It’s all fun and games until someone gets knocked up.

At forty, Lucie has the life she’s always wanted. Except for her chauvinistic boss. And the book she can’t seem to finish writing. And the fact that she might have a teeny, tiny addiction to spending time in the bar downstairs from her apartment.

Though that might be less about her wine habit than about Danny, the long-haired, soulful-eyed younger man behind the bar. Who also happens to be her neighbor. And the kind of nice person Lucie isn’t. Whom she may have accidentally taken to bed a time or three. Who wants to cuddle after. Ugh.

If she wants to keep her job, finish her book, and create the literary legacy she’s always dreamed of, Lucie can’t spend time on the silly things Danny cares about, like feelings and family and sleep.

Until she sees the plus sign on that plastic stick.

Fall for this steamy, standalone age-gap romantic comedy featuring a swoony, caretaking hero, raging pregnancy hormones, and neighbors who swap more than a cup of sugar. 

How will I get my book?

1. On the release date, August 9, you’ll get an email from Bookfunnel with your ebook.
2. Be sure to check the email you used during checkout! Bookfunnel sends your ebook there.
3. The email tells you how to send the ebook to your favorite e-reader. Click the Need Help? Link at the top of the page if you have any trouble, and the nice folks at Bookfunnel will leap in like a superhero.

Tropes

• Age gap (she’s older!)
• Neighbors with benefits
• Accidental pregnancy
• Cinnamon roll hero
• I only sleep well with you

Chapter 1 look inside

Couples Are the Worst

Lamb: My legacy? I don’t have a legacy. Men have legacies. Women have families.

Interviewer:(laughing) Well, shit. There goes my whole book.

Lamb: Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.

Interviewer: Everyone has a legacy, whether they intend to or not.

Excerpt from transcript of interview with Savannah Lamb, recipe blogger

LUCIE

“Couples are the worst.” I held up my hands. “There. I said it.”

Andrew, who’d been gazing intently at Carly like he could Vulcan mind-meld her into leaving us behind so he could take her home and do couple things like pick out fucking wallpaper, blinked slowly. “No, we’re not.”

At the same time, Carly said, “What? We’re not a couple.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s not what you said last night when I…” As he whispered the rest in her ear, her cheeks reddened.

Now that they were dating, Andrew regularly joined us at our Wednesday-night happy hours. Boo.

I mean, the guy was okay, but it wasn’t the same as when only my three besties and I would hang out. Plus, he was no substitute for Savannah, who hadn’t been able to make it down from Sacramento tonight.

“I meant,” Carly said, “we’re not that kind of couple. Like them.” She nodded at the booth closest to our high-top where the guy had his tongue down the woman’s throat. And possibly his hand up her skirt. I leaned around Tessa to look. Yep, definitely fingering going on.

I straightened. “You’re worse,” I announced. “Because it’s not just hot sex. It’s love.”

Carly hid her blush against Andrew’s soft-looking gray sweater. He stroked her arm, looking like she’d given him a gift he’d been coveting for years.

“You agree with me, right, Tessa?” I swiveled to face her.

Tessa tilted her head, making her long auburn hair cascade down her shoulder. “I find it fascinating how Carly has changed since she’s accepted Andrew as part of her life. But I don’t need to judge it as better or worse. She’s growing, like all of us.”

Speaking of Vulcans. “But look at this.” I picked up my glass of scotch and pointed at them with it. “They’re like a couple of Care Bears—with fucking hearts shooting out of them.”

“What are Care Bears?” Andrew’s hand had moved from Carly’s arm to her hip. They were snuggling, at a high top, in the bar.

Carly looked up. “You don’t remember them?”

“It’s like he grew up on a different planet.” Dude was only seven years younger than me, but he seemed so much younger. I sipped my scotch. It burned my throat on the way down, tasting like socks someone had worn to a campout.

