Carries Book Reviews

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Title: Pets of Park Avenue

Author: Stefanie London

Publisher: HQN

Publication Date: December 6, 2022

Page Count:  336

My rating: 4 stars

About the book:

The perfect romcom for dog lovers! Pets of Park Avenue is the story of a self-confessed hot mess who learns that life is more fun when things don’t go according to plan.

What do you do when The One is also the one who broke your heart?

Self-proclaimed hot mess Scout Myers is determined to prove she’s finally got her act together. Raised by grandparents who saw her as her wayward mother’s wayward daughter, Scout’s used to being written off. So when the opportunity for a promotion arises at Paws in the City, the talent agency where she works, Scout is desperate to rise to the occasion. With shared custody of her little sister also on the line, Scout can’t afford a single mistake…like suddenly needing a canine stand-in for an important photoshoot. Luckily (or not) she knows the owner of the perfect pup replacement: the estranged husband she walked out on years ago.

On the surface, it appears Lane Halliday’s life has been blissfully drama free without Scout, but she suspects her handsome-as-ever not-quite-ex-husband doth protest too much. Working together even feels like old times—except for all that lingering, unresolved tension. But Scout’s not sure she’s ready to confront the reasons she left Lane, and when their plans to finalize the divorce become very real, Scout starts to wonder whether second chances might be worth a little hot mess.

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon  /  HarperCollins.com  / BookShop.org / Barnes & Noble / Books-A-Million

Excerpt:

Scout Myers could think of several good reasons to be on all fours with her ass in the air, but pandering to the world’s most disagreeable cat was not one of them. Isaac Mewton—and yes, that was his real name—was a Scottish fold with the sweetest face you’d ever see. Unfortunately, despite the adorable camera-ready mug, the cat had the same disposition as those grumpy old Muppets who liked to sit on a balcony and heckle people for sport.

And Scout loved animals. One of the best things about her job at Paws in the City, New York’s premiere pet social media and talent agency, was getting to be around furry critters all day long.

Isaac Mewton, however, was officially on her shit list.

“I can see something shiny back there.” His owner pointed. “We can’t carry on without his favorite toy. He won’t sit still.”

Scout gritted her teeth and wedged her hand between the wall and a white IKEA bookcase. Cringing, she prayed none of New York’s finest creepy crawlies were hiding back there and wriggled her fingers.

“Come on,” she muttered. “Where are you?”

Eventually her fingertips brushed something hard and plastic. That had to be it. How the cat had managed to bat his toy so hard it lodged itself into such a small space was incomprehensible. Almost as incomprehensible as this client’s expectations. Seriously, how were they supposed to turn her precious kitty into a star if it wouldn’t even sit still for a headshot?

“Got it!” Her hand—and the toy—popped mercifully free.

“Great, now can we get on with it?” The client looked at Scout like this was all her fault. “I have an appointment to get to.”

Paws in the City wasn’t only Scout’s workplace; it was the brainchild of her best friend and the lifeline Scout had needed when her life couldn’t sink any lower. She came into work every day striving to do the best job possible, both for herself and her boss.

That meant pasting on a can-do smile, even when she wanted to launch a cat toy at someone’s head.

“Why don’t you get him to play with it?” Scout said, handing over the hard plastic ring, which was clear and suspended with glitter. “He might be more receptive if it comes from you.”

The woman crouched in front of the cat and attempted to engage him with the toy. But he immediately batted it across the room, where it slammed into the wall and bounced onto the floor.

The photographer, who had shown a level of patience that should make her a shoo-in for sainthood, raised an eyebrow. This was going nowhere. Isaac Mewton sat on a velvet pouf with an artfully arranged bookshelf behind him that Scout and the photographer had prepared for his portrait, staring down everyone in the room like an angry king.

It was time to try something new. Scout retrieved a feather toy from their stash in the office. She needed to get these photos done now. Isla was due back in less than five minutes and they hadn’t gotten a single decent shot of the cat.

Let’s be real, what client would want to work with such a demanding, fussy model anyway?

