The Can’t Have Hearts Club series
Some hearts have warning labels. Best friend’s ex. Brother’s girl. Forbidden flings and second chances. Welcome to The Can’t Have Hearts Club, five standalone, intertwined stories set in the scenic Pacific Northwest where the last person on Earth you should love might just be your soulmate. These five couples absolutely, positively, without a doubt shouldn’t fall for each other…but what happens when they do?
Let It Breathe
The Can’t Have Hearts Club | book 1 | March 2016
Reese Clark has one goal—save her family’s Oregon vineyard.
Step one: build a new tasting room . . . uh, yesterday.
Step two: dodge PR disasters while wrangling her eccentric family.
Too bad her contractor turns out to be Clay Henderson.
Her ex’s best friend. The most forbidden guy in her orbit.
The old Clay was a wild blend of bad decisions and bar fights.
But new Clay is sober, serious, and sexier than a cellar-aged cabernet.
Too bad he’s still off-limits.
And Reese has her hands full already.
Between her pot-growing grandpa, her parents behaving like smitten teens,
and an alpaca with a groin-butting vendetta,
Reese needs more drama like she needs bonus holes in her wine barrels.
But Clay’s steady presence—paired with a bad-boy-gone-good vibe—
has Reese spiraling faster than a busted corkscrew.
One taste proves forbidden fruit only gets better with age.
But the past—just like love—can’t stay bottled up forever.
And everything Clay and Reese have built could come crashing down around them.
One-click this hilarious and heartfelt small-town romance featuring forbidden love, chaotic family vibes, and a slow-burn second chance worth savoring.
“I need to call the vet,” Reese said, scanning Leon for any signs of duress. Leon twitched his ears and hummed. “Does anyone know if marijuana is toxic to alpacas?”
“Toxic?”
“Yes, toxic!” she snapped. “Tons of things can be toxic to alpacas—acorns, azaleas, carnations, hyacinth—”
“She said high,” chortled one of the men as he blew out a fragrant puff of smoke. “Highacinth.”
Reese gritted her teeth. “What the hell do I tell the vet?”
“That your camel likes the wacky weed?” offered one of the men, stepping closer to pet Leon’s neck.
Leon lowered his head and nailed the guy in the groin. The man doubled over and sat down in the dirt.
“He’s not a camel,” Reese snapped. “And that’s not funny.”
Another man snorted and pointed at his fallen comrade. “No, but that was funny. How much does the camel weigh? About one fifty?”
“He’s not a camel! Do you see any humps?”
At that, the men dissolved into stoner laughter.
Axl stood up and ambled over, stopping to nudge the man in the dirt with the toe of his Doc Marten. When he reached Reese’s side, he gave her hand a squeeze before scratching Leon’s neck.
“He’ll be fine,” Axl insisted. “He’s more like one seventy-five, isn’t he? He didn’t eat that much. Come on, I know a vet who’ll check him out under the table—all hush-hush, you know?”
Reese shook her head. “Why am I not surprised you know a shady veterinarian?”
“It pays to know people in high places, Peanut Butter Cup.”
“Right,” Reese muttered, but she raced out the door after her grandfather anyway.
The two of them scurried down the hill side by side, with Leon ambling behind them, tooting a little as they passed another cluster of alpacas in the pasture. Reese glanced at him, trying to determine whether his eyes were bloodshot or if he was stumbling at all. She knew how to tend to the basic medical needs of small wildlife, but large mammals weren’t her specialty.
Large stoned mammals were way beyond her training.
“Is that Clay down there?” Axl asked.
Reese looked away from Leon and stared down the hill to where Axl was pointing. “Yes. They’re breaking ground today.”
“Thought the bid came in too high and you’re stalling.”
“We’re stalling the construction. We already have the permits, so they can start the excavation while we figure out where the hell to get the extra money.”
“Hmph,” Axl said. “I know a guy who made good money stealing cars. If you want, I could—”
“No. We’re not stealing cars to fund the expansion.”
Axl shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He was quiet a moment, eyes on the construction site as they hustled down the hill. “Seems like he’s done well for himself.”
“Who?”
Axl snorted. “You know exactly who I mean. Don’t play dumb with me. Clay.”
“Mmm,” Reese replied, turning her attention back to Leon. Was he staggering? She couldn’t tell. She picked up the pace, pulling Leon behind her as they approached the winery.
“The boy finally got his shit together,” Axl said.
“Clay? I guess.”
“Always thought you’d end up with him.”
Reese stumbled on a molehill. She caught herself with a hand on Leon’s back, causing the alpaca to chortle softly.
Axl kept moving, not missing a step.
“Me?” Reese stammered. “And Clay? Why would you say that?”