“God.” Tessa rested her chin on her hand. “I’d forgotten all about Care Bears. I wanted one so badly back in the ’80s. Like it would be my passport to social acceptance.”

“Did you ever get one?” I asked. Tessa was tighter than a nun’s asshole about her past. I could’ve googled her history, but friends didn’t do that. Friends waited for each other to feel comfortable enough to share. And from what she’d shared, which wasn’t much, she’d been sheltered. Maybe she’d come from one of those TV-rots-your-brain families.

“No, I didn’t.” She drained her glass of whiskey and set it down. “Who wants another?”

I raised my hand. All this couple bullshit was stirring up something uncomfortable inside me. Not jealousy exactly but a weird kind of longing. I needed to either drink it away or fuck it away, and from the anemic selection of single people in the bar, it was probably going to be the former.

“Want another glass of sparkling wine?” Andrew murmured. “I’m driving.”

Carly smiled at him, her eyes practically matching the string of paper hearts hanging over the table. “Okay.”

“Got it. I’ll bring you a seltzer, Andrew.” Tessa strode to the bar.

A squall came from the booth next to where the couple was making out. A baby reached for the fold-out paper heart hanging over the table and screeched again. Its parents, a couple who looked way too young to be responsible for an entire human, laughed. One dad batted at the heart and set it swinging gently.

The tightness in my chest intensified. I’d never thought of a baby as anything but an annoyance before my thirty-ninth birthday, half a year ago. That’s when the weird feelings had started. It was FOMO. And I couldn’t really fear missing out on having children of my own, could I?

I had a career.

And a book to write.

And great friends. Nothing was lacking in my life.

Right?

“What are you two doing after happy hour?” I asked. “Want to try that new Ethiopian place across the street?”

Carly’s lips turned down. “Sorry, we’re doing takeout at Andrew’s. I have to head down to LA the day after tomorrow, and since it’s Valentine’s Day…”

“Valentine’s Day?” I looked up at the paper hearts. “Guess I lost track of the date.” Why did February 14^th raise a flag in my brain? It had been a normal day at the paper, and I didn’t have any interviews scheduled for my book until March. I lifted my phone.

“Round two,” Tessa announced, setting down the four drinks like a pro. She raised her glass. “To…?”

“To love,” Carly said, her cheeks turning pink. “I love you all. And Savannah too.” She whispered something in Andrew’s ear that made him puff out his chest like he’d won an award.

Award.

“Shit!” I plunked down my drink and scraped back in my chair. “Gotta go. I’m late.”

“Need us to drive you?” Andrew asked.

That’d be just what I needed, to give my friends a glimpse of my cringeworthy family life. “No, thanks. I’ll get a rideshare.” I flicked open the app and headed toward the exit.

My friends were happily deluded that I was a moderately successful journalist. I wouldn’t reveal what my family never hesitated to toss in my face, that I was a disappointment, destined to be forgotten.

A fact that my next stop was sure to remind me of.

* * *

“Looks like they’ve already started,” the driver said as she cruised up the empty circular driveway in front of the campus union hall.

I didn’t have to glance at my phone to know how late I was. “Yeah.”

“Sorry about the traffic.” She waved a hand behind her as if she could still see the snarl we’d fought through on our way from San Francisco.

I shrugged. “It happens.” Especially when you leave late because you’re drinking with your friends.

One of my dad’s many mantras was that we make time for what’s important. It was the one he used when he caught me pulling an all-nighter to finish a paper in college and when I said I was busy at work and couldn’t make it to whatever university event he wanted to trot me out at like a show pony. But that was before my early promise had faded like old newspaper.

When I stayed in her Tesla, staring at the closed doors of the stucco building, the driver said, “Kind of late for a funeral, isn’t it?”

“Funeral?” I tilted my head.

She turned and pointed at my torso. “With that getup…”

I looked down at my black trench coat, which covered my black shirtdress. “Oh. No, it’s an award banquet.”