Still, Scout didn’t want it to look like she didn’t have things under control.

“He doesn’t like those.” The cat’s owner shook her head and pointed at the feather toy. “It won’t work.”

“Well, we’ve tried all the toys you brought with you, so maybe a Hail Mary is exactly what we need,” Scout replied tightly, her smile turning brittle. Lord give her strength to deal with this woman! The cat was a pain, sure, but animals were animals. They couldn’t be blamed for their behavior. Their human counterparts on the other hand…

Click!

Isaac Mewton had gone still, his eyes on the new toy, and the photographer seized the moment to start snapping. Scout moved the feather in gentle sweeping motions, and the cat’s eyes followed with intense focus. He raised one paw and batted at it, ignoring the steady click, click, click of the camera.

So much for him not liking it.

Scout shoved the snarky inner comment to one side and focused on getting the cat to engage so they could wrap up the meeting as quickly as possible. Next to her, the owner huffed in annoyance as though she couldn’t believe her darling Isaac had proven her wrong.

When they were done and the woman and her cat had left the Paws in the City office, Scout’s shoulders sagged in relief. She was a people—and an animal—person at heart, but she had a pet peeve, no pun intended, about entitlement. Call it a leftover from her childhood. Her mother’s legacy was little more than a collection of emotional scars and personal quirks, but she had taught Scout one very important lesson.

Nobody owed her anything. Whatever she wanted in life, she would have to earn it.

“Are all your clients like that?” the photographer asked as she packed up her equipment. “The woman seemed to think her cat was royalty.”

Scout shook her head. “Most clients are lovely and happy to have our assistance. But there’s always the rare few who think they’re superstar material, without being willing to put in the work.”

“How long have you been open now? Only a few months, right?”

“Six months.” Scout couldn’t help her beaming smile. It might not be her business, but she was damn proud to be part of it. “And we’ve already signed over twenty clients.”

“Including Miss Pain in the Rear and her angry feline overlord?”

“We’ve had several requests for cats lately, and he was by far the cutest we’ve seen.” Scout sighed. “Let’s hope he’s in a better mood when it comes time to front up for a paying job.”

Paws in the City represented clients with four (and six) legs. They provided social media coaching to the humans running the accounts, worked on brand strategy and generally acted as a go-between in brokering sponsorship deals and other types of opportunities. They also booked animal talent for commercial shoots, both of the print and television variety. Every day was different. Scout managed the operational parts of the 

job, like booking appointments, supervising headshots, fielding media enquiries and consulting with the freelancers, such as photographers and grooming specialists. Plus any other random bits and bobs, like making sure they hadn’t run out of dog treats or pods for their coffee machine.

Isla always said their mission was to make the internet a happier, furrier place, and Scout loved that sentiment.

A few minutes after Scout bid the photographer farewell, the front door swung open. Though cute, their office wasn’t much bigger than a postage stamp, so Scout’s desk was situated in the waiting area and therefore doubled as their reception desk.

Isla breezed in, a wool coat slung over one arm and her long dark hair bouncing around her shoulders in soft curls. She was dressed in a pale blue blouse, fitted black pants and a killer pair of silver stilettos—a much fancier outfit than what she usually wore in the office. Black, though it was one of Scout’s favorite colors, was not the best when working with their furry clients.

But Isla had been at an important networking event today, so there was no need to worry about dog fur.

“Those shoes,” Scout gasped. “Wow!”

“They’re gorgeous, but they’ve been killing me all day.” She dropped onto one of the pink velvet seats lining the far wall and kicked off the shoes, groaning in relief.

“That’s a rookie move,” Scout replied. “Now your feet are going to puff up and you won’t be able to get them back on.”

“I don’t care if I have to meet Theo barefoot tonight, there’s no way I was keeping them on a second longer than necessary.”

“Hmm, barefoot to a white-tablecloth restaurant. Classy.”

Isla grinned. “Theo loves me as I am, blisters and all.”

It was true. Scout wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a man so in love.

