Learning to Love

by Julie Evelyn Joyce

  The girl’s frown instantly reversed. “Whenever I want?”

  “You bet!” She took her hand again. “Now, we’d better get back out there so your daddy doesn’t get too lonely.”

  They made the short trek toward the main part of the store, but when they walked from behind the counter, Hannah drew up short. Kent stood with his back to them, broom in hand, and swept up the last remnants of the mess.

  She hurried forward so she could relieve him of his impromptu duties. “Wow, thank you. You’re hired.”

  He turned on his heel, a flush creeping across his cheeks like he felt guilty for stepping in, but she couldn’t have been more grateful. “When you have a kid, you get used to cleaning up messes.”

  She nodded, reaching for the broom. “Same’s true with dogs.”

  They both held the wooden handle for several beats. Diana’s impatient tug at her father’s pantleg prompted him to break contact. “We should go. Thanks again for, you know . . .”

  “Being my fabulous self?” Hannah filled in for him. “Oh, my pleasure.”

  The sound of his laughter poured all over her like warm butter, but she couldn’t savor it for long because Diana launched herself at Hannah’s middle and squeezed her in another hug. “Goodbye, Miss Barker!”

  “Bye, sweetheart! Have you got your doll?”

  “Yep! She’s in my backpack.”

  Kent took her hand and they headed for the door. As they crossed the threshold and stepped into the sunshine, he tossed Hannah a look over his shoulder. “See ya,” he said.

  Hannah stood and stared at the door, long after it had closed behind them. Muffy came out of hiding and nudged her head against Hannah’s thigh. She knelt down and scratched behind her baby’s ear. “Ya know, Muffykins, he’s maybe not so bad after all, that Kent Clarkson.”

  In Case You Missed It

  Hey, have you read my first book in the Make Me a Match series yet? Steeped in Love was the winner of the 2019 Kobo Emerging Writer Prize in Romance! Here’s a little snippet of my award-winning debut…

  Steeped in Love

  Coffee creamed and stirred. Laptop fired up. Knuckles cracked.

  Ethan Holtz took a deep breath and waited for inspiration to strike.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  He swigged some coffee, hoping a sudden jolt of caffeine might awaken the creative juices.

  Nope. Though it was a particularly good cup of joe this morning. Not wanting to let the discovery go unappreciated, he raised his mug in salute to Gwen, the talented barista and shop owner. Someone around here should be appreciated for their work.

  She smiled as she whirled past him, her hands loaded with empty mugs and crumb-filled plates. Lord, he wanted a cherry danish. But not yet. Not until he cranked out the first thousand words.

  Ethan had been living in Kendal for months, but even he had to admit he hadn’t done much to make an impression. More an observer than participant, he knew who his neighbors were, but he didn’t feel the need to engage in meaningless chit-chat with them. Unless you counted Mrs. McCallister and her three grandchildren. They often crossed paths at the public swimming pool.

  Typical introvert, at least according to multiple Facebook quizzes, he liked his books and television shows and felt comfortable only in a few particular spots, like the Cup-A-Cabana coffee shop.

  He’d been writing there for several weeks now, hoping the change of scenery and the colorful mix of people he observed would help his writer’s block. Sure beat staring at the bland walls of the apartment he rented. But until recently, the writing wasn’t the problem. It was the fact that the books he worked so hard on weren’t selling. A demoralizing reality, but a reality nonetheless.

  He knew he was good. His psychological thrillers were deep and thought-provoking, not only according to him but to several critics. When Thrilled About Thrillers gave him a Top Pick, he was sure he’d made it. His agent had gushed on and on about the esteemed acknowledgement, yet somehow his critical acclaim hadn’t translated to commercial success.

  Lowering his gaze to the screen, the blank page glared back and the cursor taunted him.

  Oh, to hell with it.

  Ethan flagged down Gwen and ordered the damn danish. On her return with the pastry, she topped up his mug. He lifted his head to acknowledge the gesture, but an entirely different woman caught his eye outside the door. She was bent over, locking her bike to a lamppost, unmindful of every man who gawked at her obvious assets on display, including himself. When she righted herself again, recognition dawned.

  Adelaide Mitchell, owner and operator of the one and only Pie-Cycle.

  He couldn’t help but watch as she entered the café, a pixie-haired woman with wide brown eyes, pink lips, and short shorts that hugged her so tightly he felt envious of spandex.

