On the surface, Jenna Landsen has it allâŚ
Sheâs smart, beautiful, confident, and married to Camden Landsen, who happens to be drop dead sexy and just as successful. But after five long years, all the success in the world hasnât brought the romantic spark back into her marriage. Jenna fears it never will.
When life gives you lemons, open a bakery and name it ViâsâŚ
Violet Streiff made the exact mistake her mother warned againstâshe fell in love with Liam Coffman, a charming finance major. When he left her heartbroken to further his career, Violet drowned her sorrows by opening a bakery, and now relies on Bob, her eighteen-pound cat, for warmth at night instead of a sexy man.
To find love, sometimes you first have to discover yourselfâŚ
When Jennaâs job offers an extended trip to New York, she packs her bags and takes a two-month vacation from life. The chance of her marriage surviving looks grim, until the surprise of a lifetime throws a wrench in her plans to stay in the Big Apple for good.
You can bend the rulesâbut sooner or later theyâll breakâŚ
When Violet meets a gloomy but totally drool-worthy guy named Camden in her shop, sheâs sure her luck has changed. Thereâs no denying the chemistry, but heâs married, and thatâs a major problem. Violet isnât a homewrecker. Still, staying away from Camden proves nearly impossible. That is, until his wife comes home.
Two women.
Two men.
Double the chance to find love in the most
unexpected placesâor double the chance for disaster.
Chapter Four
Violet
âEarth to Vi, Vi, are you in there? Did you hear me? I said heâs here,â Margaret pleads, pulling on the arm Iâve been leaning on behind the register. The slowness of our day and low coffee sales led me into daydreaming world. Margaret pulls me out with her tugging.
âWhat?â I sleepily reply, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. âWho?â I scan the room. Just then, he strolls through the door. Oh, hell no. Not on a Monday.
âI tried to warn you,â Margaret hisses, heading back to the storeroom to get some more scones. Great. As if today isnât dreary enough.
âHi, welcome to Viâs,â I exuberantly cheer, faking my enthusiasm.
âVi, Violet, Vi-o-let, how are ya? Happy Monday,â he explodes, the senseless chatter rolling off his tongue as he pats the sweat off his balding forehead.
âWhat do you recommend today, sweetie?â
For starters, I recommend you stuff your nasty, flirtatious pet names, I think between gritted teeth. Instead I say, âOh, I donât know, how about a triple chocolate muffin?â
âSounds great, muffin. SoâŚare you busy tonight?â
Yep, and every night for the rest of my life.
âUm, oh, yeah, Chuck, sorry. Crazy busy tonight.â
Doing nothing. Watching Family Feud reruns and eating cookie dough. And watching my plants grow. Even though I donât have any plants.
âOh, thatâs too bad, Vi. But you know, you canât turn me down forever. Good olâ Chuck canât wait to take that sweet bottom of yours out on another date. Itâs gonna be great and you know it. But Iâm patient. I can wait.â He winks at me so robotically I would laugh if I didnât know he was serious.
I smile through my disgust, trying to quell the vomit rising in my throat. âFour ninety-eight,â I offer methodically. He hands me a five.
âKeep the change.â He winks again as I pass him his paper sack. He brushes my fingers purposefully, sending a shiver down my spine. Not a good shiver in any sense of the word. And with that, my weekly Chuck encounter is over. Thank God I can check it off the list. Root canal or ChuckâIâd choose root canal. Five times.
âIs he gone?â Margaret ventures out of hiding.
âFor now,â I reply, grimacing at the icky feeling left over from Chuckâs brief yet highly distressing presence.
âIf I were you, Iâd kill your mother over him.â
âOh, Iâve thought about it,â I admit
When youâre twenty-six and heartbroken, people tend to pity you. When youâve been alone for a year and have no hopeful prospects in sight, people want to take action to help you. So my mom decided last month to act on this fear. One night, she called and informed me she set me up on a blind date.
âViolet, come onâitâll be great. You canât mope around those books and coffee beans forever. Youâre turning into a crazy cat lady already,â she replied to my immediate no.
âOwning a single cat does not make one a crazy cat lady, Mom.â
âOh, you know what I mean.â
âNo, I donât,â I replied matter-of-factly.
âVi, itâs not healthy. You need to get back out there. So, do this. For me, please? Think of it this way, at least youâll get a free dinner.â When did Mom become such a proponent of love? When did she decide men were, in fact, worth it after all? And when did it become such a priority to find me one?
Nonetheless, the offer of free dinner helped make it easier to give in. So I agreed to go on a blind date to the Pasta Palace with a friend of one of my momâs cousinâs friendâs older brothers. Yeah, sounds promising, I know.
Three milliseconds into the date, I tugged on my turquoise dress anxiously, tapping my ballet flats together hoping, like Dorothy, I could magically be transported home. Or to the local dump. Or to hell.
Anywhere but a date with sweaty, bald, creepy Chuck.
As soon as I could scarf down my chicken parmesan and make a decently sound excuse to leave earlyâmy black cat Bob had a cough, and I better get home to check on himâI made a faster getaway than a bank robber and vowed two things. One, I would kill or at least strangle my mother. Two, I would never, ever, ever go on another blind date. Ever.
I stuck to promise two on my list. Promise one on my list was becoming more likely because Chuck found out I owned Viâs. He decided to start visiting my coffee shop.
Despite my obvious hints I wasnât into him. Yeah, the guy was persistent.
âWell, Vi, maybe youâre being too hard on him,â my mom argued when I called her after the first impromptu visit.
âReally, Mom? Have you seen him? Heâs at least twice my age and he must use at least two sticks of deodorant a day. I mean, really.â
âWell, Vi, maybe youâre being too picky. Youâre not getting any younger, you know.â
âWow, Mom. Thanks a million. While I greatly âappreciateâ your kind efforts to pair me up before I become an old spinster, I think I draw the line at, I donât know, excessive sweat and gross innuendos. Thanks but no thanks,â I retorted, sarcasm oozing out of my words.
I was met with a humph and an end of discussion. My mother hates admitting Iâm right.
So, now I am left with two unfortunate facts in my life.
Mondays are creepy Chuck day, and even my mother thinks Iâm getting desperate in the man department.
Oh, life is grand.