Not even on your own wedding day?

Scout shoved the unpleasant reminder to one side. The last thing she needed right now was for her mood to take a dive, thinking about inconvenient things like the fact that she was still married.

Or that she hadn’t seen her husband in five years.

Excerpted from Pets of Park Avenue by Stefanie London. Copyright © 2022 by Stefanie London. Published by arrangement with HQN Books

Pets of Park Avenue by Stefanie London is the second book in the contemporary romance Paws in the City series. As with a lot of contemporary romance series the Paws in the City series will feature new main characters with each installment with a full romance in each book. Since there will be new characters each book can be read as a standalone or in any order if choosing to do so with some glimpses of previous characters.

Scout Myers has always felt her life would never be anything but a mess, an inherited trait of hers from her mother. Now however Scout finally feels like she has turned a corner when the business she works at with her best friend begins to take off and Scout takes on more and more responsibility.

When Scout has a slight accident at a photo shoot with one of the furry clients Scout bites back her own pride and contacts Lane Halliday. Lane is one of Scout’s many regrets in her life, the man she married on a whim only to have the marriage quickly crumble. The love between Scout and Lane has never gone away though they both realize while Lane helps Scout out of her jam at work.

Another great installment in the Paws in the City series! This was a nice second chance romance with a huge heaping of character growth with the main character Scout. Of course being a huge animal lover I was immediately attracted to this series and I think other furry lovers will feel the same gushy sentiments with all the cute pet moments too the only add to the enjoyment. Not sure if the series will continue but if so I’ll certainly be back or interested in the author’s future reads!

I received an advance copy from the publisher via NetGalley.

About the author:

Stefanie London is a USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance. Her books have been called “genuinely entertaining and memorable” by Booklist, and her writing praised as “elegant, descriptive and delectable” by RT Magazine.

Originally from Australia, she now lives in Toronto with her very own hero and is doing her best to travel the world. She frequently indulges her passions for lipstick, good coffee, books and anything zombie related.

Author Website  / Facebook  / Goodreads

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

The Unsolved Case of The Secret Christmas Baby
Hannah Byron
Publication date: December 6th 2022
Genres: Adult, Historical, Mystery

A presumed dead baby who’s just turned fifty, a grieving widow on a mission, a female haberdasher hiding a scandalous secret

The Cotswolds, England, December 1895

Fifty-year-old Imogene Lynch has recently moved to the tight-knit community of Dartmond after her husband passed away.

In the decades of her husband’s job as chief constable of the neighboring Landdulton, the childless Imogene often assisted him in solving seemingly unsolvable crimes. On his deathbed Thaddeus Lynch has one last request to his wife: solve the secret Christmas baby’s mystery.

Overcome by grief, but with the promise as a stamp on her heart, Imogene sets out in her roundabout way to unearth Sir Finley Lowther’s mysterious origins. The first trace leads to Miss Eloise Platt, a well-respected Dartmond shopkeeper.

But when a baby’s skull is dredged up from the bottom of Tiverstock Lake and Miss Eloise confesses to the murder, Mrs Imogene Lynch faces a stalemate. While the Dartmonders squabble over Miss Platt’s fate, the widow-turned-detective worries she’ll never fulfil her promise.

To break through her impasse, she pays a visit to the elderly Lady Lowther in Ridgeview Asylum with far-reaching consequences. For Imogene, the mystery is now solved, but getting Miss Platt to tell the truth is another matter.

With her characteristic quirky style, Mrs Lynch confides in the most unlikely candidate in her arsenal, her landlord, Mr Richard Hopewell. If the mute bookkeeper can shed light on what he witnessed on that fateful Christmas Day in 1845, she has the ally she needs to confront Miss Platt.

After fifty-one years, Constable Thaddeus Lynch’s brown file on the Secret Christmas Baby can be closed for good. With Finley’s adoption mystery solved and Miss Platt redeemed, all Dartmond joins in the merry 1896 Christmas celebrations.

