Sunday, September 25, 2022

The Road to Christmas

   ~ I received no compensation and opinions are 100% my own or my family. ~


From USA TODAY bestselling author Sheila Roberts comes a multi-generational Christmas road trip story filled with humor and heart, set against the snowy mountains of Washington state.

Michelle and Max Turnbull are not planning on a happy holiday. Their marriage is in shambles and the D word has entered their vocabulary. But now their youngest daughter, Julia, wants everyone to come to her new house in Idaho for Christmas, and she’s got the guest room all ready for Mom and Dad. Oh, joy.

Their other two daughters are driving up from California. Audrey from L.A., picking up Shyla in San Francisco and hoping to meet a sexy rancher for Audrey along the way. What they don’t plan on is getting stranded on a ranch when the car breaks down.

The ones with the shortest drive are Grandma and Grandpa Turnbull (Hazel and Warren). They only have to come from Medford, Oregon. It’s still a bit of a trek and Hazel doesn’t like the idea of driving all that way in snow, but Warren knows they’ll have no problem. They have a reliable car for driving in the snow—and snow tires and chains if they need them. They’ll be fine.

Surprises are in store for all three groups of intrepid travelers as they set out on three different road trips and three different adventures, all leading to one memorable Christmas.


Author: Sheila Roberts

ISBN: 9780778386568

Publication Date: September 20, 2022

Publisher: MIRA

Buy Links:



Barnes & Noble



Sheila Roberts lives on a lake in Washington State, where most of her novels are set. Her books have been published in several languages. On Strike for Christmas, was made into a movie for the Lifetime Movie Network and her novel, The Nine Lives of Christmas, was made into a movie for Hallmark. You can visit Sheila on Twitter and Facebook or at her website (

Author Website





Excerpt: MICHELLE TURNBULL WOULD HAVE TWO turkeys in her house for Thanksgiving. One would be on the table, the other would be sitting at it.

“I can’t believe he’s still there,” said Ginny, her longtime clerk at the Hallmark store she managed. “You two are splitting, so why not rip the bandage off and be done with it?”

Rip the bandage off. There was an interesting metaphor. That implied that a wound was healing. The wound that was her marriage wasn’t healing, it was fatal.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and went to unlock the door. “Because I don’t want to ruin the holidays for the girls.”

“You think they aren’t going to figure out what’s going on with you two sleeping in separate bedrooms? Don’t be naive.”

Ginny may have been her subordinate, but that didn’t stop her from acting like Michelle’s mother. A ten-year age difference and a long friendship probably contributed to that. And with her mother gone, she doubly appreciated Ginny’s friendship and concern.

Michelle turned the sign on the door to Open. “I’ll tell them he snores.”

“All of a sudden, out of the blue?”

“Sleep apnea. He’s gained some weight.”

Ginny gave a snort. “Not that much. Max may have an inch hanging over the belt line but he’s still in pretty good shape.”

“You don’t have to be overweight to have sleep apnea.”

“I guess,” Ginny said dubiously. “But, Michelle, you guys have been having problems on and off for the last five years. Your girls have to know this is coming so I doubt your sleep-apnea excuse is going to fool anyone.”

Probably not. Much as she and Max had tried to keep their troubles from their daughters, bits of bitterness and reproach had leaked out over time in the form of sarcasm and a lack of what Shyla would have referred to as PDA. Michelle couldn’t remember the last time they’d held hands or kissed in front of any of their daughters. In fact, it was hard to remember the last time they’d kissed. Period.

“You have my permission to kick him to the curb as of yesterday,” Ginny went on. “If you really want your holidays to be happy, get him gone.”

“Oh, yeah, that would make for happy holidays,” Michelle said. “Audrey and Shyla would love coming home to find their father moved out just in time for Thanksgiving dinner and their grandparents absent.”

“If you’re getting divorced, that’s what they’ll find next year,” Ginny pointed out.

“But at least they’ll have a year to adjust,” Michelle said. “And this is Julia’s first Christmas in her new home and with a baby. I don’t want to take the shine away from that.”

The coming year would put enough stress on them all. She certainly wasn’t going to kick it all off on Thanksgiving. That wouldn’t make for happy holidays.

Happy holidays. Who was she kidding? The upcoming holidays weren’t going to be happy no matter what.

“Well, I see your point,” said Ginny. “But good luck pulling off the old sleep-apnea deception.”