He shrugged. “The yin and the yang. Twin spirits. All that bullshit, plus he used to drive a kick-ass Mustang.”
“Right, a kick-ass car—the basis for all good relationships.”
Axl looked at her. “You know something better?”
“Obviously not. I’m divorced, right?”
“That’s horseshit,” Axl growled. “You married the wrong guy and you know it.”
“Maybe I was the wrong woman.”
“Of course you were. For Eric. Jesus Christ, girl—you didn’t really think that would work, did you?”
Reese didn’t answer right away. They were approaching the winery barn, and the sound of heavy equipment rumbling through the dirt was vibrating her brain.
“Eric and I had a great friendship,” Reese said. “Our love life was pretty good, and we got along well. Isn’t that what my parents would say is the basis of a great marriage?”
Axl hooted loudly, prompting Leon to echo the sound with a high-pitched tooting noise of his own. Reese looked at her pet, then at her grandfather, wondering who was more stoned.
“Friendship and pretty good sex are not enough to make a relationship last,” Axl barked.
“Is this going to be another one of those lectures about how relationships take work?”
Axl rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, girl. Work isn’t the secret. The key to any good relationship is keeping your expectations low.”
“I think I saw that on a Hallmark card.”
“I’m serious. You think your grandma and I lasted as long as we did because we sat around swapping roses and dining by candlelight every night?”
Reese frowned. “Grandma ran off with a plumber.”
Axl patted her lightly on the shoulder and nodded. “Good talk, girl. Now let’s get the damn camel off the doobie.”
“This charming romp from Fenske…evokes the best of romantic comedy, with its witty characters and wacky but realistic situations.” – Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“I’ve been a Fenske fan for a long time now, and her latest contemporary romance about a winery owner and a recovering alcoholic offers the potent mix of empathy and humor that makes her stories so delicious.” ―Adrian Liang, The Amazon Book Review
“The cast of characters in this novel stands out more than anything, as their boldness and hilarity consume whole sections of the story. It is their outlandish personalities that play off so well with the more uptight male and female leads. There are also plenty of surprises to keep readers on their toes in this tale of redemption and second chances.” ―RT Book Reviews (4 stars)
About That Fling
The Can’t Have Hearts Club | book 2 | September 2015
Jenna McArthur is the queen of spin.
She’s the PR pro who turns bad news into good press for Belmont Health System.
Crisis control? Easy.
Embracing her wild side? Not so much.
But when Jenna’s eccentric Aunt Gertie—secret romance novelist and professional meddler—dares her high-strung niece to loosen up,
Jenna ends up in bed with a mysterious stranger.
One night. No names. No regrets.
But it turns out the stranger is no mystery.
He’s Adam Thomas—her new colleague, a walking HR violation,
and the one man she should never, ever touch.
Now, keeping her hands off Adam is Jenna’s full-time job.
But temptation lurks in every staff meeting, late-night strategy session,
and awkwardly intimate pizza date that is definitely not a date.
If their secret slips, it’ll destroy Jenna’s closest friendship and career.
She might be the master of fixing a scandal.
But can Jenna and Adam survive a crisis of the heart?
One-click this smart, steamy workplace rom-com featuring forbidden attraction, a friendship tested, and a woman who learns that sometimes the best spin is falling head over heels.
“What gives me away as non-native to Portland?” Adam asked.
Jenna grinned and took a sip of wine. “Your tie is too straight, your shirt is too pressed, and you don’t appear to have any piercings or tattoos.”
“Maybe you’re not looking in the right places.”
He couldn’t believe how blatantly suggestive his words came out, and he almost apologized. But instead of tossing her drink at him, she grinned wider.
“Maybe I’m not,” she said, her eyes darting to the bare ring finger on his left hand. “I’ll have to do a more thorough examination.” He let his own gaze stray to her ring finger, visibly bare on the stem of her wineglass. He brought his eyes back up to meet hers, and she gave him a knowing smile. “Now that we’ve gotten the obligatory ring check out of the way and reassured ourselves we’re not sharing drinks with a serial philanderer, tell me about yourself,” she said.
Adam leaned back in his chair, not bothering to hide his intrigue. “How do you know I’m not a serial philanderer?”
“No tan line where your ring would be, but there’s a tan line on your wrist. I saw it when you checked your watch a second ago.”
The waitress returned and set down two glasses of wine, along with a platter heaped with at least a dozen mounds of fancy crackers, crumbly cheeses, and cured meats. He plucked an olive and a handful of crackers, arranging them neatly on the small plate in front of him.
“You’re very observant,” he said.
“I try.”
“Are you a private detective? Clinical psychologist? International terrorist specializing in wine-bar espionage?”
She laughed, a sound so sweet and musical he wanted to break out a book of knock-knock jokes just to hear her laugh again.
