white cava-poo (Cavalier King Charles Spaniel/poodle cross). It had worked for a while. Jess had been so busy sleep-training, house-training, and teaching him not to chew on the plants and cords, that she didn’t have time to think about the bigger picture. But then, after a few months, Baxter settled into their family and the awful, restless feeling returned.

She was bored. No, not bored. How can someone so busy be bored? It was more like disconnected—slightly separated from everything and everyone around her. She didn’t see the point of any of it, which seemed ridiculous because on paper, Jess had it all. A healthy, mostly-happy family, a part-time job she didn’t mind going to, financial security, good friends. It was enough that she felt guilty wanting anything more. But that didn’t change the fact that she did want more. She wanted to live. Some other life. One that amazed her or, more accurately, one in which she was amazing.

Before she was Jessica Halloway, she was Jessica Saunders. And Jessica Saunders was supposed to be extraordinary. She was going to do something important in this world, like run a Fortune 500 company or be a high-powered attorney. She’d be out in the world making her mark and people would say, ‘There goes Jessica Saunders. Look at her. So determined and talented, not to mention dressed to kill.’ Jessica Saunders had actually settled on going to law school, and had even scored in the top five percent in the country on her LSAT. But then she got married and she and Mike decided he should focus on his career first, since he already had his degree and only needed to sit for the exams to get his Chartered Professional Accountant designation. But then Winnie came along, followed by Noah, and pretty soon, she’d forgotten all about picking up her studies where she’d left off.

That had happened so long ago, she completely forgot that she used to be thrilled by it all. Jess Saunders was one of those enthusiastic, take-life-by-the-horns sort of girls. The life of the party. She’d dance all night, she’d laugh all day. She was witty. Smart. Great at banter. People were drawn to her. She loved everything. Impromptu trip to Mexico? I’ll grab my passport. Sex? Yes, please. Plenty of it. Mountain mud pie with caramel sauce for dessert? Hand me a fork.

Jess missed her. She really, really frigging missed her. She knew that impressive young woman was buried somewhere inside her.

She must be there, right?

So, where was she?

Since the failed attempt at therapy, she’d tried forest bathing, green powder drinks that claimed to support emotional health, spent the last year writing in a gratitude journal, and meditated until her lips felt like they might fall off from making the ‘Ommmm’ sound, all in a desperate attempt to find her. So, in a ‘what the hell?’ moment of weakness, she decided to order the luxury vagina steam bath kit.

She stilled herself for a second, straining her ears in case someone was coming. She would never tell anyone she’d done this. Except her best friend, Diana (who was also a devotee of lifestyle and wellness guru Kira Popowich). Jess had already told her she bought the kit, and Diana was going to get one too if Jess got results. Diana, whose husband, Victor, was an anesthesiologist, wouldn’t worry about waiting for a sale. But other than Diana, she’d tell no one. Not even Rachael, who, while not her best friend, was a close second, not that Jess would ever number a human like that. Although, she supposed she just had. Rachael, a hugely successful career consultant for bored CEOs, CFOs, and other wealthy initials, would laugh her head off if she knew. She couldn’t stand Kira Popowich, or any of the other woo-woo happiness experts of the world. Rachael believed in two things: working hard and not taking any shit from anyone ever. Rachael was divorced. Jessica was married and didn’t know what she believed in anymore.

She placed her hand over the bowl. Nope, still way too hot for her vajayjay. Guilt stabbed at her as she thought of how much this latest attempt at happiness was costing. The equivalent of half of an eight-hour shift at the pottery shop. Mike would be horrified if he knew she’d blown that kind of money. More than horrified. He’d be pissed. How could you possibly think soaking your … vagina (he’d whisper that word, even if the kids were out and it was just them and the dog) would have any effect on your mental health at all? She’d correct him, of course, and tell him she had steamed her vagina, not soaked it (as if that would make any difference whatsoever in the conversation’s outcome). She would still do it because small details were very important to Jess. Don’t do anything unless you’re going to do it well (which, in her mind, included speaking with accuracy).