Their first customer of the day came in, and that ended all talk of Michelle’s marriage miseries. Which was fine with her. Focusing on her miserable relationship didn’t exactly put a smile on her face, and wearing a perpetual frown was no way to greet shoppers.

After work, she stopped at the grocery store and picked up the last of what she needed for Thanksgiving: the whipped cream for the fruit salad and to top the pumpkin and pecan pies, the extra eggnog for Shyla, her eggnog addict, Dove dark chocolates for Audrey, and Constant Comment tea, which was Hazel’s favorite.

Hazel. World’s best mother-in-law. When Michelle and Max divorced he’d take Hazel and Warren, her second parents, with him. The thought made it hard to force a smile for the checkout clerk. She stepped out of line. She needed one more thing.

She hurried back to the candy aisle and picked up more dark chocolate, this time for her personal stash.

Hazel and Warren were the first to arrive, coming in the day before Thanksgiving, Hazel bringing pecan pie and the makings for her famous Kahlua yams.

“Hello, darling,” Hazel said, greeting her with a hug. “You look lovely as always. I do wish I had your slender figure,” she added as they stepped inside.

“You look fine just the way you are,” Michelle assured her.

“I swear, the older I get the harder the pounds cling to my hips,” Hazel said.

“You look fine, hon,” said Warren as he gave Michelle one of his big bear hugs. “She’s still as pretty as the day I met her,” he told Michelle.

“Yes, all twenty new wrinkles and five new pounds. On top of the others,” Hazel said with a shake of her head.

“Who notices pounds when they’re looking at your smile?” Michelle said to her. “Here, let me take your coats.”

Hazel set down the shopping bag full of goodies and shrugged out of her coat with the help of her husband. “Where’s our boy?”

Who knew? Who cared?

“Out running errands,” she said. “I’ll text him that you’re here. First, let’s get you settled.”

“I’m ready for that,” Hazel said. “The drive from Oregon gets longer every time.”

“It’s not that far,” Warren said and followed her up the stairs.

Half an hour later Max had returned, and he and his father were in the living room, the sports channel keeping them company, and the two women were in the kitchen, enjoying a cup of tea. The yams were ready and stored in the fridge, and the pecan pie was in its container, resting on the counter next to the pumpkin pie Michelle had taken out of the oven. A large pot of vegetable soup was bubbling on the stove, and French bread was warming. It would be a light evening meal to save everyone’s tummy room for the next day’s feast.

“I’m looking forward to seeing the girls,” Hazel said.

“So am I,” said Michelle.

She hated that all her girls had moved so far away. Not that she minded hopping a plane to see either Audrey or Shyla. It wasn’t a long flight from SeaTac International to either San Francisco International or LAX, but it also wasn’t the same as having them living nearby. Julia wasn’t as easily accessible, which made her absence harder to take. She’d been the final baby bird to leave the nest, and dealing with her departure had been a challenge. Perhaps because she was the last. Perhaps because it seemed she grew up and left all in one quick motherly blink: college, the boyfriend, the pregnancy, marriage, then moving. It had been painful to let go of her baby. And even more so with that baby taking the first grandchild with her.

Maybe in some ways, though, it wasn’t a bad thing that her daughters were living in different states because they hadn’t been around to see the final deterioration of their parents’ marriage.

Michelle hoped they still wouldn’t see it. She consulted her phone. It was almost time for Audrey’s flight to land. Shyla’s was getting in not long after.

“Audrey’s going to text when they’re here,” she said.

“It will be lovely to all be together again,” said Hazel. “Family is so important.”

Was that some sort of message, a subtle judgment? “How about some more tea?” Michelle suggested. And more chocolate for me.

Another fifteen minutes and the text came in with Max and Warren on their way to pick up the girls, and forty minutes after that they were coming through the door, Shyla’s laugh echoing all the way out to the kitchen. “We’re here!” she called.

“Let the fun begin,” said Hazel, and the two women exchanged smiles and left the kitchen.

They got to the front hall in time to see Max heading up the stairs with the girls’ suitcases and Warren relieving them of their coats.

“Hi, Mom,” said Audrey and hurried to hug her mother.

Shyla was right behind her.

“Welcome home,” Michelle said to her girls, hugging first one, then the other. “It’s so good to have you home.”

“It’s not like we’ve been in a foreign country,” Shyla teased.

