Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Wren Jensen thought she had it all—until she was left at the altar and left with nothing but writer’s block. Out of options, she packs up her five-year-old son and heads back to her hometown of Colton Valley, hoping the quiet countryside will inspire her again.
Hunter McCrae wanted that property for himself. The last thing the grumpy farmer expected was a single mom moving in next door—or how much she’d unsettle his carefully guarded solitude.
Wren isn’t looking for love. Hunter isn’t looking for neighbors. But with every stolen glance and shared moment, the walls they’ve built start to crack.
She’s haunted by heartbreak. He’s married to his solitude. Neither is ready to risk it all.
But sometimes love doesn’t follow rules. It grows wild, right where it’s not supposed to
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
Wren
“You sure you want to do this?” My best friend, Reese, frowns from my doorway. She comes bearing cardboard boxes, moving tape, Sharpies, and a wistful expression on her face.
“It’s not optional.” I sip my iced chai and scan the lofty downtown Des Moines condo my son and I have called home for the last four years. Twenty years ago, I left my hometown of Colton Valley—a blink-and-you-miss-it Iowa farming town, got a generic college degree, and somehow along the way stumbled into a career as a romance novelist.
Everything was going well . . . until life happened.
Turns out it’s impossible to write—or at least write well—when your personal life goes up in flames. One of the worst feelings in the world is having a story to tell that refuses to come out. The flashing cursor on a blank white page is a visual that haunts my dreams on a nightly basis.
“You’re sure you’re not doing this because of he-who-shall-not-be-named?” Reese sighs. “It’s just that everything is so fresh, and this decision seems so . . . sudden. I just hope you’re doing it for the right reasons and it’s not some knee-jerk impulse reaction. Don’t let that asshole run you out of the city you love.”
“I’m not running from anything—or anyone.” I tuck the flaps on a cardboard box. “And you can say Nick’s name. It’s not forbidden. He doesn’t get to leave me at the altar and still wield that much power over me.”
Reese sits straighter, satisfied with my answer. While it’s been six months since Nick left me the morning of our wedding day, and the aftershocks of that rug-pull are still shaky, the love is gone.
I don’t miss him.
I don’t wish things had been different.
I just wish I could write again.
I have overdue contracts, and I feel like I’m letting everyone down. My die-hard readers. My agent. My editor. Myself. My son and the life I was building for us . . .
Two months ago, Atticus found me sobbing over my laptop in the middle of the night. He brought me a blanket, his beloved teddy bear, and a glass of water, and then he scampered off to grab his favorite book, telling me I needed some inspiration.
Inspiration was exactly what I needed, just not from between the pages of Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site.
“I can’t live here without you.” She sets the boxes on the dining room table and sinks into a chair, half pouting.
“Then come with me. It’s only forty minutes away,” I say. “It’s a cute little postcard town. You’d love it.”
“I’d hate it,” she counters.
“True. But you hated sushi until I made you try it,” I remind her. “Now it’s your favorite.”
The day I left for college, I vowed to myself I’d never move back home. Not that there’s anything wrong with that quaint little Hallmark town. But for me, it wasn’t about that. Leaving home meant pushing myself out of my comfort zone and into the unknown. I was convinced that would be where my life would truly begin. And it did . . . until it started to feel like it was ending too.
Reese uncaps a black Sharpie and takes a whiff, grimacing. “Why do I both hate and love this smell? Make it make sense.”
I tape a box of paperback books and label it office.
“I just can’t picture you living on an acreage. In a farmhouse. You’ve been a city girl ever since I’ve known you. You have this modern industrial loft with these huge ceilings. You eat at the best restaurants. You travel all the time, and you’re ten minutes from the airport. And Atticus goes to that cool preschool over on Walnut. I bet they don’t have schools like that in Colton Valley. And how many restaurants do they have? One? Two?”
I chuckle. “Four, actually. Five, if you count the bar that serves frozen pizza by the slice. I’ve been wanting to learn how to cook more anyway. And their elementary school is one of the best in the state, believe it or not. Atticus is really excited for kindergarten this fall. Plus, my mom works there, so he’ll get to see his grandma every day.”
“Good for Atticus. But you’re going to hate it, and you’re going to be calling me up asking me to pack you up again, and I’m just going to say I told you so.”
“Just wait until you see the property. Cute little white farmhouse. Wraparound porch. Tree-lined driveway. Room for a food garden. The yard backs up to the river, and there’s even a little gazebo. Oh, and there’s a red barn with a little corral. I was thinking of getting one of those adorable mini cows—or maybe a pony for Atticus? And a dog. I should get a big dog.”