  He rarely got to see Addie up close. Gwen called her that, and the short form suited her. They’d never properly met, but he’d noticed her. Even when she’d whiz by in a blur on her bike, oh, he’d notice her. The writer in him enjoyed the mystique about her, had fun contemplating her personality . . . among other things. She always appeared to be in such a hurry, selling her freshly baked hand pies at all the hubs in this town and the neighboring ones. He’d never tried one, being that he was partial to danishes. But a girl like Addie, well, she might tempt a guy to give pie a try.

  Did she make a living at it? His cooking skills ranked somewhere between novice and non-existent, and he’d never baked in his life, but people had to eat. No one needed to read, as disturbing as that seemed. Writing, he’d admit, was a pie-in-the-sky career choice, but hers was actually pie.

  Addie ordered at the counter, speaking animatedly to Gwen who gave an occasional nod while filling orders for other customers. He sat too far away to hear her chatting over the competing noise, but the kaleidoscope of emotions that played across her face kept him spellbound. If the pie thing didn’t work out, she could be a mime. Except something told him she’d never be able to hold her tongue.

  Addie took a seat a couple of tables over, her back to him. She pulled a tube of lipstick from her pocket and used an old bicycle side mirror from her bag to apply it. Her short hairstyle emphasized the long, slim column of her neck. Her aquamarine bike shoes slapped anxiously against the floor, like it pained her to sit still for too long. He glanced down to find his own foot tapping in sync with hers.

  Gwen delivered a steaming mug to Addie’s table. “Here’s your tea,” she said. “Good luck. Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Well, that’s an odd thing to say. What’s she looking for? The meaning of life? The perfect ratio of honey to lemon in her tea—

  “How’s the writing going, Ethan?”

  He flinched, startled to find Gwen hovering over him with a knowing smile on her face. “Fine,” he muttered.

  Her soft hum proved she’d seen the blank page he failed to minimize fast enough. “Hope your hands don’t cramp up,” she teased, then sauntered back behind the counter to cash someone out.

  Ethan missed those days—when his fingers could barely keep pace with the words flowing from his brain. It was hell to find inspiration when you knew what you were writing would tank before it even hit the shelves. Releasing a heavy sigh, he rubbed his temples. He could be bitter and cynical all he wanted, but the truth was that he needed to rebrand himself if he had a hope in Hades of selling anything. He’d still be a thriller author, but his stories were about to take on a different spin. According to his research, every successful book nowadays had “girl” in the title: Gone Girl, The Good Girl, The Girl on the Train, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo . . .

  He looked up, suddenly curious beyond all reason if Addie had any tattoos, another detail he could add to his mental rolodex. But something else stole his attention. She wasn’t sitting alone anymore.

  A man sat at her table. So that must have been what Gwen meant. This was a date. Addie Mitchell was looking for a man.

  Unwritt
en story forgotten, Ethan pushed his laptop toward the center of the table so he could lean forward. If he propped his elbow on the table and twisted just a little to the right, he had a much better position for eavesdropping.

  “I was so glad you contacted me,” the guy said.

  He was almost a full head taller than Addie while seated. Ethan hated him for that alone. The guy wore a faded grey T-shirt, his hair slicked back like he’d just gone for a run and this meeting was the next item on his to-do list. The biceps bulging beneath the stretched-out fabric probably earned him back whatever points he lost, if any, for his less than impressive first date attire.

  But maybe this wasn’t a date.

  “I love morning dates,” Addie replied.

  Okay, scratch that theory.

  “If it’s good, it can run right through to the afternoon and turn into lunch, even dinner if you play your cards right. If it’s bad, you still have the rest of the day to make up for it. I’m sure it won’t be bad, though, because you seem great, and this place is great, and the food is . . . well, great, so we’re definitely on the right track.”

  Her date blinked, clearly trying to catch up to the woman who talked a mile a minute. “We’ll see how breakfast goes first, but I make a mean sandwich.”

  He couldn’t see Addie’s reaction, but he could somehow sense she was smiling. She fiddled with her hoop earring and he spotted a tiny green leaf inked just behind her lobe. Ahh, so she does have a tatt. He sort of liked that she’d hidden it. She made you work for it. Ethan cocked his head, fascinated that she’d been able to sit still long enough for someone to mark that perfect porcelain skin. Why a leaf, though? And what kind of leaf was it, exactly? Maybe she had a green thumb. Or perhaps she was a pothead. He’d smoked a joint once or twice in his life, but he wasn’t about to advertise it to the world.

  “More coffee, Ethan?” Gwen asked.

  “Thanks,” he murmured distractedly.

  Gwen ducked down until she was in his direct line of sight. “How’s he doing?” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “The guy.” She nodded over her shoulder. “Bachelor number one.”