This first book in the Victorian Cozy Mystery Series introduces Mrs Imogene Lynch, a willy-nilly detective who talks too much and eats too little.

 

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

“Now stop whining, Gertie, and just walk slowly down the stairs. Jasper isn’t even 2 stone. You carry heavier sacks of potatoes up the stairs.”

“But I carry the teddies up the stairs, Ma’am, not down. The dog is heavier than a three-year-old babber.”

A three-year-old baby? Have you ever heard of such an exaggeration? One day soon, that maid’s going to do me in. She shuffles down the stairs so slowly, I’m almost losing my balance, and mind you, these stairs are as narrow as a rabbit hole.

“Just hold him steady, will you, or you’ll scare him, and you know what happens then!”

But it’s too late. Jasper whimpers once, and the damage is done.

“Ma’am, he’s wee-weeing all over me dress.”

“Poor darling Jasper, we’ll sort you out downstairs. Don’t squeeze him so tight, Gertie, I told you a dozen times before. It frightens him. And keep moving now. You can change your dress in a minute.”

Dear Lord in Heaven, what is it with this maid? I can’t go through this every time with her and the dog.

When we finally land in one piece on the mat in the tight hallway near the glass-panelled front door, she puts poor Jasper on all fours. He looks up at me with those large, guilt-ridden eyes, but the stricken soul can’t help this. Enough is enough.

“It’s all right, Jasper dear. Gertie, I’ll ask if Neil Fritter wants to earn a little extra pocket money and carry Jasper up and down, all right? We can’t have you change dresses three times a day.”

“That’s gurt lush, Ma’am.”

“Nice of me? Well, it’s all right, Gertie. Now change and wash that dress. I’ll pop into Donald’s fish shop on my way back and see if Neil is available.”

“And I’m sorry for the mess, Ma’am.”

Don’t think that I miss the flicker of hope in Gertie’s grey eyes. Yes, Neil Fritter is a bit of a looker, so she won’t mind seeing him upstairs. I’ll make sure he delivers Jasper at my front door and doesn’t come in. I’m not against romancing, but I’ll not encourage it either in un-betrothed people. That’s not my style.

 

Author Bio:

“Ever since I could hold a pen, I’ve written stories and poems, and I’ll write till my dying day.”

Historical fiction author Hannah Byron’s crib stood near the Seine in Paris, but she was raised in the south of Holland by Anglo-Dutch parents. In her bestselling WW2 historical fiction series, The Resistance Girl Series, Hannah’s heroines also traipse from one European country to the next, very much like their creator.

Now a retired university lecturer and translator, the European traveler and avid researcher is about to cross a new border and settle down south of Dublin.

What started as curiosity about her family’s connection to D-Day, evolved into an out-of-controlish study into WW2 history. To blame, or thank, must be Uncle Tom Naylor. If he’d not landed on the beaches of Normandy and help liberate Holland, her British mother would never have met her Dutch Dad after the war.

Strong women are at the core of her clean and wholesome romance novels. Every book is a tribute to the generations who started the women’s lib movement, got dirty in overalls, flew planes, and did intelligence work. Today’s girl bosses can but stand on the shoulders of these amazons.

Side-by-side with their male counterparts, Byron’s heroines fight for freedom, equality and… love.

In December 2022, Byron will launch her first Historical Mysteries. The Mrs Imogene Lynch Series stars the kind but opinionated Victorian widow of Constable Thaddeus Lynch.

 

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Bookbub

 

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Things I Overshared
Kelsey Humphreys
(Heartlanders Series, #2)
Publication date: December 6th 2022
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

Things I Overshared, an extrovert/introvert romantic comedy

Samantha Canton has had a rough year, to put it mildly. So, she is overjoyed to find out she gets to go on her dream work trip to Europe. But she’s not going alone. She’ll be crossing the pond with the company’s CFO, Emerson Clark.

Icy Emerson, as the industry calls him, is logical, serious and quiet. He likes solitude, the color gray, rain and hot tea – he is British, after all.

And he cannot stand Samantha in all her southern, chatty, upbeat, neon-dress-wearing glory.