“International terrorist. I like that. Much more exciting than my real profession.” She took a sip of wine and set her glass down. “I think I’m going to claim that as my job for the rest of the evening. Thank you for the idea.”
“Glad to aid with a positive career change.”
“I’m an international terrorist and espionage expert who invented a patented wiretap that doubles as a wineglass.”
“A winetap?”
“I see you’ve heard of it.” She leaned forward in her seat, and Adam caught sight of a flash of black lace down the front of her dress. “So how about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your fantasy job for the evening?”
“Hmmm. How about a chef?”
She smiled over the rim of her wineglass. “I think you can do better than that. Something sexier.”
“Sexier,” he repeated. He picked up his own glass, emboldened by the liquid and by the sound of that word coming from those perfect lips. “I’ll be a gigolo.”
“A gigolo?”
“A high-class gigolo. My client—an esteemed senator from California—was meeting me here this evening for a rendezvous, but she got cold feet when she saw the media camped outside waiting to do a big exposé.”
“I hate it when that happens.” Jenna reached for a piece of cheese. She chewed thoughtfully for a while, then took another sip of wine. “It’s just as well. As a terrorist spy, I would have been forced to report any illicit activity to the government, and the next thing you know, the senator’s face would be plastered all over CNN.”
“No, not CNN,” Adam said, keeping his eyes on her face as he unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll up his shirtsleeves. “In addition to being a sought-after gigolo, I’m also a billionaire media mogul who owns most of the major news outlets around the world.”
“You don’t say.”
He nodded and picked up his glass again, taking a careful sip of wine as he forced himself to hold a serious expression. “Yep. CNN, NBC, ABC, CBS—they’re all mine.”
“BS?”
“That one, too. Also all the newspapers and magazines in the world. I write all the articles for most of them. Very tedious work.” “Good job on last month’s Cosmo cover story on finding your G-spot with a golf club and a pair of stilettos.”
“Thanks. I initially planned it for Sports Illustrated, but we couldn’t get Arnold Palmer to wear the stilettos.”
“Maybe for next year’s swimsuit issue,” she said. “I just turned down the opportunity to pose for the cover, so I know they’re looking for someone.”
Adam snapped his fingers in mock recognition as his brain flashed on an image of Jenna in a bikini. “That’s right! I thought I recognized you as an international supermodel. I saw your GQ cover last month, and I really love that photo spread you did for the Journal of Mutation Research and Genetic Toxicology.”
“Shh!” she said, bringing a finger to her lips. “It’s part of my cover as an international terrorist. Don’t tell.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
She crossed her legs under the table again, and Adam tried not to stare. The supermodel thing wasn’t so off base. God, she had amazing legs. He wondered what her real profession was, then decided he’d rather not know. There was something to be said for the thrill of reinventing oneself. He sipped the last of his wine and signaled the waitress for another.
“Fenske’s take on what happens when a one-night stand goes horribly, painfully awry is hilariously heartwarming and overflowing with genuine emotion… There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand in this laugh-out-loud story with an ending that requires a few tissues.” – Publishers Weekly, Starred Review
This Time Around
The Can’t Have Hearts Club | book 3 | April 2017
Allie Ross’s life is not going according to plan.
Her law career crashed before it started.
Her parents landed in prison for running a Ponzi scheme.
And she just inherited her grandmother’s quirky B&B—
complete with a crew of extra-toed cats.
Her love life? Don’t ask.
Then Jack Carpenter shows up.
The ex she never got over.
The guy she once loved—and hated—in college.
He’s older, steadier, and still sinfully sexy.
Jack’s a single dad now, and determined to prove he’s not the deadbeat he once was.
And Allie’s not the golden girl he remembers.
But the spark between them? Still very much alive.
As they reconnect, old feelings resurface.
So do old secrets—along with some new ones that could wreck them both.
Can Allie and Jack stop history from repeating itself?
Or are they doomed to crash and burn all over again?
One-click this emotional, witty second-chance romance about messy pasts, unexpected reunions, and the one who got away walking right back into your heart.
Allie leaned back against her front door with her eyes closed, listening to the blood pounding in her head.
Or maybe that was Jack knocking.
“Why are you here, Jack?” she yelled through the door.
“Paige forgot her sweater.”
Great. Of course she did. Allie gritted her teeth.
She’d assumed she’d never see Jack again after last night, and she sure as hell wasn’t in any shape for entertaining. The mud mask she’d smeared on her face smelled nearly as bad as the blue silk tank top she’d pulled on before realizing it had hollandaise on the hem. But she hadn’t had the heart to remove it—the shirt or the sauce—because she’d gotten both on a brunch outing with her grandmother just a few months ago.
“Allie?”
“I’m thinking.”
