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Minding Manors
And there was Greg, looking more handsome than ever in an honest-to-goodness black tuxedo, complete with a bow-tie and clean shave, just as Marlow had imagined. He was kneeling on the office carpet, a deep, ugly burgundy sprinkled with gold squares that was supposed to say sophistication but actually said 1970's porn set, just as she'd imagined. And he was holding out a small velvet box. The ring sparkled beautifully, even under the unflattering florescence of the office, and the platinum band winked in the light, just as she imagined.
But it was the way he slipped that perfect ring onto the perfect finger of the perfect blond in front of him that really threw a giant wrench into the whole operation.
Heartbroken and jobless, Marlow does the only thing that feels right: impulsively buy her dead grandmother's haunted manor. When her fixer-upper turns out to need less TLC, (tender, loving care), and more PLS (plastic surgery), and the paranormal spooks come out of the woodwork, her mismatched inn family has to band together, bust some ferocious ghosties, and maybe fall a little in love along the way.
But it was the way he slipped that perfect ring onto the perfect finger of the perfect blond in front of him that really threw a giant wrench into the whole operation.
Heartbroken and jobless, Marlow does the only thing that feels right: impulsively buy her dead grandmother's haunted manor. When her fixer-upper turns out to need less TLC, (tender, loving care), and more PLS (plastic surgery), and the paranormal spooks come out of the woodwork, her mismatched inn family has to band together, bust some ferocious ghosties, and maybe fall a little in love along the way.
129 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 31, 2013
7 people want to read
About the author
Jessica Manuszak
5 books9 followersOH, HAI! I’m Jessica. See also: a rebel with a cause. And also lots of cardigans.
After graduating near the top of my class with a BA in English, I found myself caught in the midst of my own particular brand of the quarter-life crisis. After flitting between a plethora of terrible careers, pouring dark beer in my Cocoa Dyno-Bites, and crying about how I COULD NEVER BE HAPPY EVER AGAIN, I methodically (and sometimes drunkenly) devised strategies, hacks, and tricks to become the most awesome, productive, happy version of myself possible.
When I’m not being overzealous, crafting all the things, or eating too much goat cheese, I can be found sleeping with the lights on after marathoning shows about ghosts. Sometimes I’m a Ramblebot 5000, and sometimes I jump into rivers with extreme reckless abandon, but mostly I just turn every tea into an iced tea and deeply envy people with impressive real and/or fake moustaches.
At the end each day, I just want to know that I’ve done everything in my power to feel completely and intensely fulfilled. Except for sacrificing goats and stuff. That shit crosses a line.
Adventure with me?
After graduating near the top of my class with a BA in English, I found myself caught in the midst of my own particular brand of the quarter-life crisis. After flitting between a plethora of terrible careers, pouring dark beer in my Cocoa Dyno-Bites, and crying about how I COULD NEVER BE HAPPY EVER AGAIN, I methodically (and sometimes drunkenly) devised strategies, hacks, and tricks to become the most awesome, productive, happy version of myself possible.
When I’m not being overzealous, crafting all the things, or eating too much goat cheese, I can be found sleeping with the lights on after marathoning shows about ghosts. Sometimes I’m a Ramblebot 5000, and sometimes I jump into rivers with extreme reckless abandon, but mostly I just turn every tea into an iced tea and deeply envy people with impressive real and/or fake moustaches.
At the end each day, I just want to know that I’ve done everything in my power to feel completely and intensely fulfilled. Except for sacrificing goats and stuff. That shit crosses a line.
Adventure with me?
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