No problem, she’s never met someone she couldn’t befriend.

Until Now.

Commence nervous verbal diarrhea.

And commence the ultimate Grumpy Sunshine, Billionaire, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn Romance with rich characters and a payoff that will leave you absolutely giddy.

**This is a swoony, steamy, full-length standalone adult contemporary romance. Prepare for Manhattan, London, Paris, surprise twists, laugh-out-loud banter, a happily ever after, and a sisters group text thread you’ll wish you could join.

This is the second book in the Heartlanders Series but can be read on its own.**

 

Goodreads / Amazon

 

Author Bio:

After tens of millions of video views, comedian Kelsey Humphreys has captured her hilarious, heart-warming characters in book form. Her steamy stories dig into deep truths about love, identity, purpose, and family. When she’s not writing romance or creating comedy videos, she is reading, running, mom-ming and wife-ing in Oklahoma. Follow her funnies on Facebook, Instagram and Tiktok

 

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A Draught of Ash and Wine
Kristin Jacques
(Midnight Guardians, #2)
Publication date: January 31st 2023
Genres: Adult, LGBTQ+, Paranormal, Romance

Johnathan Newman is a changed man, and he has the claws to prove it.

Following their bloody confrontation in Cress Haven, Vic and Johnathan flee the town in search of answers. Johnathan’s human life has ended, but his journey has just begun. Grappling with violent instincts and a supernatural bond to the vampire he’s falling for is complicated enough, but a dangerous new enemy is hot on their heels.

The machinations of the Society reach farther than either of them realized. Their foe’s dogged pursuit forces the pair to seek sanctuary. Vic brings Johnathan to the Estate, a haven for creatures nestled in the wilderness of upstate New York. Taken in by the Estate’s unusual proprietors, Johnathan soon learns not even sanctuary is safe for one of his ilk. This haven provides the pair an opportunity to explore their burgeoning relationship, and Johnathan a chance to learn control- A skill he is desperate to master, no matter the cost.

Because time is not on their side. The Society’s Agents are catching up to them, armed with a weapon straight from the Heavens. With their enemy’s plans creeping toward fruition, humans won’t be the only ones they have to worry about.

For fans of Gail Carriger’s Supernatural Society, The Charm of Magpies series by KJ Charles, Silver in the Wood by Emily Tesh, and The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzie Lee.

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Author Bio:

Mother of two, caffeine addict, sleep deprived book eater.

Kristin Jacques writes primarily speculative fiction, dabbling with dark adventures, monsters, mayhem, and the occasional sarcastic zombie.

When not at her computer spinning tales she is generally herding cats or snuggling with her gremlins.

A Multi Award Winning Author of Fantastical YA & Adult Fiction.

Website / Goodreads / Twitter / Instagram / Bookbub / Newsletter

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Title: The Sunshine Girls

Author: Molly Fader

Publisher: Graydon House

Publication Date: December 6, 2022

Page Count:  357

About the book:

A cross between Firefly Lane and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, a dual-narrative about two sisters who realize their mother isn’t who they’d always thought when a legendary movie star shows up at her funeral, unraveling the sweeping story of a friendship that begins at a nursing school in Iowa in 1967 and onward as it survives decades of change, war, fame—and the secrets they kept from each other and for each other.

A moment of great change sparks the friendship of a lifetime…

1967, Iowa: Nursing school roommates BettyKay and Kitty don’t have much in common. A farmer’s daughter, BettyKay has risked her family’s disapproval to make her dreams come true away from her rural small town. Cosmopolitan Kitty has always relied on her beauty and smarts to get by, and to hide a devastating secret from the past that she can’t seem to outrun. Yet the two share a determination to prove themselves in a changing world, forging an unlikely bond on a campus unkind to women.

Before their first year is up, tragedy strikes, and the women’s paths are forced apart. But against all odds, a decades-long friendship forms, persevering through love, marriage, failure, and death, from the jungles of Vietnam to the glamorous circles of Hollywood. Until one snowy night leads their relationship to the ultimate crossroads.

