Just the Way You Are (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 1)

by Pepper Basham

  Just the Way You Are

  Books by

  Pepper Basham

  Historical Romance

  The Penned in Time Series

  The Thorn Bearer

  The Thorn Keeper

  The Thorn Healer

  Contemporary Romance

  The Mitchell’s Crossroads Series

  A Twist of Faith

  Just the Way You Are

  Pepper Basham

  Just the Way You Are

  Copyright © 2017 Pepper Basham

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1539699033

  ISBN-10: 153969903X

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles, without the prior written consent of the author.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2017

  Cover Design by Pepper Basham & Krista Phillips

  Cover photos from www.istockphoto.com , www.pixabay.com, and www.adobephoto.com

  Edited by Linda Attaway and Katie Donovan

  Author Photo by Michael Kaal Photography

  Published by Woven Words Publications

  Fletcher, NC 28732

  Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

  To my Granny Spencer

  Whose love of story nurtured my love for writing

  and whose life of grace inspired me to live with joy

  Endorsements

  Laugh-out-loud humor combines with stick-your-head-in-the-freezer kisses in this novel of romance, faith, and a little historical mystery. Too. Eisley Barrett is a positively delightful heroine, her Appalachian charm the perfect counterpart to Wes Harrison’s British swoonworthiness. Secondary characters rich with warm yet unique personalities beg readers to pull up a chair and chat, while the family history subplot adds more layers of intrigue and romance to the plot. Above all, the theme of being treasured “as is” rings true and full of grace. —4 ½ stars Top Pick from Romantic Times.

  With a quirky heroine, a swoony hero, and a comedic collection of two unique cultures, Pepper Basham has crafted a romantic read full of personality, chuckles, and plenty of second-chance hope splashed in for good measure. —Jennifer Rodewald, author of Red Rose Bouquet.

  Beautifully written, whimsical, and perhaps a little cheeky, Just the Way You Are grabbed ahold of me and wouldn’t let go. —Janice Hanna Thompson, author of Weddings by Bella.

  Just the Way You Are is my story. Every emotion, every doubt, every longing between the hero and heroine connected to my own. In lyrical writing that weaves humor with grace-filled truths in gentle ways, Basham brings Appalachian dynamics and British beauty to life with a romance that sets hearts on fire. Just the Way You Are is among the best of the best. —Marisa Deshaies, editor and reviewer.

  With equal parts side-splitting wit and humor, sparkling romance and two vivid cultures colliding all in the name of Love, Ms. Basham's latest literary offering will no doubt become a classic in the genre and in new and old readers' hearts. Just the Way You Are will leave you swooning, happy-sighing and wiping tears away in turn. A truly unforgettable novel! —Meghan M. Gorecki, author of Wrapped in Red.

  Pepper Basham’s Just the Way You Are is the most delightful, funny, sweet (and spicy!) novel I’ve read in a long time. She exudes joy and depth in her main characters, fabulous richness in her secondary characters, and a fun mystery to round it all out, resulting in the most romantic-comediest Britallachian story of all! —Mikal Dawn, debut author of Count Me In.

  Basham dazzles with pitch-perfect comedic spark and oodles of charm!

  Pairing a suave celebrity hunk with an adorably insecure and quirky single mom is an unlikely match, to say the least. Add in cultural gap as wide as the Atlantic, match-making grandparents, a hint of mystery, a passel of adorable kidlets, chemistry that will steam up your reading glasses, and wounds deeper than Wes's delicious English accent, and you've got a couple you can feel so palpably, they practically leap off the page and burrow beneath your skin. A romantic comedy for the keeper shelf! —Amy Leigh Simpson, Author of When Fall Fades and From Winter's Ashes

  Chapter One

  One step into the massive, glass-walled waiting area was all it took.

  In a cataclysmic chain of events, someone bumped into Eisley Barrett, sending her purse and all its contents skittering across the glossy floor of Heathrow International Airport. Just as she regained her balance, her heel caught on her purse strap, forcing her off-kilter.