Her forehead scrunched, setting the barbell in her eyebrow sparkling in the building’s yellow security light. “I hope you’re not the one getting the award.”

I chuckled. “It’s for my father—as usual. Thanks for the ride.” I pushed out of the car but paused on the sidewalk to take a deep breath. Then another. Pasting a smile on my face because he expected it, I strode to the door, heaved it open, and flung myself into the lion’s den.

The room hummed with conversation, punctuated by the plinks of silverware against china. Round banquet tables filled the ballroom up to a stage at the far end. On the raised platform, a podium stood next to a row of uncomfortable-looking chairs. I smelled coffee and a muddle of foods. Potatoes, maybe? And fish. My stomach rumbled. How long ago was lunch? Oh, right. I’d skipped that, trying to hit my deadline. Maybe I could still scrounge a plate of something.

My father wasn’t particularly tall, and he wore a dark suit like all the other men in the room. Yet he had a presence that drew my attention. Everyone’s, really. His white hair and beard stood out against his brown skin. He didn’t break his perpetually serious expression as he spoke with a colleague, his focus unwavering as I approached.

My mother beamed as I weaved between the tables, her graying strawberry-blond hair glinting in the spotlights from the nearby dais. She usually wore more muted colors, but her dress was the color of one of those heart-shaped candy boxes.

“Lucie! You made it!” Her eyes crinkled, obscuring a few of her freckles.

“Sorry I’m late,” I muttered as I kissed her cheek. “Traffic.”

I winced as soon as I said it and glanced at Dad, hoping he hadn’t heard. My hope died when he turned toward me, jaw set.

“That old story?” he murmured. Louder, he said, “Cal, you remember my daughter, Lucie? She won an award for a seven-part series on human trafficking. How many years ago was that, Lucie?”

My cheeks burned as I shook the older white man’s hand. “Fifteen or so.”

“She was a brand-new reporter. No idea how she got the assignment, but she made the most of it,” Dad said.

I already knew the question was coming before Cal opened his mouth. “And what have you been working on lately?”

“Moldering in the newsroom at the city paper.” My father spat out the last two words like he’d said garbage dump.

At the same time, I stood to my full height of five foot four and said, “Actually, I’m working on a book. I just signed the deal.”

I’d signed it two weeks ago, but I’d wanted to look Dad in the eye when I told him.

His white eyebrow twitched upward.

“Oh, Lucie, we’re so proud.” Mom squeezed my shoulders.

Cal asked, “What’s the book about?”

“It’s about legacy. What we intend to leave behind and what we hope we’re remembered for.”

Cal chuckled. “You going to interview your dad, I assume?”

“It’s a book about women’s legacies,” I said.

“Women’s legacies?” Cal asked. “Like motherhood?”

We all glanced at my mother in her red dress and tight smile.

“Women can be more than mothers,” I blurted. “I have some interviews lined up. A tech founder, a Hollywood stylist.” I left out the facts that they were my best friends, and I hadn’t asked them yet. “And—”

“I’ll connect you with Dr. Watts,” my father said. “The university’s first Black female president should have a place in your book.”

Cal scratched his gray beard. “Marvin, didn’t you speak on a panel recently with Senator Gu? He’s got a wife who has…causes, I think.”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “Eleanor. Everyone says their son is on the road to the White House. I’m sure she’ll do me a favor and talk to you.”

Suddenly, dinner leftovers didn’t seem so appetizing.

“I’ve got it, Dad,” I growled.

“All right.” He shrugged like he didn’t care (he did), then the lights flickered. “Ah. That’s my cue.” Without another word, he strode to the dais and took his seat next to the university president.

Cal had already disappeared, so I turned to my mother. “Did you save me a seat?”

“You can borrow your father’s. He won’t need it.” She pointed at a chair, then sat in the one next to it. The efficient servers had removed everything edible from the table. I turned the coffee cup over, hoping someone would come to fill it, and I could beg for a leftover dessert.