“You may as well be,” Michelle said. “And before you remind me how much we text and talk on the phone, it’s much better having you here in person where I can hug you.”

“Hugs are good,” Audrey agreed.

“We brought you chocolate,” Shyla said, handing over a gift bag.

Michelle knew what it was even before she looked inside. Yep, Ghirardelli straight from San Francisco.

“I know you can get it anywhere, but this is right from the source,” said Shyla.

More important, it was right from the heart.

“And you don’t have to share,” Audrey said. “We brought Dad some, too.”

Sharing with Dad. There was little enough she and Max shared anymore. “That was sweet of you.”

“We figured you might need it,” Audrey said.

Was she referring to Michelle’s troubled relationship with their father? No, couldn’t be.

“After last Thanksgiving,” Shyla added.

Michelle breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, they were talking about the power outage, which had ruined both the turkey and the pie she’d had in the oven.

The girls had loved it, settling in to play cards by candlelight. Michelle had been frustrated. And far from happy with her husband who’d said, “Chill, Chelle. It’s no big deal.”

It had been to her, but she’d eventually adjusted, lit the candles on the table and served peanut butter and jelly sandwiches along with olives and pickles and the fruit salad she’d made, along with the pie Hazel had brought. Hazel had declared the meal a success.

Max had said nothing encouraging. Of course.

“Oh, and this.” Shyla dug in the bag she was still carrying and pulled out a jar of peanut butter. “Just in case we have to eat peanut butter sandwiches again.”

Hazel chuckled. “You girls think of everything.”

“Yes, we do,” Audrey said, and from her capacious purse pulled out a box of crackers. “In case we run out of bread.”

“Now we’re set,” said Michelle and smiled. It was the first genuine smile she’d worn since the last time she’d been with the girls. It felt good.

“Oh, and I have something special for you, Gram,” Shyla said to Hazel. “It’s in my suitcase. Come on upstairs.”

Michelle started. She didn’t need Hazel seeing where the girls were staying and wondering why they were stuffed in the sewing room and not the other guest room. “Why don’t you bring it down here?” Michelle suggested.

“I should stir my stumps,” Hazel said and followed her granddaughter up the stairs.

Audrey fell in behind, and Michelle trailed after, her stomach starting to squirm. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure about that excuse she’d invented for changing her husband’s sleeping arrangements. But the excuse was going to have to do because she didn’t have time to think of anything better.

They passed the first bedroom at the top of the stairs, which had once been Audrey’s and had been serving as a guest room ever since she’d graduated from college and got her first apartment. It was where Warren and Hazel slept when they came to visit. Then came the second room, which had been Julia’s but was serving as Max’s new bedroom. The door was shut, hiding the evidence. Shyla reached for the doorknob.

“Not that room,” Michelle said quickly. “I have you girls together,” she said, leading to Shyla’s old room, which was serving as the sewing room. It still had a pullout bed in it for overflow sleeping when Michelle’s brother’s family came to stay. Bracing herself, she opened it, revealing the girls’ luggage sitting on the floor.

Audrey looked at Michelle, her brows pulled together. “We’re in the sewing room?”

“You girls don’t mind sharing a room, right?” Michelle said lightly.

“What happened to Julia’s old room?” Shyla asked.

“We’re not using that room for now,” Michelle hedged.

“More storage?” Shyla moved back down the hall and opened the door. “What the…”

“Your father’s sleeping there,” Michelle said. Hazel looked at her in surprise, igniting a fire in her cheeks.

“Dad?” Audrey repeated.

“He snores,” said Michelle. “Sleep apnea.”

“Sleep apnea,” Hazel repeated, trying out a foreign and unwanted word.

“Has he done a sleep test?” Audrey asked.

“Not yet,” said Michelle. She kept her gaze averted from her daughter’s eyes.

“Gosh, Mom, that’s a serious sleep disorder.”

“How come you didn’t tell us?” Shyla wanted to know.

“Is he getting a CPAP machine?” Audrey sounded ready to panic.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s under control,” Michelle lied. Audrey looked ready to keep probing so Michelle hustled to change the subject. “Shyla, what did your bring Gram?”

“Wait till you see it. It’s so cute,” Shyla said, hurrying to unzip her suitcase. “I found it in a thrift shop.”

“Still shopping smart. I’m proud of you,” Hazel said.