  She liked comedy, but this was ridiculous.

  In horrific slow motion, forward momentum merged with gravity, the crowd parted like the Red Sea, and she landed face-first on the floor.

  Well, not exactly on the floor. Somebody broke her fall.

  She gasped and the humiliating rush of heat in her cheeks soared throughout her entire body. Somebody broke her fall!

  Eisley looked up from her unladylike position and peered through her veil of red hair at a pair of gray trousers and black Rockports. Her throat pinched air to a stop. The somebody was male. Visions of a tall, dark, and deceptive ex-husband shifted through her mind. Post Romantic Betrayal Disorder, plain and simple.

  A set of dazed gray-blue eyes with a tuft of silver brow blinked back at her. Thank you, Jesus. It’s a grandpa-aged male. She choked on her relief as the thoughts rammed into place.

  “Gracious sakes. I’ve squished a grandpa.” Eisley pushed away from the man’s crinkled dress shirt, then leaned in to grab his arms. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  His lips quirked into an uncertain grin as she eased him up to a sitting position.

  “I think I am well. It’s the first time I’ve been assaulted by a young woman in an airport.”

  Eisley opened her mouth to protest, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. She offered her most daring smile. “It’s my first assault. How did I do?”

  “Brilliant, actually. First rate, I’d say.”

  She laughed but quickly sobered. Her first hour in England and she mows down a poor man in the airport. Fabulous start. “Really, are you okay?”

  He winced. Eisley dropped her hold on his arms. “Oh, no. I did hurt you.”

  “Nothing serious. A sprain, perhaps.” The man rotated his wrist, a strange expression crossing his face as he watched her. Most likely he was trying to figure out how much money he could get from her if he sued. “Per chance, would you be Eisley Barrett?”

  His question clinked into place. She leaned back and really looked at him. She should have known him from his picture, but the whole squishing scene had been way too distracting for little things like recognition. He had one of those distinguished-grandfather appearances: dressed in a suit, salt-and-pepper hair neatly trimmed, with a sliver of moustache to add a sense of renown. Just like she’d expected, except the hair was a bit erratic after his near-concussion.

  “Mr. Harrison?”

  “Yes, Daniel Harrison. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eisley.” Her name rolled off his tongue as if James Bond said it himself. Something inside of her melted.

  “A pleasure to survive me might be more like it.” She shook her head and groaned. “I’m so sorry about the fall. I knew I should
n’t have worn heels.”

  “Don’t worry yourself, luv. Accidents do happen. My wife has a habit of stepping on my feet.”

  Eisley winced at the memory of her coma-inducing footwork. “I bet she never tackled you in an airport.”

  He chuckled. “That wasn’t a typical Appalachian greeting?”

  She really shouldn’t smile. After all, she’d nearly suffocated, possibly flattened, a senior citizen, but he was so downright charming it was difficult to maintain a guilty expression.

  “Tackling is one of my family’s traditions, but we usually call it hugging. It takes all the fun out if you clue strangers in on the attack.” Eisley sighed. “Come on, Mr. Harrison, let’s get you off the floor and into a chair. At least then, we won’t add trampled to your list of possible injuries.” She helped him to his feet. “And maybe we should pray for your wrist. That’s what I do with my kids, anyway.”

  “Have you traveled without your children before?”

  “Never more than a night or two, so this is definitely an adjustment.” She placed her hand against her quivering stomach. Every inch of those four thousand miles pressed in on her heart like eating way too much of Aunt Tilley’s Mastermind Meatloaf. She tossed a glance to the outgoing flights display. A fleeting thought to return home inched to mind.

  No. She’d made a promise. Uncle Joe. She swallowed down the worry bubble in her throat and guided Mr. Harrison to a chair.