Crap, where was the sweater? She glanced around the living room before remembering she’d stashed it in the coat closet at the far end of the hall like a stupid fucking perfect hostess.
She sighed. “How about I mail it to you?”
On the other side of the door, Jack stayed quiet. She thought for a second he’d gone away, and it annoyed her that she felt the tiniest hint of disappointment. She should probably just grab the damn sweater and toss it to him. It would take all of thirty seconds, and then he’d be on his way and out of her life for good.
“Allie, come on. Don’t be vain. I’ve seen you looking worse.”
“Thanks, Jack. That makes me feel much better.” Her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment, but she’d infused her voice with enough steel to cover it.
“Just toss it out the door,” he coaxed. “I won’t look at you, I swear. Or just have your fiancé bring it out.”
Something bubbled hot and shameful in her chest. She felt tired and embarrassed and really, really exhausted. Maybe it was the stress of planning her grandma’s funeral. Maybe it was the evening spent surveying the dilapidated B&B. Maybe it was something else entirely. Something that had been brewing long before last night’s silly game of make-believe with Jack.
Before she realized what she was doing, she turned and flung open the door.
Jack jumped back, startled either by the door opening or by her appearance again. Probably both. “Allie—”
“Look, I’ve had the week from hell,” she snapped. “My grandma died on Sunday and I had to visit both my parents in prison to tell them, which was about as much fun as ripping off my own eyebrows with duct tape. I just spent my whole evening crawling around in basements and crawlspaces to realize I’ve just inherited a massive tax liability filled with dry rot and woodpecker holes and cat fur. Pardon me if I’m not thrilled by unexpected company.”
Jack blinked, his expression ashen. “Your grandma died?”
The sympathy in his voice was enough to make her eyes sting with tears. Allie nodded, afraid to trust her own voice.
“God, Allie. I’m so sorry.” He started to reach for her, then seemed to stop himself. “Your dad’s mom? The one with the B&B?”
Again she nodded, and felt something thawing in the center of her chest.
“Shit, I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved her. Why didn’t you say something last night? We could have cancelled dinner or—”
“No, we couldn’t, Jack.” Allie shook her head, feeling deflated. “I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted you to see how fabulously awesome my life has turned out without you. I wanted to impress you and your gorgeous wife, so I cleaned my house and faked a fiancé and squeezed into Spanx so tight I still can’t feel my thighs, all so I could spend an enchanting evening listening to you talk about your amazing, perfect life.”
Jack just stared, and it occurred to her she hadn’t meant to say any of that out loud. She sounded like a crazy person. Looked like one, too, considering the mud mask and hair that looked like she’d been electrocuted. God, she was pathetic.
“My amazing, perfect life,” he repeated, looking a little dumbstruck. He nodded once, then turned. “Wait here.”
He jogged off down the driveway, and Allie stared after him. She should probably shut the door. This was her chance to lock it behind him and pretend none of this had happened. Last night, right now—hell, maybe even sixteen years ago.
But instead she turned and walked down the hall, leaving her front door wide open. It was probably a dumb move, though not much dumber than opening it in the first place when she looked like this. She opened the coat closet. The little cream-colored sweater was right in front, and Allie pulled it off the hanger.
It had daisies stitched around the collar and on the front pocket, and a silly pang of longing rattled through her chest. She’d always imagined herself buying clothes like this for her own daughter, laughing and smiling as they sipped Italian sodas at the coffee shop next to Nordstrom. She folded it over her arm and walked back to the front door.
Jack had already returned from wherever he’d gone, and had set up camp in her living room. He’d closed the front door and parked himself right in the middle of her sofa with a shopping bag on the coffee table in front of him. He looked up as she walked in, and gave her a smile that made her traitorous heart surge in her chest.
“Hi,” he murmured, and her heart thrummed faster.
“Make yourself at home,” she muttered, trying to muster up some indignation. In truth, she wasn’t that annoyed. It felt good to have another living, breathing human in her home, someone who wasn’t looking at her like she was crazy or pathetic despite all evidence to the contrary.
“Please join me,” he said.
“Just let me change into—”
“No.”
The forcefulness in his voice surprised her, and she was about to tell him to stop bossing her around in her own home. That’s when he reached into his shopping bag and pulled out a box of Crest whitening strips.
Wordlessly, he opened the package and peeled the back off one of the strips. He pressed it against his front teeth, using his oversized fingers to smooth out the edges. He repeated the process on his bottom teeth, then worked his way around the sides.
Allie stood watching, fascinated, not sure if she’d entered some sort of Twilight Zone episode or if she’d finally gone crazy.
“You’re whitening your teeth,” she said unnecessarily.