“I learned from the best—you and Mom.” She pulled out a little green stuffed felt cactus inserted in a miniature terra-cotta pot and surrounded by beach glass. “It’s a pin cushion,” she said as she presented it.

“That is darling,” said Hazel.

From where she stood by the doorway, Michelle let out a breath, then took another. Like a good magician performing sleight of hand, she had diverted attention to something else and pulled off her trick. Now you see trouble, now you don’t.

How long could she keep up the act?

Excerpted from The Road to Christmas by Sheila Roberts. Copyright © 2022 by Sheila Roberts. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

Thursday, September 22, 2022

All is Bright

  ~ I received no compensation and opinions are 100% my own or my family. ~


Return to Hope’s Crossing this Christmas in New York Times bestselling author RaeAnne Thayne’s latest heartwarming story of matchmaking at the holidays!

Sage McKnight is an ambitious young architect working at her father’s firm who takes on her most challenging client in Mason Tucker. The former pro baseball player is still healing from the physical and emotional scars after a plane crash left him a wheelchair-using single dad, and he’s determined not to let anyone breach his emotional defenses. Sage knows her work on Mason’s new home in Hope’s Crossing is her best work yet, and she won’t let her grumpy client prevent her from showcasing her work personally.

With Sage’s gift for taking broken things and making them better, the matchmaking talent of the quirky locals and a generous sprinkling of Christmas cheer, Mason doesn’t stand a chance against the power of this magical holiday season.


Author: RaeAnne Thayne

ISBN: 9781335933997

Publication Date: September 20, 2022

Publisher: HQN


Buy Links:



Barnes & Noble



RaeAnne Thayne is the #1 Publisher's Weekly, New York Times, and USA TODAY bestselling author of nearly seventy books. Her books have been described as "poirgnant and sweet," with "beautiful, honest storytelling that goes straight to the heart." She finds inspiration from the beautiful northern Utah mountains, where she lives with her family. She loves to hear from readers and can be reach through her webiste at

Author Website





Excerpt: “We’re now walking into the home theater,” she spoke to her outstretched camera, “one of the more challenging rooms of the renovation. Prior to this update, the room had a series of steps leading to the different levels of recliners. Obviously, that would no longer work for the homeowner, so we chose to remove the steps completely, instead building a gradual slope with room to maneuver around each level of seating. Beyond featuring state-of-the-art electronics that will be easily upgradeable, everything in here—from the blackout window shades to the sound system to the recliners themselves—can be controlled through a single smart home phone app.”

She turned the camera to face her. “Doesn’t this look like a wonderfully cozy place to watch a movie or catch your favorite sporting event?”

She smiled into the phone camera, then moved back into the wide hallway leading to the library/office, her own favorite spot in the house.

“You can see here we have sliding pocket doors that open and close with the push of a button. We chose to replace the traditional doors in many of the spaces with these pocket doors, which gives more room for the homeowner to navigate, and we also…”

Her words trailed off as she heard a sound behind her and turned to see a large, dark-haired man using a wheelchair, framed in the doorway.

He frowned, an expression she had become all too used to seeing there, during their few in-person interactions and their more frequent video conferences.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “You’re not filming this, are you?”

Sage dropped her phone with an inward wince and stopped recording. Technically, this was still her job site, which meant she had full permission to check on the progress of the work until they handed the finished home over to the owner, who happened to be this man, former professional baseball player Mason Tucker.

With effort, she forced herself not to show any of her dismay. Out of all the clients she had worked with during her career thus far, Mason Tucker was the only one who made her palms sweat and her stomach feel knotted with stress.

“Mr. Tucker. Um, hi.” She forced a smile, feeling awkward as hell and wishing she had waited until the contractor would be here to take a tour.

“I haven’t been here in weeks and wanted to document the progress that has been made since I visited last. I didn’t see any vehicles outside and assumed everybody was gone for the day.”

“I’m parked in the garage of the guesthouse.”

“I didn’t even know you were in town. Have you been here long?”

The last she knew, Mason had been living in Portland, where he had once played for the same baseball team as another town resident, Spencer Gregory, who was married to Sage’s friend Charlotte. Sage knew Spence and Mason had remained friends, despite life circumstances that had led to both of them retiring.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure Mason would reply, then he finally shrugged. “I wanted to be close as we started to wrap things up so I can keep an eye on things and be on hand if there are any questions or problems. My daughter and I moved into the guesthouse a month ago.”