  “But the kids are in great hands.” She babbled on as if words would assuage mommy-guilt. “Christmas break’s a week away and my parents are as excited as the kids. With my dad in charge, I’ll be lucky if my seven-year-old isn’t toting a rifle and my daughter isn’t biting off bottle tops with her baby teeth within a week.”

  Mr. Harrison’s sudden laugh pricked at Eisley’s smile and curbed the mommy-ache.

  “Yeah, it sounds pretty crazy, doesn’t it? But my parents wouldn’t let me turn down Cousin Lizzie’s offer to come do research for Uncle Joe.” She gave her eyebrows a playful wiggle. “And get a good dose of England in the process. The trip was their Christmas gift to me. ‘Single moms need big holidays’, they said.”

  His kind gaze held hers a moment. “No doubt.”

  She settled Mr. Harrison in a chair and detoured her high-octane emotions by gathering her various paraphernalia scattered across the floor. Her kids would be okay. They would still remember her name, and surely her Dad wouldn’t have them chewing tobacco by the time she got home.

  She stuffed her items back into her bag and sat down next to Mr. Harrison. “I can’t thank you and Eleanor enough for letting me stay with you while I’m here.”

  “It’s the very least we could do for one of our oldest and dearest friends. We were happy to offer our home. With Lizzie’s father’s ill health, it wouldn’t have been suitable for you to stay at Lornegrave.”

  “Right.” Lizzie’s emails hinted about her father’s dementia and psychosis, but everything else seemed as much a secret as Eisley’s mysterious ancestor. Oh, this story kept getting better and better, nibbling at Eisley’s lifelong obsession with great romance. Fictional, of course. The less painful kind.

  Maybe hidden behind five hundred years of unsolved stories, she could discover what happened to Julia Ramsden, find the name of the man she married, and make her uncle’s dying wish come true in the process. She drew in a deep breath of renewed determination. “It was very sweet of you to come to London for me.”

  “We were already in town for our annual Charity Christmas gala. It is Eleanor’s favorite charity and we never miss.” He gave her hand a comforting pat. “We were happy to collect you.”

  We? She peered around him in search of some elegant British counterpart. “Where is your wife?”

  “Ah, yes. Eleanor felt peaked this morning.”

  Peaked? “Is she okay?”

  His smile crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “I’m certain she’ll be fit as a fiddle for the gala tonight. Social events always encourage her health. She’s not fond of London morning traffic, I’m afraid, but she’s quick to raise money for her cause at any given moment.”

  “Sounds like I’m going to really like her.” Eisley shrugged. “As if there was any doubt about that. Do you feel ready to walk after I mauled you? I guess we’re taking the Tube or maybe we can catch a taxi?

  “Actually, my son is to drive us. Wes is quite capable. He lives on the West End.” Mr. Harrison nodded toward the doorway. “And here he comes now.”

  Eisley followed Mr. Harrison’s gaze across the expanse of the meeting area, past the red bucket chairs and rows of people, and right into the eyes of a Greek god. Her vision zoomed in like a camera, blocking out everything else—sounds, noises, her phobia of Prince Charming look-alikes.

  A taller, younger version of Mr. Harrison walked toward them, as if directly from a Google search for swoon-worthy. His gray-blue gaze blazed through years of avoidance and splintered directly into her pulse. The unfamiliar emotion flashed into recognition with a harsh light. She held in a whimper. Attraction?

  Lord, really? Are you joking?

  She tried to adjust her expression. The last thing she needed was to look like a three-year-old in a candy store. Too much eye candy was bad for a wounded heart. Very bad. It might lead to thoughts of hope—or worse, possibilities.

  She stumbled to a stand and bent to help Mr. Harrison from his chair.

  “Eisley,” he whispered. “It would be wise not to mention the falling incident to Wes.”

  She jerked her gaze to his. “What?”

  “Wes.” Mr. Harrison stepped forward and greeted his son. “This is Eisley Barrett. Our guest for the next few weeks.”

  Wes’ gaze trailed over her, leaving a splash of warmth on her face and a knot in the pit of her stomach. Calm. Distant. Glacial. The perfect coolant for her overactive imagination.