“Yep,” he said, applying another strip to his teeth. “Would you mind shutting off the TV? This is the episode where Ramona looks at real estate, and I’ve already seen it.”
“You’ve watched Real Housewives of New York City?”
“Yep. It’s my guilty pleasure after Paige goes to sleep. Can I have some of that green face goop?”
Allie stared at him a moment, then picked up the remote and switched off the TV. “Why are you doing this?”
“So you stop feeling embarrassed and exposed and sit down on the damn sofa with me and have a snack.” He put down the box of whitening strips and turned to grin at her.
Allie felt something soften in the center of her chest. “You look like a dork.”
“Yep. That’s the idea.”
The corners of her mouth twitched up, threatening to morph into a smile. “And you can’t eat snacks with those things on your teeth.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong.” He reached into the shopping bag again and pulled out a can of non-dairy whipped topping. He popped the top off and opened his mouth, aiming straight down his throat.
The hollow, foamy sound was both familiar and foreign, and Allie tried not to remember the times in college when she’d walked in to find him doing this in the kitchen. Or the other times when he’d brought the can of whipped cream into the bedroom and—
“All right,” she said, stepping around the sofa. “You win.” She sat down beside him, her butt landing a little closer to him than she’d aimed for. Her thigh touched his, but it would be awkward to move away, so she grabbed the can of whipped cream out of his hand. She hesitated a second, then squirted it straight onto her tongue.
“Nice,” Jack said.
“This is disgusting.” She lifted the can again and took another hit, enjoying the creamy sweetness more than she expected.
Jack grabbed the can back and squirted another mouthful, smacking his lips. Then he set the can down on the table and rested one massive palm on her knee, just like it belonged there.
“Look, there’s nothing I can say about your grandma that will make this hurt any less,” he said. “Anything I have to offer will just sound trite and clichéd and won’t cancel out the fact that you won’t bake cookies together again, or hear her tell you how much she paid for the antique carving set at Thanksgiving dinner. You’ll never get to hug her or smell those fancy roses she put all over the house. You’ll go to buy Mother’s Day cards and you’ll realize you need to buy one less than you did the year before, and you’ll end up standing there in the aisle at Target bawling like an idiot while people bump into you with their shopping carts, and it’s going to suck like you wouldn’t fucking believe.”
He held her gaze with his, and Allie felt a tear slip through the green goo on her cheek. “Hypothetically speaking,” he added softly.
“Hypothetically speaking,” Allie whispered as the tear dropped onto the leg of her sweats, making another discolored spot. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You get it.”
“I do.”
She bit her lip, then thought better of it when she tasted minty clay. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” he said. “I’ve spent enough time telling random strangers how one shitty car accident left my kid motherless and made me a widower. I don’t need to relive it.”
“I’m sorry.” Her throat felt thick again, but it was clear from the look on Jack’s face that he didn’t want her to ask more questions. “And I take back what I said about your amazing, perfect life. You’ve obviously been through some tough stuff.”
He nodded and picked up the whipped cream can again. He tilted his head back and took another hit, and Allie felt her shoulders relax for the first time since she’d gotten the call about her grandma.
When they looked at each other again, there was something different between them. Allie couldn’t put her finger on it, but it felt like things had shifted.
“Fenske’s newest second-chance love story set in Portland, Ore [is] a special blend of comedy and suspense—readers will gladly join [Allie and Jack] on their journey to self-improvement.” – Publishers Weekly
“This novel’s primary strengths are twofold: first, the reader can’t help but root for Allie, who is realistically flawed and anxious about her own failings…. Second, the writing is deft and charming, with both characters’ narrative voices wry and self-effacing…. This is a lovely second-chance romance (with a single-dad hero!) that will appeal to fans of Mary Kay Andrews, Jennifer Crusie and Victoria Dahl.”—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars
“In Fenske’s newest second-chance love story set in Portland, Oregon, a hapless woman finds that misunderstandings almost outnumber the extra-toed cats she’s inherited along with her grandmother’s B and B. Jack Carpenter was a screwup when he was in college, but he loved Allie Ross, despite her nitpicking ways and constant demands. Allie’s unstoppable need to have everything go as planned led her to end her romance with carefree and spontaneous Jack. Sixteen years later, Jack, now a wealthy business owner, widower, and single father to ten-year-old Paige, returns to Portland to attend his high school reunion, eager to show Allie how wrong she was about his future.” ―Publishers Weekly
“This Time Around by Tawna Fenske was a book that couldn’t be put down. The drama within the pages drew you in and the comedy kept you laughing.” ―Literacy Gems
At the Heart of It
The Can’t Have Hearts Club | book 4 | October 2017
Kate Geary has finally made it.
She’s producing a new reality show starring her hero, self-help icon Dr. Vivienne Brandt.