Why hadn’t her dad or Sam Delgado told her Mason was already living in Hope’s Crossing?

Beyond that, she suddenly thought, how in the world was he making the guesthouse work? That place wasn’t at all wheelchair accessible, with three steps leading into the place, narrow hallways and no accessible bathroom like those she had designed for this main house.

Renovating the guesthouse was part of the master plan but not until all the work was finished on Wolf Ridge itself.

“That place is a mess. How are you getting around?”

“I’m managing,” he said, his voice curt. “I can still get around on crutches, as long as I don’t have to go far.”

“You shouldn’t have to go far, from one end of the guesthouse to the other. It’s tiny.” She imagined a man Mason’s size would make the space shrink to almost nothing.

“It works fine for me and Grace. It’s only a few more weeks anyway, right?”

“I suppose.”

Sam Delgado had assured her when they spoke earlier that the renovations to Wolf Ridge would be finished shortly before Christmas.

Sage had to admit, she wouldn’t be sorry to put the job behind her.

While she was thrilled with the way her designs had transformed the mountain estate, working with Mason Tucker himself was another story.

She tried to be compassionate. Whenever she grew frustrated with him, she would remind herself that Mason had endured the sort of tragedy that would have completely destroyed someone without his resilience. While she was only charged with renovating this house, Mason had to completely rebuild his life.

He had every right to be surly and uncooperative.

While she might know that intellectually, it was difficult to remember when she was dealing with yet another last-minute change order.

Still, he had superb taste and basically unlimited financial resources. In a few more weeks, when the job was finished, Wolf Ridge would meet his needs now and long into the future.

The home now featured a new indoor pool, spa and high-tech exercise room on the bottom level, two new elevators at either end of the house and heated floors throughout. Wolf Ridge also featured a kitchen that worked for people of any mobility level and wheelchair accessible bathrooms on each level, including the extensive owner’s suite on the second floor.

Sage loved everything about this house, from the skylights to the beams her dad had mentioned to the wider doorways and hallways. It was warm, luxurious, comfortable.

She wanted to show off her work to the world. The only trick would be convincing the intensely private Mason Tucker.

Faced with his glower now, Sage felt as if she faced a Herculean task.

She had to try, though, didn’t she?

Her fledgling internet show had exploded in popularity over the past year, allowing her foundation and personal pet project to help far more deserving people than she had ever envisioned.

Sage could only imagine the vast number of views—and thus ad revenue—a video featuring Wolf Ridge would bring in. People would love a glimpse inside the house redesigned for the reclusive and private Mason Tucker.

The public still clamored to know everything it could about the former professional athlete who had endured so much physical and emotional pain.

If she could showcase Wolf Ridge on the Homes for All internet channel, she would also bring awareness to some of the issues and obstacles noninclusive design presented to those with mobility challenges.

She drew in a breath, not sure where to start. Yes, he would likely slap her down but she wouldn’t know unless she asked, right?

“The progress while I’ve been overseas is amazing. I can’t believe how different everything looks, with the finish work and the new flooring.”

“Sam and his subs have put in some long hours.”

“It shows. And Jean-Paul tells me he’s going to have nearly all the furnishings ready to go in a few more weeks, except for a few custom pieces.”

“That’s what he tells me.”

“I can’t see any reason you and Grace can’t move in before Christmas. How exciting!”

A shrug was his only response, which she supposed was about as eloquent as Mason Tucker could be.

She stuck her hands into the pockets of her wool coat.

He was going to say no. She knew it and braced herself for it.

“There’s no easy way for me to ask you this so I’m going to come straight out with it.” She drew in a breath. “For the past year, I’ve hosted a YouTube channel, Homes for All, which features projects with the kind of innovative universal design elements we have tried to incorporate here at Wolf Ridge.”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“While it’s called Homes for All, we feature commercial as well as residential projects. I hope to continue raising awareness of how limiting and even discriminatory some design practices can be for those who are, er, differently abled.”

He again said nothing, only continued to look at her out of those hard blue eyes that concealed his emotions completely.

“I have poured so much energy into Wolf Ridge, and I’m absolutely thrilled with the way the house has turned out. It’s everything I dreamed and more. I feel like more people should see it. Don’t you? I would absolutely love to feature your home on my channel.”