As the lights dimmed, Mom leaned over to whisper in my ear, “A book deal? We’re both so proud of you.”

It was a lie. Not an intentional one; my mother was proud of me, and she thought Dad was too. But the only way my father would be proud of me was if I was sitting up on that stage, getting an award for scholarly achievement. He’d been furious the day I’d told him I’d declined my grad school acceptance to go to work for the paper. He’d told me I was throwing my future away. But I’d wanted a different future from his.

It wasn’t because Dad’s research into the long-term effects of racism on society wasn’t valuable. It was. Politicians and activists wore out the cushions of his dining-room chairs as they begged for his advice on how to make the country a better place for citizens.

But I didn’t care for the sanitized type of research he did, with statistics and expert interviews. No, I wanted to dig deeper into people’s stories and help them share those narratives with a broader audience. Because people connect better with stories than with dry research. I’d blaze my trail and change the world my way.

So, I went to work at the newspaper, where as the new person, I took the assignments no one else wanted: city council meetings, school board meetings, the mayor’s press conference announcing the year’s budget. Until I was in the right place at the right time, when a reporter called in sick, and I got to cover the bust of a human trafficking ring. Then, I’d convinced the editor to let me do a follow-up piece on some of the victims. Even Dad had noticed when a national news magazine picked it up as a feature.

Too bad I’d done nothing noteworthy in the fifteen years since.

A burst of applause startled me, and I focused on the stage as my father stepped up to the podium. Another plaque for his wall of achievements was displayed on an easel beside him. Was there even space for it? He’d already annexed the wall in my old bedroom, the one that used to be covered in posters of Bono, Jane Goodall, and Nelson Mandela.

The speaker before him must have introduced his work because instead of talking about his research, Dad thanked the university for the honor and launched into a lengthy list of acknowledgments, from his editor at the university press to the graduate students who’d run the statistical analysis.

My eyebrows crept up my forehead. Normally, Dad wasn’t big on sharing credit. Some people probably thought he set the type on the printing press himself.

“…and most importantly, I’d like to thank the person who’s stood by me through it all, who’s supported me, who’s encouraged me, who’s been my partner in my journey.” He paused, still unsmiling.

He usually forgot to acknowledge my mother, but that’s what he was winding up to do. I reached for her hand and squeezed. She’d given up everything for him. For us. She’d been forced out of her graduate program when her relationship with my father, who happened to be her adviser, was exposed. Three months later I was born, and she gave up her promising career to become a full-time wife and mother. If anyone deserved his thanks, she did.

“Dr. LaToya Watts,” he said. I froze, still gripping my mother’s hand. “Without the support of our university president, my research wouldn’t have received the exposure it has. Thank you.” He lifted the plaque from its easel and posed next to Dr. Watts for photos as the audience applauded.

Had I somehow missed his thanks to her? Judging from the forced smile on her face, I hadn’t.

I leaned forward to whisper, “Are you okay?”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Of course I am. This is a major achievement for your father. For us all.”

One glance at my father on the stage, shaking hands with the trustees, told me she was wrong. It was an achievement for one person only—him. I hated that he couldn’t love me for who I was, but ignoring the person who’d given up everything for him? And what was worse, my mother was fine with going unrecognized yet again. I couldn’t sit around and pretend to smile after that.

I kissed her cheek. “Bye, Mom. I’ve got to go.”

She blinked her blue eyes wide. “You’re not staying to talk to him after? Come to the house. I’ll whip you up a snack.”

“No, thanks. Early meeting tomorrow.” As much as I longed for one of my mother’s meals, listening to my father’s pompous speech had ruined my appetite. I needed another drink.

Thank You!

I love it when you buy direct from my store. As a small business, I earn more from each sale, which means I can continue to write all the steamy, funny romances you love to read. Thanks again and happy reading!

All my love,

Michelle

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