The Dr. Viv whose gentle wisdom helped Kate survive her darkest days.
This is Kate’s big break. Her chance to help others in crisis.
Then Jonah Porter walks into the studio.
The same bookish dreamboat Kate had one unforgettable date with.
The guy she was hoping to see again—
just not across a conference table.
Definitely not with off-limits ties to the show’s star.
The last thing Jonah wants is to get sucked into reality TV.
Back to his own messy past.
But a personal stake in the story leaves Jonah no choice.
At least working with Kate—brilliant, funny, and way too tempting—makes it bearable.
Now they’re sneaking around behind the scenes.
Trying to keep their chemistry quiet and careers intact.
But cameras have ways of exposing secrets.
Especially ones with the power to break hearts.
One-click this smart, heartfelt, rom-com about love in the spotlight, the power of a good self-help book, and what happens when reality TV gets a little too real.
Kate Geary stepped onto the sunny back patio of the B&B and scanned the breakfast tables. Each held a bouquet of daisies and a noisy array of her fellow guests. As she smoothed the skirt of her ankle-length black sundress, Kate breathed in the scent of maple syrup and assessed her options.
Four octogenarians discussing the merits of hip-replacement surgery as they devoured plates of German apple pancakes.
Two fortysomethings bickering about the aesthetic distance and dramatic unity in the Shakespeare production they’d seen the night before.
One thirtysomething guy sitting alone, munching an impressive heap of bacon while reading a children’s picture book with a pig on the cover.
Kate headed for Swine Guy, figuring he was most likely to let her eat breakfast in peace. He looked up from his book as Kate approached, hitting her with the full force of the most striking eyes she’d ever seen. The color, somewhere on the palette between green and amber, reminded her of tree moss or spearmint. They were framed by a pair of black-rimmed glasses and gazed back at her in a way that suggested their owner wasn’t thrilled by Kate’s intrusion.
Kate touched the back of a chair, as much to keep herself steady as a request for permission to plant her butt in it. “Is this seat taken?”
Swine Guy looked at her for a few beats, then picked up another piece of bacon. “Nope. Feel free.”
“Thanks.”
She pulled out the chair and sat down, then spread a blue-and-green checkered napkin over her lap. A server walked past en route to the next table, and Kate heard her stomach growl. She glanced at Swine Guy, wondering if he’d noticed. His eyes were glued to his book again, but maybe he was being polite.
“I love German apple pancakes,” she said, then wanted to kick herself. Hadn’t she sat here precisely to avoid conversation? But here she was, blathering like an idiot. “And the bacon smells incredible. I thought nothing could top yesterday’s crêpes suzette, but everything looks amazing.”
Swine Guy glanced up, then followed her gaze to where the octogenarians were debating cemented versus uncemented hip-joint replacements as they passed around a white platter loaded with thick slices of ham. He nodded and bit into his bacon, chewing for such a long time that Kate thought he might not respond at all.
“I’m not much of a sweets-for-breakfast fan, so I asked for a bunch of extra bacon,” he said. “I’d offer you a piece, but that seems creepy.”
“Offering bacon to strangers, you mean?”
“Right. Or offering any food to strangers, really.” He gave her a one-shouldered shrug and the faintest hint of a smile.
Kate stuck out her hand, and Swine Guy wiped his fingers on a napkin before grasping hers in a firm handshake. His palm was big and warm and enveloped hers almost completely.
“Kate Geary,” she said.
The moss-green eyes flickered with mild interest as he let go of her hand. “Jonah Porter.”
Kate grinned. “Now we’re not strangers. May I have a piece of bacon?”
“I’ve always loved Tawna Fenske’s books for the humor she infuses in her work and there was plenty of that in At The Heart Of It, but it was also an extremely sweet albeit crazy, mixed-up romance.” – Slick, Guilty Pleasures
“Few writers do wit, romance, innuendo, love and sheer fun better than Tawna Fenske.” – Book Gannet Reviews
Now That It’s You
The Can’t Have Hearts Club | book 5 | September 2016
Chef Meg Delaney hasn’t spoken to her cheating ex in two years.
Hard to blame her—she left him at the altar with a very public “I can’t.”
Now she’s finally ready to make peace with the past.
Too bad closure just got wiped off the menu.
Matt Midland is gone for good.
But his brother Kyle? Very much back.
And stirring up feelings Meg knows are forbidden.
Kyle shouldn’t crave his brother’s runaway bride.
Meg was always Matt’s girl. Off-limits. Untouchable.
Even if Kyle knew Matt never deserved her.
Now Meg’s cookbook—one filled with seductive, aphrodisiac recipes—
has his family feuding and filing a suit against the girl of Kyle’s dreams.
He knows he can’t fall for Meg.
The timing is terrible. The baggage is real.