Fifty years later, two estranged sisters are shocked when a famous movie star shows up at their mother’s funeral. Over one rollercoaster weekend, the women must reckon with a dazzling truth about their family that will alter their lives forever…

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon  /  Harlequin / Books-A-Million /  BookShop.org / Barnes & Noble

Excerpt:

Clara

Greensboro, Iowa

2019

There were too many lilies. Clara wasn’t an authority on flowers or funerals. But, it was like a flower shop—that only sold lilies—had exploded in the blue room of Horner’s Fu­neral Home.

This was what happened when everyone adored you. They buried you under a mountain of your favorite flower—in this case, stargazers with their erotic pink hearts and sinus-piercing pollen—before they actually buried you.

And it was just a cosmic kick in the pants that Clara Beecher was allergic to her mother’s favorite flowers.

“Clara!” Mrs. Place, her eighth-grade language arts teacher, clasped Clara’s hands in her bony grip. Mrs. Place had not changed at all. She was the kind of woman who seemed mid­dle-aged at seventeen and just waited for time to catch up. “Your mother was so proud of you. You and your sister, you were her pride and joy.”

“That’s nice of you to say,” Clara said, keenly aware of her sister, Abbie, across the room doing the sorts of things that would make a mother proud.

“At book club, she’d go on and on about you and the im­portant work you were doing in the city and, well, most of it went right over my head,” Mrs. Place said. There was nothing complicated about Clara’s work; Mom just lied about it so, as a former hippie, she didn’t have to say the words my daughter is a corporate shill. “But you could tell she was just so proud.”

Clara pulled her hand free in time to grab a tissue from one of the many boxes scattered around the room and held it to her allergy-induced, dripping nose. “Thank you,” she said through the tissue.

“Everyone is going to miss Betts,” Mrs. Place said. “So much. There’s not a part of this town that she wasn’t involved in. Church, the library. Park board. Community gardens.”

Like an invasive species. Invite her to something and she’d soon be running the show.

Grief is making you sharp. That was something her mother would say. If she wasn’t dead.

The Blue Room of Horner Funeral Home was hot and wall-to-lily packed with people coming to pay their respects to one of Greensboro’s favorite citizens.

BettyKay Beecher had lived her whole adult life in this tiny town, and the town had shown up bearing casseroles and no-bake cheesecakes for the reception after the burial, wearing their Sunday best, armed with their favorite BettyKay stories.

She sat with my dad when he was dying.

She helped us figure out the insurance paperwork when our son was in his accident.

They were all mourning. The whole room and the hallway outside and the people still sitting in their cars in the park­ing lot. People were crying real tears, huddling, sobbing—actually sobbing—in corners. And all Clara could think was:

Did they know?

Had Mom, in true fashion, told the entire town the secret she’d kept from her own daughters for nearly forty years? The bombshell, life-rearranging, ugly secret she’d blurted, exasper­ated and furious with Clara in their last phone call?

Would they be mourning so hard if they knew?

Clara sneezed.

“Oh, bless you, honey,” Mrs. Place said.

“It’s just allergies.” Clara folded up the tissues before put­ting them in the pocket of her new black Marco Zanini suit with the sash tie and the sky blue silk lining. She’d thought the lining might be a bit much for a funeral, but that was be­fore she knew about the lilies.

And don’t get her started on all the men wearing camou­flage. To a funeral. Were they all going hunting after this?

“She’s with your father now. I hope you find comfort in that.”

“I do, thank you.” It was, as it always had been in Greens­boro, Iowa, easier to lie.

Another person came up with another story about Bet­tyKay Beecher. “Is that your sister?” She pointed across the room after sharing an anecdote about their time together in the Army Nurse Corps. “Abbie?”

Abbie was surrounded by her friends from childhood—who used to be Clara’s friends from childhood, not that it mattered—who kept bringing her mugs that were not filled with coffee. Abbie’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright and she was half-drunk, crying and hugging and not at all bothered by the lilies.