It would be a whole deal. He’d be ticked off for at least an entire day, and then would put it in the vault to bring out every once in a while for the rest of their lives when they were arguing about money. And for that reason, he could never know what she was doing in here. The insane part (if there was anything more insane than what she was about to do) was that she would agree with him about it being useless. But Kira was always going on about treating the most sacred parts of ourselves with the most sacred of rituals. Since we’re divine goddesses and all. Jess cringed at the thought of someone referring to her as a goddess. She and Mike used that term as a joke. But Kira used it in earnest, which was okay for a woman like her—beautiful, brilliant, wildly successful.

Kira lived in a beach house in Malibu where she shot videos of herself living her best life to inspire women everywhere. Watching the videos had become somewhat of an obsession for Jess over the last few months. Kira was the type of woman with whom you knew you could be best friends. Or rather, you wished you could. Drinking mimosas on a rooftop patio on a Sunday afternoon. Laughing and sharing your darkest secrets. Jess would obviously bring Diana and Rachael along because that was the kind of friend she was—loyal to a fault. Well, maybe she’d just bring Diana. It might be too much to ask to invite two friends along. Plus, Rachael would definitely say something to Kira about how much she detested people in Kira’s profession, which would be awkward, to say the least.

Hmm…she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. In her fantasy, her friendship with Kira just made sense. After all, they were the same age. Well, roughly. Jessica was forty-six and Kira was forty-two, but they were both somewhere in the middle. Only Kira looked like she was twentysomething—impossibly tight, toned, and smooth, whereas Jess looked every minute her age—sagging jowls, crow’s feet, and those deep marionette lines that appeared out of nowhere one afternoon. She’d been considering telling people she was sixty-two, just to hear someone say how great she looked. Even if they’d be thinking ‘for your age,’ it would still feel nice to be noticed. No one noticed women like Jess. It was like she’d donned an invisibility cloak the moment she turned forty-five. Men didn’t smile at her in the grocery store anymore. Not even the old ones who used to find her so alluring on account of her Marilyn Monroe-esque figure.

Mike still said she was beautiful from time to time. Actually, he told her she looked really nice today when she was dressed up for one reason or another. Something about the way he said it bothered her. It was as if adding the word today made it clear that most days she didn’t look nice at all. But she knew she shouldn’t frame it that way. She should look for the positive. After all, according to Kira, that was the secret to happiness. Being happy with what you have. Mind you, Kira Popowich was rich, famous, and sported a flat stomach and a perfectly round behind. Of course she was happy with what she had. But that didn’t mean that Jess shouldn’t appreciate the compliments from her husband of nineteen years. After all, it meant he still noticed her. Some of the time, anyway. But it wasn’t a lack of male attention that had had her feeling so blasé about life. She was far too old to care about something so fleeting and silly.

This went much deeper.

“This better damn well work,” Jessica muttered when the water finally cooled to a temperature that felt safe enough for her nether regions. She should just crouch over the bowl already and get the disappointment over with. Hmm…now that she really looked at it, she realized the bowl was quite nice, actually. Well worth the sixty-five dollars alone. She eyed it while the pungent aroma of the healing herbs wafted up into her nostrils. It would make an interesting salad bowl. Not for guests, obviously, in case they ever hosted someone who had seen the kit online. Even though she wasn’t actually going to touch her private parts to the bowl itself, she still would never serve food out of it to a guest. To her own family, maybe, and only after bleaching it, then rinsing it a dozen or so times. But not a guest. She could picture Mike’s boss’s wife, Maxine, saying that the salad bowl looked vaguely familiar and asking her where she got it. “Well, Maxine, it was originally a vagina steam bath bowl, but I’ve repurposed it. Reduce, reuse, recycle, right?”

Okay, for real. Time to steam the bean. She set the bowl on the tile floor and squatted, feeling the not-so-subtle heat rising. Oh, this was weird. So very weird. She hoped the earthy scent of the herbal elixir wasn’t going to get soaked into her skin because she really didn’t want to walk around smelling like dirt and rotting cabbage for the next couple of days. Jess held her breath and waited for some magical transformation to begin à la Cinderella when her housemaid dress was transformed into a sparkly gown by her fairy godmother. She imagined herself being picked up off the floor and twirled around in a big circle, only to be set back down a completely new woman. A happy one.