  Ethan coughed. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Gwen looked pointedly at his idling laptop. “She’s been trying the online dating thing. In fact, she has another date lined up later this week. Here again. I guess she figures a public place is best.”

  “I see. Do you plan on charging admission? I may need to rob my piggy bank.”

  Gwen shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

  “I’ll be sure to add it to my calendar,” he deadpanned. Gwen wasn’t usually so chatty with him, and she’d never been gossipy before. Glancing up, he was surprised to still find her hovering. Was it that obvious he’d been eavesdropping on Addie’s date?

  “She even answered some singles ads in The Daily Dispatch,” Gwen carried on. “That’s where she found this guy.”

  Ethan rarely paid attention to the local newspaper. It was such rubbish. But if Addie found it interesting . . . “Is that safe?”

  Gwen laughed. “I’d say so. We’re not known for harboring criminals in Kendal, unless eating too much pie is a crime. I’d happily do time for that.”

  He knew many people were trying the online dating thing these days, but Addie was looking for love in a newspaper, too. Could it really be that simple? Ethan pulled his laptop closer and wiggled his mouse to wake it, an unexpected wave of inspiration hitting him full force. “He seems to be doing well so far,” he grudgingly admitted.

  “Keep me posted,” Gwen said.

  He barely heard her over his fingers tapping frantically against the keys. The Girl Who Made Headlines. Chapter One.

  * * *

  Buy Steeped in Love now!

  Praise for Steeped in Love

  “Steeped in Love was an utter delight to read. A perfect rom-com!”–New York Times bestselling author Kristan Higgins

  “This story has a unique premise that’s driven by witty dialogue keeping the reader hooked into the flow of the story.” –USA Today bestselling author Dale Mayer

  “I loved this book. Not only is it funny, but it’s filled with so much heart. It was impossible not to fall for Addie and Ethan.”–Author Maggie Wells

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost, I’d like to thank my parents for raising me to believe I could be anything I wanted to be. For encouraging me to follow my dreams. I miss you every day, Mom, but I know you’re always here with me—in my heart. Dad, you helped me through this book, and your uplifting words, and occasional character name suggestions (one that I even used!), made the journey so much more enjoyable. I love and adore you.

  My diligent, brilliant, and beloved critique partner, Margaret Ethridge, deserves an Olympic medal for the work she put into this book. Late nights brainstorming, video chats, writing sessions, revisions, lather, rinse, repeat. I’m terrified of the day you realize how exhausting it is being my friend, but I hope you know how incredibly special you are to me.

  Thank you to Kristan Higgins who joined us on a girls’ weekend in NYC a few years ago when I was just starting to dream up this book. Talking plot with you and Margaret was nothing short of AWESOME. And the outline you made was a thing of beauty, Higgins.

  This book is as much a love story about teaching as it is a romance between two teachers. Naturally, I reached out to my fellow educators and friends to ensure I hit all the right notes. Thank you to Kristin Newton, Jeannie Moon, and Catherine McCloskey for stepping in when I needed you most. Thanks also to Casey Briand from the Office of Teacher Education at Columbia University for answering the many questions I had about the program. I’ll admit, I took some creative liberties with Will’s practicum timeframe, but that’s the magic of fiction at play. :)

  There have been several teachers in my life who’ve inspired me in various ways, but none more than Janet Westbury. You’re the best teacher—and one of the best people—I know. I’m so grateful for all the wisdom you’ve shared with me over the years.

  I wouldn’t be where I am today without the incredible girlfriends who’ve been in my corner, cheering me on. Here’s a toast to my Super Cool Party People. Where you lead, I will follow. And a second toast to our darling friend Michelle Kelly, whom we lost earlier this year. You’re never far from our thoughts, my Canadian sistah.

  Now, let me heap enormous amounts of praise on my extraordinarily talented, patient, and thorough editor, Sarah Pesce. This is our second book together (aww, our sophomore book!), and I want you to know that I’ll be a client—and friend—for life. Just try to shake me! Thank you for making me a better writer, for pushing me until things clicked into place.

  Lastly, I want to thank you, dear readers, for taking the time to read this book. I truly appreciate your support.

  Julie Evelyn Joyce is an award-winning author and a proud Canuck. When she’s not writing quirky and witty romances, she spends her time molding young minds, playing sports, singing karaoke, juggling, and dancing like there’s no tomorrow. Sometimes simultaneously. Her debut novel, Steeped in Love, has received glowing reviews and is the winner of the 2019 Kobo Emerging Writer Prize in Romance.

  Get to know Julie better by subscribing to her newsletter or visiting her website today!