“Yep. That’s my sister,” Clara said, ushering the woman toward Abbie and not even feeling bad about it. “She’d love to hear your story.”

Three years ago, they’d stood in this exact same room, mourning their father, Willis Beecher. It was hard to be home and not see him in the corners of rooms. She couldn’t drink rum or Constant Comment tea and not miss him. The smell of patchouli could bring her to tears. A sob rose up in her throat like a fist, and her knees were suddenly loose. She put a hand against the table so she didn’t crumple onto the floor.

I’m an orphan. Me and Abbie—orphans.

She was a full-grown adult. A corporate lawyer (about to make junior partner, fingers crossed) who billed at $700 an hour. She had a condo on Lakeshore and a good woman who loved her. Abbie had two kids of her own, a husband of twenty-five years and kept slices of homemade lemon loaf in the freezer that she could pop in a toaster in case someone stopped by for coffee. They were far from orphans.

But she couldn’t shake the thought.

Clara found the side door and stepped out.

The wind was icy, blowing across the farmland to the west, picking up the smell of fries and burgers from The Starlite Room, only to press her flat against the yellow brick. She felt the cotton-silk blend of her suit snag on the brick.

The first few days of March were cold, too cold to be out here without a jacket, but the freshness woke her up. Spring hadn’t committed to Iowa yet and the cornfields were still brown, lying in wait, like everything else in Greensboro, for the last blizzard to come hammering down from the Dakotas.

Her phone buzzed. She left it in her pocket.

Horner’s Funeral Home was on the other side of town from the Greensboro University, and St. Luke’s School of Nursing’s white clock tower was just visible over the trees. The univer­sity had all the flags lowered to half-mast for the week. It was a nice touch. Mom had been a student there and then a teacher and for the last twenty years, an administrator.

She closed her eyes, letting the wind do its work.

“Hey.”

Clara felt her sister lean back against the wall next to her, smelling of vanilla and Pinot Grigio.

“Hey,” she said, eyes still closed.

“The lilies—”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

Clara hummed in her throat, a sound that wasn’t yes or no. That was, in fact, the exact sound of the exhausted limbo the last few days had put her in.

“Me neither,” Abbie said. “It just… I feel like I’m missing something, you know? Like I’m walking around all wrong.”

Clara felt the same. Being BettyKay Beecher’s daughter was a part of her identity she didn’t always carry comfortably, but it was there.

“Where’s Vickie?” Abbie asked, and Clara caught herself from flinching at the sound of her girlfriend’s name.

“She wishes she could be here but she has a case in front of the Illinois Supreme Court.”

She felt Abbie’s doubt, the way she wanted to probe and pick.

“Did you have to blow up that picture so damn big?” Clara asked, before Abbie could get to her follow-up questions.

All around the funeral home were pictures of the Beecher family. And—God knows why—Abbie had decided to blow up to an obscene size, the picture of their mother that was on the back of her book: Pray for Me: The Diary of an Army Nurse in Vietnam. In it BettyKay was a fresh-faced twenty-two-year- old, with a helmet-shaped brunette bob wearing an olive green United States Army Nurse Corps uniform.

“Darn.”

“What?”

“Fiona’s turning into a little parrot, so we don’t swear any­more. We say ‘effing’ and ‘darn’ and ‘poop.’”

“That’s effing nonsense.”

“Probably.” Clara could hear the smile in her sister’s voice. “And yes, I did. I love that picture of Mom. She looks so brave.”

Clara thought she looked terrified.

“Max and Fiona don’t understand what’s happening,” Abbie said. “They keep asking why Gran is lying down.”

Clara’s laugh was wet with the lingering allergic reaction to the flowers. “That’s awful.”

“Denise from the hospital keeps trying to get the kids to touch Mom’s hand. So they can feel how cold she is and then they’ll understand.”

“What will it make them understand?”

“That she’s dead.”

“That’s morbid even for Denise.” They were both laugh­ing, which felt alien but sweet.

“She says it will give them closure.”