And his loyalty is being tested like never before.
But fighting their feelings is like trying to un-bake a cake.
And what simmers between them is bound to boil over in a full-blown disaster.
One-click this sizzling forbidden romance featuring a quirky chef, a loyal brother, and the sort of slow-burn that might just scorch the whole menu.
Meg Delaney kept one hand clenched on the steering wheel as she slammed her fist into the smiley face balloon hovering over her right shoulder.
“Get!” she growled. The balloon bopped between the headrests, leering at her in metallic yellow and black.
“Come on, relax.” Meg’s best friend, Jess, caught a fistful of ribbons trailing from the balloon bouquet and dragged the whole mess out of Meg’s line of sight. “You’re going to crash and kill us both and then how will you explain that to the cops?”
“Not very well if I’m dead,” Meg pointed out, keeping a wary eye on the red and blue balloon that slipped from Jess’s grasp. It bounced bright and cheerful against the backseat roof of her Subaru, broadcasting its “get well soon” message in a loopy script. The weird cursive font made the last word look more like “soup,” and Meg wondered if she should have opted for an edible gift instead of balloons. Maybe a bouquet of cake pops or a tin of yogurt-covered pretzels.
What did etiquette dictate when visiting your ex-fiancé in the hospital after two years of not speaking?
Meg put both hands on the steering wheel at ten and two, trying to ignore the damn balloon lurching in her rearview mirror. There was nothing she needed to see behind her anyway.
“Just keep your eyes on the road,” Jess warned. “Any karma points you’re earning by visiting Sir Cheats-a-Lot in the hospital would be wiped out if you caused a car wreck.”
“It’s not about the karma points, it’s about closure.” Still, Meg loosened her grip on the steering wheel and reminded herself to breathe. The tension in her shoulders had nothing to do with wayward balloons and everything to do with the fact that she hadn’t seen Matt Midland since she’d stood trembling at the front of the wedding chapel and responded “I can’t,” instead of “I do.”
But that was two years ago. Water under the bridge, or something like that. Thanks to the passage of time and the words of a really nice therapist, Meg knew it was time to bury the hatchet, let bygones be bygones, close one door so another one could open and—
“You’re muttering to yourself in shrink-speak again,” Jess said.
“Sorry.” A rainbow-striped Mylar balloon caught a current from the car’s heater vent and lurched into Meg’s peripheral vision. She fought the urge to swat it out of the way as she hit her turn signal and merged into the next lane. Her tires made a shh-shh sound as they cut through a puddle of standing water, and Meg stole a glance at the sky. The clouds looked like pregnant gray bunnies, which meant more rain on the way for Portland.
“What sort of surgery did you say Matt’s having?” Jess asked.
“I’m not sure. His ex-golf partner’s girlfriend’s hairdresser told my mom it’s just some routine procedure. It seemed like a sign.”
“A sign that in a city of 2.3 million people, you still can’t escape weird chains of connection to an ex?”
“A sign that this would be the perfect way to extend an olive branch. He always loved it when people fussed over him when he got sick or had his tonsils out or whatever.”
“Good old Matt,” Jess muttered. “Always the center of attention.”
“Be nice. I’m mending fences, remember?”
“Absolutely. You won’t mind if I wait in the car while you run in there with your fence repair kit and balloon bouquet?”
“That’s fine.” Meg steered the car toward the off-ramp that led to Belmont Health System. “Probably best, anyway. I’d like to keep this as simple as possible. Just apologize, wish him well, and move on with my day.”
And with my life, Meg thought, wondering why she’d spent this long stewing and agonizing and thinking bitter thoughts before she’d taken the initiative to reach out to the man she’d been ready to tie her life to. She’d once imagined them sitting toothless in matching armchairs, holding hands while grandchildren frolicked on the floor of their shared nursing home suite. She’d gone from loving him fiercely to hating him with equal ferocity before settling into the murk between those two emotions.
The least she could do was take him some damn balloons.
The “get well soon” balloon bumped the side of her head, and Meg swatted it out of the way as she pulled into a parking space near the back of the visitor lot. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she wished for the hundredth time she didn’t sweat like a pitcher of ice water when she got nervous. She switched off the car and plucked her blue Where the Wild Things Are T-shirt away from her breasts, trying to get some air flowing.
“You can do this,” Jess said. “And if you do it quickly enough, we can still make happy hour at Sip.”
“Right.” Meg nodded, and glanced at her watch. It was five minutes earlier than she’d aimed for, but that was a good excuse to walk slowly, maybe compose herself a bit.
She took another shaky breath and pushed open the door. With the balloon ribbons in a tight grip, she stepped out onto the asphalt. Glancing down at her jeans and leopard-print Dansko clogs, she wondered if she should have dressed better to visit her ex in the hospital. Maybe high heels and a dress as a concession to how Matt had always wished she’d dressed during their ten years as a couple.
