by Willow Sanders
Acacia has hated Edwin ever
since ‘the incident’ four years ago, but when stormy weather threatens both
their businesses, they realize a farewell to arms may be the best way to avoid
a dangerous summer. Readers who love the Man of the Month Club will devour
Enemies in Earnest by Willow Sanders, a steamy, small town, forced proximity,
enemies-to-lovers romance.
Buy
Now or Read FREE with KindleUnlimited!
Add to Goodreads Here!
Acacia Ashley has
one love: the written word. Specifically the rich, earthy, prose of Mr. Ernest
Hemingway. Her love for Hemingway goes so deep that she opened a bar in his
honor. Every year in July she plays host to Hemingway Days in Candy Cane Key,
and every year she has to stay on guard in case Edwin Wheeler decides once
again to find a way to ruin the solemnity of the occasion.
Edwin Wheeler doesn't care about books or old men, but the sea? The sea is
where he spends his days in search of the almighty dollar. But when he grows
bored of plying tourists with fruity drinks, he’s often found needling the
resident bookworm, Acacia. She's hated him ever since the incident four years
ago. Why does getting a rise out of her give him a bit of a rise as well?
When the bell tolls signaling approaching stormy weather that threatens both of
their businesses, the pair realizes a farewell to arms may be the best way to
avoid a dangerous summer.
Excerpt
Copyright 2023
Willow Sanders
It was much
easier to ruminate over one’s nemesis when he wasn’t ten feet away. The other
problem? The way he doted on and cared for his mother was literally catnip.
Lady Kitty catnip, not like, for Six- toed Joe. The second his mom shivered, he
was there with her cardigan. She coughed, he had her water at the ready. He
repeated what MariJo’s nephew and niece said, but louder and in the direction
of her good ear, without making it obvious he did it for her benefit. How could someone who was such an asshole be
so sweetly attentive to his mother? It didn’t compute.
“What if we
served a buffet of Hemingway-inspired appetizers?” Asher asked, his bushy
eyebrows the only thing I could make out over the clipboard he referenced.
“Now wouldn’t
that be a hoot?” Edwin flipped a fifty onto the counter. “I’m sure no one in
the history of Hemingway-inspired bars, restaurants, parties, or events has
ever thought to offer a little canape dipped in literary puns.”
Asher lifted an
eyebrow in his direction as if to ask me is he for real? Unfortunately, yes, he
was. The two of us had a War and Peace length conversation in silent eye rolls
and quirks of lip before Asher heaved a dramatic sigh and placed his clipboard
on the counter.
“I believe it was
the great Oscar Wilde who said sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”
Edwin nabbed a cherry from my garnish center,
shrugging in Asher’s direction. God, he was ridiculous. He never took his eyes
off me, even though the shrug was directed at Asher. Did he want me to chastise
him for stealing a cherry? Because of the list of things I could chastise the
man over, being a cherry stealer was low on the list.
“What can I do
for you Edwin?”
I tried to be as
subtle as I could, affixing the plastic top to the tray of garnish. It was a
place of business after all. Sanitation was important. Certainly, no one wanted
his grubby, work-roughened fingers anywhere near their drinks.
“Now there’s a
statement heavy with possibility.”
Edwin Wheeler did
not get to do funny things to my nervous system. No ma’am. The way his voice
went soft and gravely did not affect the steady, reliable thrum of my pulse.
And his tipped lip or the mischievous glint in his eyes did not make my face
feel hot. I’d rather succumb to food poisoning from bad fish than have him be
the reason I felt flushed and a little woozy.
“Did your mom
call up your cousin and ask him to come for a playdate? That was so considerate
of her. This way you have someone who is obligated to tolerate your company
every day while your boat’s boo-boos get all patched up.”
At that moment,
the sexy version of Santa Claus, also known as Edwin’s cousin, took a seat next
to him at the bar and regarded me.
“How’s that
champagne coming along?” he asked his cousin.
“This here’s
Klaus.” Edwin cocked his head.
“Bottle or
glasses?” I asked, ignoring the flirty challenge in Edwin’s eyes. “The bottle
is probably the better choice as you’ll get four glasses out of it for thirty
dollars versus four glasses of champagne at nine fifty a piece which would be
thirty-eight, before tax.”
Edwin’s eyes flit
to the fifty he had sitting in front of him and back up to look at me. Though
that didn’t really answer the question. Regardless of which he chose, the fifty
covered it and then some.
He didn’t get to
win. It was my bar. If I were a petty person, I’d pour four glasses and charge
him the per-glass rate. If he wanted to play Mr. Unaffected, James Dean cool,
and answer me in smirks and eyebrow lifts instead of words, fine. I’d show him.
About Willow Sanders
A marketer by
day, and author by night, Willow Sanders is a best-selling author of sweet with
heat Contemporary Romance and Romantic Suspense. She loves to write spunky,
take no shit women, and understanding men with a strong side of sarcasm and an
extra helping of BDE. When not writing you can find her torn between her
loyalty to the Fighting Illini and her husband’s loyalty to Michigan State,
bemoaning traffic, feeding her caffeine addiction, and trying to find the
connection between her and the Gilmore Girls–because she is certain she is a
long-lost family member.
Follow: Website | Facebook | Reader Group | Twitter | TikTok | Instagram | Goodreads
| Bookbub | Amazon
Thank you for promoting!
ReplyDelete