  The dutiful son offered his hand, somewhat reluctantly. “A pleasure, Ms. Barrett.”

  His hot-fudge smooth voice swept all words right out of her head and melted any images of icecaps. The perfect combination – fascinating eyes, a British accent, and chocolate. Yep, he was Ghirardelli in human form. She gave her wayward thoughts a mental slap.

  Pull yourself together, woman. No man is worth a Marshall-sequel.

  She peeled her tongue off the roof of her mouth, took his hand, and pushed all the giddy, junior-high feelings down to her pinkie toe. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  A fake smile showed off his perfectly straight teeth. His taciturn expression proved he remained completely unimpressed with what he saw. Ah, the story of her life. Add a mile-high stack of comparisons to her twin brother and it was an instant flashback to high school.

  She pulled her pink rolling bag to her side and shrugged off the sting of the disappointment she refused to embrace.

  His smoky gaze skimmed down to her bags. “Your luggage?”

  “Pink is easier to find in the baggage check.”

  “No doubt.”

  Sarcasm? Daggone it, that just made him more attractive. Oh, what a pickle. Why here and now? The hopeless romantic she’d crammed underneath her busy-working-mother mask and three years of hardened resentment scrambled to the surface in full agonizing volume, hands opened wide to the daydream. The timing was horrible. There was nowhere to hide. No family excuses. Thankfully, Mr. Frosty-and-Fabulous curbed her lack of self-control with a solid dose of reality. He looked annoyed, maybe a bit bored, and definitely not like he was carrying on an internal monologue to rival Bridget Jones.

  Wes lifted her bags and started toward the doors. “Well, Ms. Barrett, Father’s told me very little about you.” A look passed between the two men, and Eisley stepped back from the glare. “You are from Virginia, yes?”

  “Yes, a teeny tiny place in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Not too far from North Carolina and the Smokies. A great place to call home.”

  Wes remained stiff as a hardbound book binding, but—Hark! Was that a faint light of interest flickeri
ng behind his dull expression?

  “The Blue Ridge Mountains? North Carolina?” His intense stare flipped to Mr. H.

  What about either of those topics could possibly interest a handsome and aloof British guy?

  She liked him better as rude and unavailable. Married would be even better. She took a quick glance at his left hand. Bare as the Jenkinses’ table after a meal.

  Hope plummeted to the heels of her unsteady shoes and self-control teetered in a frightening direction. No, no, no—she couldn’t afford daydreams with real possibilities. Attraction held empty promises. All hormones—no heart. She’d learned the hard way how different those two were. She would not screw up her life again.

  Wes led the way to the door. Even his stride was distracting. Good grief. She switched her attention to less emotionally unpredictable ground. Mr. Harrison. “Lizzie said your cottage is only a short walk from Lornegrave Hall, so I could take the footpath to her house each day.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Harrison offered his arm, so she snuggled up next to him like he was Grandpa Jenkins and almost forgot about the Greek god toting her pink bag through Heathrow. Almost.

  “I can’t believe I’ll get to tour Lornegrave Hall—the same house Julia Ramsden lived in! My family has carried her legend down through generations, but the story always ended in a mystery. Somehow I feel like there are answers hidden there.” She gave a helpless shrug. “Somewhere.”

  “And you hope to find them?” Mr. Harrison steered them toward the doorway. “Perhaps even write about them?”

  “Uncle Joe’s the writer, not me.” A quiet nudge of defiance battled against her admission but she ignored it as usual. “I’ve been his researcher-in-training ever since I was a little girl. He knew a romantic when he saw one. Once he sucked me into his genealogical research, I was a lost cause. And he has an editor interested in Julia Ramsden’s story as a novel retelling, so the information I find here will help him complete the book.” She slowed her pace at the thought of her crazy and amazing uncle. “I’m determined to find out all I can since he’s taking the elevator to Heaven instead of the stairs.”