Just be yourself, Meg commanded as she nudged the car door shut with her hip and moved toward the hospital. She’d done a contract job here a few years ago when the hospital hired her to overhaul their food services department, so she knew right where the post-surgical recovery wing was. Gripping her balloons, Meg turned down the corridor and put one foot in front of the other as she breathed in the scent of iodine and cleaning fluid. An auburn curl slipped over her eye and she tucked it back behind her ear, wishing she’d had the foresight to braid it back off her face or put it up in a smart chignon.
But at least she was here. That counted for something.
If she’d timed this right, Matt would be sitting up in bed by now, eating a bowl of lime Jell-O and flipping through television channels. His hair would be perfectly styled already, and he’d be laughing at something on TV, pointing at the ESPN announcer’s tie or the news anchor’s too-bright blouse and making wisecracks to the nurse or the janitor or anyone else who’d listen.
Matt always knew how to draw an audience.
Meg found the room number easily enough and hesitated outside the door. She straightened the balloons, making sure they all faced forward and looked cheery and conciliatory.
What did a conciliatory balloon look like? Meg couldn’t recall standing in line at Hallmark and seeing any balloons that said, “Sorry I left you at the altar, but maybe you shouldn’t have fucked your acupuncturist.”
She was stalling.
Meg took a deep breath, then another and another until she started to feel dizzy and wondered what would happen if she passed out on the floor.
At least you’re already at the hospital, she reassured herself as she reached out for the door. It was slightly ajar, and her fingers had just grazed the knob when the door flew open.
A tall, familiar figure barreled through, his face pale and his sandy hair disheveled. Meg jumped back, partly from surprise, and partly to avoid being trampled by Matt’s younger brother, Kyle. His jaw was clenched and dusted with stubble, and as his green-gray gaze locked with hers, he stared like he had no idea who she was.
Meg took another step back. “I—um—Kyle, hi. It’s me, Meg.”
Okay, that was stupid. For crying out loud, she’d dated Matt for ten years before the wedding that never happened. She and Kyle used to play Boggle and thumb wrestle over the last piece of pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. She hardly needed to introduce herself.
But the way Kyle was staring at her now suggested otherwise, or maybe it was just the shock of seeing her here. He looked like a man who’d just seen a ghost, or maybe a squirrel humping an aardvark.
He still hadn’t said a word.
Meg swallowed hard and gripped her balloons, forcing herself to greet her former-almost-brother-in-law with the warmest smile she could muster. “Kyle,” she said. “It’s so good to see you. I just wanted to come wish Matt a speedy recovery and take a shot at making peace. Is he feeling up to a quick visit?”
Kyle continued to stare at her, eyes glinting oddly under the florescent light in the hallway. For a moment, Meg thought he might not answer at all. When he finally did speak, his voice was so low she almost didn’t hear him.
“That’s going to be a problem,” Kyle said.
Meg bit her lip. “Because of how things ended? Look, I know I handled that badly and your whole family hates me, but I just wanted a chance to apologize and maybe chat for a minute or two about how life’s going now.”
A tiny muscle twitched in Kyle’s temple, and he studied her, unblinking. “At the moment, Meg, life’s not going all that great for Matt.” His words were clipped and brittle, and Meg fought the urge to take another step back. “And I really doubt he’s going to be chatting with you anytime soon.”
“Because he’s still angry?”
“Because he’s dead.”
“A funny, poignant reminder that the baggage our exes leave can’t stop love from moving us forward.” –Kirkus Reviews
“This is a heartwarming story with well-developed, artistic characters.”–Publishers Weekly
“How does an author write of death, grief and infidelity and not write a depressing book? By using humor, and comedic situations, of course, and that is exactly what Tawna Fenske does in Now That It’s You.” – Heroes & Heartbreakers
“Fenske weaves familial obligation, guilt, and unwavering love into this dramatic contemporary romance set in Portland, Ore.” ―Publishers Weekly
“The writing is done very well, the characters are complex, and the situations they end up in are anything but easy. I was very pleased at the humor invoked in the story and how it was it able to turn some depressing moments into lighthearted ones. Overall, it was a unique read that touches upon difficult situations and inspires strength, forgiveness and love.” ―Harlequin Junkie, 4 stars
“I really enjoyed this story. Tawna captured my attention in a wonderfully crafted and unique twist to the story of betrayal and second chance at love. I loved how genuine Meg and Kyle were and how they found a way to work through their issues. Now That It’s You is a great contemporary romance with humor, passion, and optimism.” ―The Lit Buzz
“The writing is excellent…” ―RT Book Reviews