 by Kylie Scott.jpg)
Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
New York Times bestselling sensation Kylie Scott’s sexy, smart and unconventional opposites-attract love story looks at what happens when fate refuses to give up on what’s meant to be…
When Susie Bowen inherits a charming fixer-upper from her aunt, she’s excited to start living her best HGTV life. But when she opens the door to find that her contractor is none other than her ex’s best friend, Lars—the same man who witnessed their humiliating public breakup six months ago—she isn’t exactly eager to have anyone around whose alliance is with the enemy. But beggars can’t be choosers, and the sooner the repairs are done, the sooner she can get back to embracing singledom.
Things go from awkward to unbelievable when Lars discovers a divorce certificate hidden in a wall and dated ten years in the future—with both their names on it. It couldn’t possibly be real…could it? As Susie and Lars work to unravel the document’s origins, the impossibility of a spark between them suddenly doesn’t seem so far-fetched. But would a relationship between them be doomed before it’s even begun?
“Sweet and spicy—the unique setup, top-notch banter and charming enigma had me hooked.” —Anna E. Collins, author of Love at First Spite
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
One
“This is awkward.”
The big blond man standing on my doorstep blinked.
“How are you, Lars?” I gave him my very best fake smile. “Nice to see you.”
“Susie. It’s been what...five, six months?” Setting down his toolbox, he gave me an uneasy smile. It was more of a wince, really. Because the last time we saw each other was not a good night. Not for me, at least.
“Something like that,” I said.
“This your new place?” He nodded at the battered arts and crafts cottage. “The office said you had some water damage you wanted to start with?”
“Yeah, about that. I was told Mateo would be doing the work.”
“Family emergency.”
“Oh.”
He gazed down at me with dismay. The man was your basic urban Viking marauder, as his name suggested. Longish blond hair, white skin, blue eyes, short beard, tall and built. I was average height and he managed to loom over me just fine. In his midthirties and more than a little rough around the edges. Nothing like his sleek and slick bestie. An asshole whose continued existence I’d prefer to be reminded of never. But we don’t always get what we want.
I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. “Why don’t you come in and I’ll show you...”
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry about taking your boots off. The shag carpet isn’t staying.”
Heavy footsteps followed me through the living room and into the dining room, where we turned left to enter the small hallway. From this point we had two options, the bathroom or the back bedroom. We headed for the latter.
“The water was getting in through a crack in the window for who knows how long,” I explained. “I only inherited the place recently. There were all these boxes piled up in here. No one could even see it was an issue.”
He grunted.
“I spent the first month just sorting through things and clearing the place out.”
Beneath the window frame, a large stain spread across the golden-flecked wallpaper. As if it weren’t ugly enough to begin with. That was the thing about my aunt Susan; she wasn’t a big fan of change. The two-bedroom cottage had belonged to her parents and everything had pretty much been left untouched after my grandparents passed. Apart from the addition of Susan’s junk. Which meant that while the wallpaper and carpet were from the 1970s, the bathroom was from the 1940s, and the kitchen cabinets from the 1930s. At least, that’s what I’d been told. The place was like an ode to twentieth-century interior design. The good, and the bad.
He got down on one knee, inspecting the damage. “The bottom of this window frame is warped and needs replacing.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I need to have a look behind here. You attached to the wallpaper?”
“Heck no.”
He almost smiled.
“The sooner I can repaint and get new flooring down, the better.”
Nothing from him. A knife appeared from the toolbox, sharp-pointed with jagged teeth. He punched the blade through the drywall with ease and started cutting into the wall.
“How is he?” I asked the dreaded question. Curiosity was the worst. “Enjoying London?”
“Yeah,” was all he said.
“And how’s Jane?”
“We’re not together anymore.”
Not a surprise. Lars went through various girlfriends during the year I’d been with what’s-his-face. Neither he nor his friend were down with commitment. Which was fine if you just wanted to have fun. But Jane was a keeper, smart with a wicked sense of humor. Lars definitely had a type. All of his girlfriends were petite, perfect dolls who behaved in a ladylike manner. The opposite of buxom, loudmouthed me.
He pried a square of drywall loose. “You thinking of living here permanently or flipping and selling the place, or what?”
“Haven’t decided.”
“Great location. A bit of work and it’d probably be worth a lot of money,” he said, keeping the conversation on the business at hand. As was good and right.
Using the flashlight on his phone, he inspected the cavity. The man was all handyman chic. Big ass boots, jeans, and a faded black tee. All of it well-worn. And the way his blue jeans conformed to his thick thighs and the curves of his ass was something. Something I hadn’t meant to notice, but oh well, these things happened. Maybe it was the way his tool belt framed that particular part of his anatomy. For a moment, I couldn’t look away. I was butt struck. Which was both wrong and bad. It would not be smart for me to notice this man in the sexual sense. Though it was nice to know my thirst meter wasn’t broken.
I don’t know if Lars and I were ever really friends. We had, however, been friendly. Though that was romantic relationships for you. One moment you had all of these awesome extra people in your life and the next moment they’re gone.
I tugged on the end of my dark ponytail. An old nervous habit.