She held her breath, hands curled inside her pockets.

As she might have predicted, he didn’t leave her waiting long for his answer.

“Hell no,” he said with blunt finality, then turned away and started to roll back down the hall so abruptly she could only stare at him.

After a moment, she pursued him. This was too important to give up at the first obstacle. “Just like that? You don’t even want to hear the details?”

He paused and maneuvered to face her. “Why waste both our time? I don’t need to hear the details. Whatever you have to say doesn’t matter. My answer will remain a hard no.”

The man was impossible. Her grandfather Harry might have called him pigheaded, but Sage preferred the more diplomatic obstinate.

And yes, how could she blame him for that? Mason was trying to rebuild a life for himself and his daughter in Hope’s Crossing, away from the prying eyes of the tabloid press. She already knew he was an intensely private man. He had made her sign a nondisclosure agreement before even talking to her about what he wanted done at the house.

She might have been more surprised if he had agreed to let her feature his house on her channel.

Still, she had never been good at taking no for an answer. She could be every bit as pigheaded as Mason Tucker. She figured she had inherited that from Harry Lange himself.

“What I love most about your home is how seamlessly we have managed to integrate the new design into the existing structure without altering the basic style and grace of the home,” she said. “I’m sure you can agree that the changes will benefit everyone who lives here, not only you.”

“Sure,” he said after a moment. “You definitely know what you’re doing. The house is exactly what I wanted. That still doesn’t mean I want the whole world peering in at the transfer bars in the shower or the damn lift I need to use so I can get in and out of my spa.”

Sage was so caught up in the first part of what he said, the unexpected praise coming from her difficult client, that she almost missed the second part.

“That’s exactly what I try to showcase on my channel. When done right, universal design can blend with the overall style of a home or commercial property, small and sometimes barely noticeable changes but enough to make a huge difference to those who need them.”

“No,” he said again. “Judging by how seldom you’re here, you must have other projects. You can focus on those.”

“I have. You can watch the videos online. We have about thirty of them up now. But Wolf Ridge is the most ambitious residential renovation I’ve ever undertaken. Most people would never have poured the kind of resources you have into making such extensive changes to an existing structure. They would have sold the house as is and built a custom home somewhere else. Because of the location and the basic sound structure of the house, you chose to renovate instead. The results are beautiful, and I want the whole world to see it.”

“And I don’t,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need to give the whole damn world any more reasons to pity me.”

A muscle clenched along his jaw, and Sage felt immediately ashamed of herself for her selfishness at wanting to showcase her best work here.

Her motives weren’t completely selfish, she amended. Yes, she was proud of her work on Wolf Ridge. This project, more than any other she had been part of, might help her begin to emerge from her father’s huge and well-earned shadow.

It wasn’t easy being Jackson Lange’s daughter and trying to find her own way in the same field as one of the world’s most brilliant architectural minds.

That was the very reason she hadn’t taken Jack’s surname, even after they reconnected. She still went by Sage McKnight, the name she’d always had. She didn’t want to be known first as Jackson Lange’s daughter, with the weight of all those expectations on her. She wanted to succeed on her own.

Beyond that, she was doing good work with Homes for All. She knew she was making a difference in people’s lives, not only by changing minds about universal design but by changing lives.

Should she tell Jackson Lange that Homes for All was also the name of her foundation, funded by the ad revenue her videos generated online? The purpose was to help people who couldn’t otherwise afford to make necessary changes to their living spaces when age or health issues impacted mobility.

No. She didn’t want to guilt him into letting her invade his privacy by showcasing Wolf Ridge.

“Will you at least think about it?” she finally said. “You don’t have to decide anything right this moment.”

He shrugged. “I can think about it from now until Christmas. I won’t change my mind. My house, my decision. You can take all the pictures and video you want for your own personal use but if you post them online, I’ll sue your ass for breaking our nondisclosure agreement.”

He wheeled away without another word, leaving Sage to gaze after him with helpless frustration.

She hadn’t really expected any other answer, but she had hoped.

Her watch alarm dinged, and she glanced down at the reminder she had set. She was supposed to be at her mother’s bookstore and coffeehouse, Books & Brew, in ten minutes.

She quickly shot a few more images then walked back out into the December twilight.

Excerpted from All is Bright by RaeAnne Thayne. Copyright © 2022 by RaeAnne Thayne. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.