Her phone rang, startling her. Jessica shot up from her crouching position, feeling embarrassed even though whoever it was couldn’t see what she was doing. It was her mother, Hilary. Jessica’s first reaction was to start panicking. Her mom never called at this hour. She answered immediately. “Hello?”

“Jess, I just got a strange text from Noah asking if I’ll lend him my credit card, but not to tell you and Mike. Is everything okay? Are you having money troubles?”

Instant rage shot through her. Jess set her jaw, then said, “No, we are not. He wants to rent a hotel room on Halloween and throw a party. We said no, so clearly he’s moved on.”

“Oh dear, where does he get such ideas?” she asked.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“It’s probably some new trend on the TikTok.”

“Or it’s just something he and his idiot friends cooked up,” Jess answered, grabbing a towel to dry off a bit.

“You never would have thought of something like that. You were always so good. Even as a teenager,” her mom said, which brought on a whole host of emotions. Guilt because Jess had never been that good. Merely skilled at hiding all the shit she was doing. She also got a twinge of hurt feelings because her mom was basically saying Jessica’s own kid was bad, and she didn’t want her to think that, even if it was true. Was it true? Was he actually a bad human being? Were they unwittingly raising a sociopath or someone with narcissistic personality disorder? The thought made her chest feel tight.

“Well… what do I do?” her mom asked.

“Say no.”

“But he’s my grandson. I don’t want to have to say no to him,” Hilary said.

“I’ll tell him no for you.”

“No! Don’t do that. Then he’ll know I ratted him out.”

“Ratted him out? What are you, a gangster now?”

“I watched The Sopranos. I know what a rat is and I’m not going to become one. He’ll never tell me anything again.”

In truth, Hilary had watched part of one episode, but was so horrified she’d shut it off.

“I don’t know, Mom. What if you lie and tell him you don’t have a credit card?”

“Hmph, that sounds fishy. Why do they need to have a Halloween party anyway? Isn’t it enough to go trick-or-treating? That was good enough for you and your brother.”

“He’s fifteen so he’s too old to go trick-or-treating and he’s too young to go to the bar.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” she said. “Maybe I should let them have a party at my house? No drinking of course, but I can make some snacks and they can play some spooky games. Oh! I’ll peel a bowl of grapes and say they’re eyeballs.”

Jessica’s heart broke a little at her mom’s desire to connect with a kid who was trying to use her. “As nice as that is of you, I don’t think he’ll go for it, Mom. He and his friends want to pretend they’re adults.”

“I suppose so. Silly of me,” she said with a little laugh. “I always want him to be a little boy but he’s not anymore.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Shame that kids have to grow up. They’re so much easier when they’re little.”

“Preach, sister.”

“What’s that?”

“I just meant I agree with you. Little kids, little problems,” Jess said, realizing she needed to get back to the steam bowl because already it was throwing off a lot less steam than a few minutes ago. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to squat while she was talking to her mother though, because she knew her mom would somehow figure out she was up to something. She didn’t know how her mom would know—maybe it would be some slightly off quality in her voice while she strained to hold the squat, but her mom would just know.

“Oh, I’ve got it! I’ll tell him that you texted me first and told me to say no. That way he doesn’t have to know we spoke.”

Jess closed her eyes, dreading the fight that would be coming her way, but knowing that the moment she said, ‘Let’s have a baby,’ to Mike, she was signing up for this shit. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Do that.”

“Okay, that’s what I’ll do. Good,” she said, sounding much lighter than she did moments before.

“How are you doing?”

“About the same.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe it’s a hormonal issue.”

Jess thought about it for a second before answering. “Maybe, yeah. I’m a little young to be going through menopause.”