Abbie reached out and grabbed her hand. Clara started to pull away, but Abbie didn’t let go.

I should tell her. Part of her even wanted to. To share the burden of information like they were kids again. And Abbie, who liked the view from the perch her reputation as a Beecher in this town gave her, would tell Clara it wasn’t true. Couldn’t possibly be. That Mom had been wrong. Angry. Something.

Some excuse to keep everything the way it was.

That was why Clara couldn’t tell her. Because Abbie had to live in this town side by side with the memory of Mom. Bringing Abbie into it would make her sister’s life harder.

“Abbie, don’t get upset but I am going to leave after the re­ception at the church.” There. Done. Band-Aid-style.

“And go where?” Abbie asked.

“Back home.”

And here comes the look. “Chicago? You’re kidding.”

“We have a new client—”

“You’re leaving?” Accidentally Clara caught Abbie’s furious gaze and wished she hadn’t. She could see her sister’s rage and her grief and it felt worse than her own.

“I’ll be back,” Clara lied.

“Bullshit.” So much for not swearing.

“Abbie—”

“You know. I should have expected this. You show up last-minute in your car and your ugly suit—”

“Hey!”

“With your nose in the air—”

“I’ll pay to have the house boxed up.”

Abbie sucked in so much air Clara went light-headed from the lack of oxygen around her.

“Can we please not make this a big deal?” she asked.

“What did I ever do to you, Clara? To make it so easy for you to leave me behind?”

The wind caught the side door as it opened, banging against the brick with a sound that made Clara and Abbie jump like they’d been caught smoking.

Ben, Abbie’s husband, stuck his head out and Abbie stepped forward. Ben was a good-looking guy in a gentle giant kind of way. Constantly rumpled, but usually smiling. He reminded Clara of a very good Labrador retriever.

She wanted to pat his head and give him a treat. And then yell at him for tracking mud across the rug.

“There you are,” he said.

“I was just getting some air,” Abbie said, with surprising defensiveness. “Is everything okay?”

“There’s…” Ben glanced over his shoulder and made a face, bewildered and somehow joyful in a way that made Clara and Abbie push off the wall. It was his mother-in-law’s funeral after all. Joy was a strange sentiment.

“What?” Clara asked.

“Well, I think you should come in and see for yourself.”

Ben held the door while Abbie and Clara walked back into the packed room. Everyone was silent now, pressed to the walls and corners in little clumps, whispering in that painfully fa­miliar way out of the corners of their mouths and behind their hands. There was a path down the center of the room right to Mom’s casket, where she lay with her arms crossed, wearing her favorite green dress and way too much blush.

Standing at the casket, was a woman. A stranger.

Everything about her screamed not from around here. She wore an elegant long black skirt and a pair of boots with low heels of rich black leather. A gray sweater (Ralph Lauren Col­lection cashmere or Clara would eat her own boots) with a black belt around her trim waist. Her hair was long and sil­very blond, the kind that appeared natural but Clara would put money on the fact that it cost a lot and took a lot of time to keep that way.

She kind of…glittered.

“Who is that?”

“You don’t recognize her?” Ben whispered between Abbie and Clara’s shoulders, his breath smelling of coffee and cough drops.

Something about the woman did seem familiar, polished.

“Is she from the publishing company?” she asked Abbie.

“I don’t think so. They sent a cheesecake.”

“That morning show Mom did sometimes, in Des Moines? Ramona?”

“Ramona Rodriguez died, like, ten years ago.”

Clara should know this woman. But her mother’s funeral was throwing her off.

“Are you kidding me? You really don’t recognize her?” Ben asked. “It’s Kitty Devereaux.”

Excerpted from The Sunshine Girls by Molly Fader. Copyright © 2022 by Molly Fader. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

About the author:

MOLLY FADER is the USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of The McAvoy Sisters Book of Secrets, The Bitter and Sweet of Cherry Season, and more than 40 romance novels under the pennames Molly O’Keefe and M. O’Keefe. She grew up outside of Chicago and now lives in Toronto.

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