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Holland Kelly wasn’t a people person. Okay, that’s not true, she wasn’t one
particular man person. That man? Her next-door neighbor Dick Brooks. Fine,
his real name was Reid, but Dick sounded better.
Life would have been perfect if she never had to interact with him again.
Unfortunately, life wasn’t perfect.
Now she is stuck spending hours with the neighbor she has always hated
while they work to save their homes.
Have his eyes always been that shade?
Has he always been so good looking?
And those lips…
I wasn’t a morning person. Okay, mornings had nothing to do with it. I
wasn’t a people person. Fine, that wasn’t true either. The fact was, I
wasn’t a Reid Brooks person. I had just stayed up most of the night tossing
and turning and debating whether or not talking to Reid was a good idea.
That made me extra cranky.
I peered out the small dormer window from my studio apartment above the
Iron Horse Stables, the stables my family owned, and saw him standing in
the sunroom or whatever that room was called holding a cup of coffee. The
man looked like he was way too happy to greet the day.
I gave him the middle finger, and then I gave him another one for being
such an asshat. Okay, he couldn’t see me, but it wasn’t about him seeing
me, it was more about making me feel better, which it did.
Ever since he moved next door, something about my world seemed off. The
truth was, he didn’t belong here. He belonged back where he came from . . .
Kentucky, home of the Kentucky Derby, racehorses, men who wore ascots, and
women who wore frilly dresses. He had no business here in Podunk, Florida.
Our one stoplight town was full of people who reused their butter bowls and
jelly jars. It wasn’t because they didn’t have the money for new ones; it
was because they understood the values in things. Most days, you could
drive through the back roads and see sheets hanging on clotheslines because
nothing beat air-drying. We wore cowboy boots and Wranglers, lived for John
Deere and Tractor Supply, and preferred Western riding and barrel racing.
In other words, Reid Brooks did not belong here.
Before becoming a romance writer, Danielle was a body double for Heidi Klum
and a backup singer for Adele. Now, she spends her days trying to play keep
away from Theo James, who won’t stop calling her or asking her out.
And all of this happens before she wakes up and faces reality where in fact
she is a 50-something mom with grown kids. She’s been married longer than
Theo’s been alive, and she now gets her kicks riding a Harley.
As far as her body, she can thank Ben & Jerry’s for that, as well as
gravity and vodka. But she says that she could never be Adele’s backup
since she never stops saying the F-word long enough to actually sing.
Danielle writes about kickass women with even better shoes and the men that
try to tame them (silly, silly men).