“True, but the years leading up to it can be a real bear. They don’t have to be though. Not with so many options out there now. Nancy’s daughter went to her doctor and she put her on some sort of gel that she uses every night. Apparently it’s made a huge difference. She’s got a lot more energy and she doesn’t want to murder anyone the week before her period anymore.”

Chuckling, Jess said, “She doesn’t? That sounds like heaven. Maybe I’ll book an appointment with Dr. Kildorf and see what he says.”

“Can’t hurt to check, right?”

“True. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be the quick fix I’m praying for.”

“Let’s hope so. Are you and Mike all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. The last thing you need is marriage trouble.” Her mom spoke from experience about the marriage trouble. Jessica’s father had gone through a pretty significant midlife crisis when Jess was twelve, including the sports car and trading her mom (and Jess) in for a thirty-year-old flight attendant. “Teenagers are hard enough.”

“So true. If they came into the world at this age, humans would have died out thousands of years ago.”

“I saw this terrible joke on the internet the other day and it made me think of you. It was a picture of a woman standing next to her teen daughter and it said, ‘Is one-hundred and eighty months too far past the deadline for a late-term abortion?’”

Jess burst out laughing, then remembered she needed to be quiet because if someone realized she’d been in here this whole time, they’d start asking questions she didn’t want to answer. “That’s awful.”

“I know,” her mom said in a conspiratorial tone. “So awful. We don’t mean it, of course, but it’s still funny.”

A loud banging on the door startled Jess. She quickly wrapped the towel around her waist, even though the door was locked.

“MOM! Winnie took the remote from me and changed the channel and I’m not done with my show!” Noah shouted.

“It’s after his bedtime so I get the TV!” Winnie yelled.

“I only have three minutes left in my show and you said it’s okay if it’s less than five minutes!” he yelled.

Oh, for God’s sake, couldn’t a woman steam her vagina in peace anymore? Jess scrunched her eyes tight. “Where’s your father?”

“I don’t know,” Winnie said. “What’s that terrible smell?”

Crap. “I’m not feeling well. Please go find your dad.”

“You’re always sick!” Winnie yelled before stomping off.

Jess muttered, “Yeah, sick of your shit.”

Her mom burst out laughing and Jess joined in, happy to have an ally.

“Teenagers are hard, but the good thing is they won’t live with you forever.”

“One can hope.”

“I’ll let you go. Hang in there, sweetie.”

“Thanks.”

Jess hung up, then walked back over to the bowl, only to discover there was no steam left in her steam bath. She sighed and picked it up, then dumped its contents into the toilet and flushed, watching her latest effort at finding the old her get sucked down toward the sewer. She was sure there was some brilliant metaphor about life here, but she was too worn out to think of it. Besides, she needed to shower and dispose of any evidence of the kit. Except the bowl. She’d keep that.

Secret Journal Entry - September 25th

Today’s fantasy: A long-lost aunt I didn’t know about has died and left me millions. I’m on a plane to Barcelona. Alone. Somehow, I have the entire row of seats to myself, so I’m sitting with my back to the window and my legs stretched out in front of me, sipping coffee and flipping through the Lonely Planet’s Guide to Spain. I use pink Post-it arrows to mark off the places I’ll see when I’m there—the Parque del Retiro, the Plaza de España, that basilica that took over two-hundred years to finish.

I’ve rented an oceanfront villa, where I will eat only tapas and drink wine while I stare out at the water. I’ll wander along the beach wearing a big, floppy hat. I’ll go window shopping without anyone hurrying me along or complaining about how bored they are. I’ll stop and listen to a guitar duo play an entire song without feeling even a bit self-conscious about all the eye-contact. I’ll sway my hips to the beat, twirl, and smile, and everywhere I go, people will say, “Who is that sophisticated, free-spirited woman?”

I may never come back.

***

AVAILABLE I N PRINT NOW. E-BOOK COMING APRIL 14TH.

