Duplicity. Desire. Denial. They were doomed from the start.
Ryan Howard has zero interest in the movie being filmed in Pine Harbour or the high maintenance stars staying in the cottages at the end of his lane. He's just barely holding on to the raw remains of his life and the fantasy world being concocted around him is, as far as he's concerned, a complete waste of time and energy. The one bright light in his life is an intern on the set, Holly Cresinski, and their quiet conversations at the end of the day on his back porch.
Holly hates her life, too, which is entirely unfair because she’s blessed beyond measure. She’s at the top of her career--as film actress, Hope Creswell--and surrounded by people that mean well. But Ryan makes her laugh, and cry, and before she can find the words to explain her deception, he kisses her.
This is book #3 in the upcoming Pine Harbour series by NYT and USA Today bestselling author Zoe York.
He swore under his breath and stomped out of the room, returning shortly with a handheld phone. He pointed it at the little girl, who didn’t seem cowed in the least. “No phones. Not a toy.”
“Sorwee, Daddy,” she said in an exaggerated little girl pout.
“Maya.”
“Daddy.”
The entire family paused for a second before cracking up, and Holly covered her mouth with her hand, trying in vain to hide her own amusement.
“Seriously, kid, people need to get in touch with me now. I’m sure those movie stars won’t be as understanding as…” He trailed off and looked in Holly’s direction. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”
There was only one answer here. Hope Creswell, one of those awful Hollywood types. Sorry to be a bother. But she couldn’t bring herself to be that person tonight. “Holly. Holly Cresinski. And I’m sure everyone on the film shoot will be very understanding that we’re all crowding into your lives for a few months, really. They’re not so bad, those movie stars.”
“Ryan Howard.” He extended his hand, and she took it, enjoying the way he gripped her fingers, his skin warm and dry and rough against hers. He squeezed her hand more than people usually did, and she felt the stern shake all the way up her arm.
Who knew she’d been missing an honest handshake in her life?
He let go and crossed his arms over his broad chest. She looked up at him—way up. She was average height for a woman, and he still towered over her. In his plaid shirt shoved up to his elbows and his faded jeans, he looked every inch the rustic lumberjack she thought might live here—except for the cute part. That was unexpected.
And inconvenient, because this particular lumberjack had a family. She needed a clone of him back in Los Angeles, although she suspected that maybe something would get lost in translation.
“Thanks for the instructions. I’ll call if I have any questions.” She waved the paper in the air as she blindly reached for the door behind her.
He nodded, his face showing none of the distraction that rioted through her midsection. Of course not. She was a random nobody, sweating and flustered, who’d showed up in the middle of a late dinner demanding help.
But she could help herself, armed with the piece of paper in her hand. It was a little thing, but was hers.
He grabbed the door as she swung it open, closing it quietly behind her as she headed back into the night.
Holly Cresinski, maybe you should pretend to be yourself more often.
“Sorwee, Daddy,” she said in an exaggerated little girl pout.
“Maya.”
“Daddy.”
The entire family paused for a second before cracking up, and Holly covered her mouth with her hand, trying in vain to hide her own amusement.
“Seriously, kid, people need to get in touch with me now. I’m sure those movie stars won’t be as understanding as…” He trailed off and looked in Holly’s direction. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”
There was only one answer here. Hope Creswell, one of those awful Hollywood types. Sorry to be a bother. But she couldn’t bring herself to be that person tonight. “Holly. Holly Cresinski. And I’m sure everyone on the film shoot will be very understanding that we’re all crowding into your lives for a few months, really. They’re not so bad, those movie stars.”
“Ryan Howard.” He extended his hand, and she took it, enjoying the way he gripped her fingers, his skin warm and dry and rough against hers. He squeezed her hand more than people usually did, and she felt the stern shake all the way up her arm.
Who knew she’d been missing an honest handshake in her life?
He let go and crossed his arms over his broad chest. She looked up at him—way up. She was average height for a woman, and he still towered over her. In his plaid shirt shoved up to his elbows and his faded jeans, he looked every inch the rustic lumberjack she thought might live here—except for the cute part. That was unexpected.
And inconvenient, because this particular lumberjack had a family. She needed a clone of him back in Los Angeles, although she suspected that maybe something would get lost in translation.
“Thanks for the instructions. I’ll call if I have any questions.” She waved the paper in the air as she blindly reached for the door behind her.
He nodded, his face showing none of the distraction that rioted through her midsection. Of course not. She was a random nobody, sweating and flustered, who’d showed up in the middle of a late dinner demanding help.
But she could help herself, armed with the piece of paper in her hand. It was a little thing, but was hers.
He grabbed the door as she swung it open, closing it quietly behind her as she headed back into the night.
Holly Cresinski, maybe you should pretend to be yourself more often.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Zoe York is a busy working mom of two young boys, wife to a very understanding soldier, and creator of modern, sexy, small town contemporary romances. Her debut novel, What Once Was Perfect, started the popular Wardham series, and her first military romance, Fall Out, was released as part of the international bestselling SEALs of Summer super bundle.
She lives in London, Ontario and is currently chugging Americanos, wiping sticky fingers, and dreaming of heroes in and out of uniform.
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