GET IT HERE

Welp, here it is. My second ever women's fiction story, all ready to go. I am NERVOUS about this one. It's what some in the biz call a 'heart project.' I wrote this one because I think most women who have a family give up a bit (or a lot) of themselves in the process. (To be fair, I'm guessing men feel this way too). Having a family is amazing, heartbreaking, incredible, and incredibly hard (sometimes all at the same time). It can also feel like we lose sight of who we really are, deep down at our core. How do we find ourselves again, after years of looking after everyone else?I love this book dearly, but I have no idea how other people will feel. It's not a romance but there are some romantic moments in it. It's pretty darn funny, but it's also serious and anger-inducing, and a wee bit sad at times too. It's exceedingly honest and, I hope, uplifting.

I have no idea if it's going to sell more than a few copies, but my sincerest wish is that the women who need this, find it, and it makes them feel better about their lives. There is so much pressure on women to 'be happy.' We talk about first-world problems and gratitude, and in some ways, I think we make it not okay to talk about it when something is genuinely wrong in our lives. I'm not saying we shouldn't be grateful for what we have, because it's absolutely helpful when we focus on the positive, but it's also okay to not be okay sometimes. Sometimes things just plain suck. We might have loose boundaries with our loved ones, or we might be underappreciated, or maybe we haven't taken the time to look after ourselves in forever. Whatever it is, I hope more women find the courage to fix what's wrong in their lives, and maybe, just maybe this little book can be the start of that conversation in someone's heart.

The print version is already on sale, and the e-book comes out on April 14th.

Check it out here!

All the best to you and yours,

mel

Wait, what? That doesn't sound right, Melanie

Oh, but it is, my friend. It is.

I'm super excited to bring you the 3rd (and final) book in the Gamble on Love Mom Com Series. First came No Ordinary Hate. Then A Hate Like This, and now... Hate, Rinse, Repeat - a delightfully funny, heartwarming Christmas romance.

Maisy Moore is not looking forward to the holiday season. As owner of the only hair salon in Gamble, Alaska, she’ll be run off her feet helping her clients get dolled up for Christmas and New Year's Eve parties. Parties she’ll never be invited to...

But that’s not the worst of it. As a single mom, she knows she still won’t be able to give her seven-year-old son, Jack, the kind of magical Christmas his classmates get. Telling him how much she loves him will only get a kid that age so far. If only she could give him what he really wants—to know who his dad is.

The last thing Maisy needs is for NHL star Chase Evans to come waltzing back into town like he’s God’s gift to women. But that’s exactly what Chase does.

After taking a crosscheck from behind, Chase’s season is over. Instead of scoring goals, he’s recovering from shoulder surgery, and according to his mother, there’s no better place to recover than home. Because let’s face it, basking in the glow of local adoration won’t be too bad. There are no fans quite like hometown fans.

The last thing Chase expects is to find Maisy Moore still single. He decides to see if maybe they could rekindle their brief romance that occurred the night of their ten-year high school reunion. But when he tries to talk to her, he discovers Maisy’s feelings of lust have turned to loathing. And he’s determined to find out why.

Will Maisy manage to keep the identity of her son a secret? Will there be a holiday miracle that will reunite two hard-headed lovers? Will the BOGO special on shampoo and conditioner be a hit?

Find out in the deliciously funny and ridiculously romantic final installment of the Love is a Gamble Mom-Com Series...

CLICK HERE TO READ IT NOW

Here in Canada, we're about to celebrate Thanksgiving. Before I get started cooking turkey (and all the trimmings) and buying a pumpkin pie (because I do not bake), I wanted to take a moment to thank you, my dear reader, for being the reason I get up and write (or plot or edit) every day. If you didn't pick up my books and read them, I would not be able to support my family through my writing. So, thank you for helping me live my dream. It means the world to me.

Two weeks ago, I released Pride and Pina Coladas, and I'm thrilled to say it's been hanging out as the #1 New Release in Women, Men, and Relationship Humor on Amazon (which is a category that Nora and Theo's story fits into beautifully).

So, thank you to everyone who has read the book and told all your friends to read it too! You're the bee's knees!

xoxo,

mel

And if you haven't had a chance to read Pride and Pina Coladas, check it out here. It's still available for the launch price of $3.99 but will be going up next week. (Oooh, scary Mel...)