Small town. Big dreams. One renovation that changes everything.
After three years of climbing the corporate ladder, Carl can practically taste the corner office with his name on the door. However, caring for his injured grandmother takes precedence, forcing his return to Keeney. But not to stay. Career-wise, the small town is a dead end, and others have their eye on that corner office.
Trading boardroom strategy for work boots and hard hats, Carl rejoins Keeney Building Supply to work as a general contractor—temporarily. He’s made that clear to everyone, including Sylvie.
Years ago, they parted ways before their mutual attraction could ignite, and Sylvie moved on, partnering with a charming developer who shared her excitement for flipping houses. However, charm can be deceiving—the developer wanted only her money, not her heart, leaving her plans in ruins.
Carl steps in, offering friendship, ice cream, and a new opportunity for her own home renovation business. Sylvie’s spark returns, and their attraction kindles, but Carl keeps his distance.
With his grandmother well on her way to recovery, there’s nothing to keep him in the small town. His future is waiting, and it’s not in Keeney.
Or is it?
A workplace romance, Fabulously Flawed is a story of the messy beauty of falling for someone who challenges everything you thought you wanted: a would-be house flipper who clashes and connects with the driven project manager determined to escape the confines of small-town life.
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EXCERPT:
Hoping Carl would indeed wind up at her place, Sylvie had spent the morning in a cleaning frenzy, and her kitchen shone. There were fresh, fluffy towels in the sparkling bathroom, vacuum tracks on the carpet, and most importantly, clean sheets on the bed. Afterward, she’d collapsed on the couch.
But then she didn’t like the placement of the living room furniture, so she’d arranged and rearranged it to look cozier, and placed candles artfully around the room. To say she was nervous was an understatement. Images of Carl naked and hovering over her had haunted her dreams. She had no doubt the reality would be even better.
Part of her dream came true about twenty minutes later.
Having told Carl to get comfortable, she’d gone into the kitchen to assemble a late-night snack. From the fridge, she pulled the cheeseboard she’d assembled that morning and the wine. And not her usual box of Okanagan Porchbanger. For this momentous night—at least she hoped it would be—she’d splurged on a higher-end bottle. On a waiting tray, she arranged the cheeseboard, plates, napkins, and two glasses of wine.
Carl sat on the couch, one arm draped along the back of the cushions. She’d been right about the candles because the soft light made his dark eyes shine. Transfixed by the invitation in his smile, she walked into the living room and promptly tripped.
Moving quickly, Carl leaped from the couch to catch the falling glasses, but not before the contents splashed across his face, to drip down his chest. Cheese, crackers, cornichons, and cured meats were scattered across the coffee table that Sylvie had relocated earlier that day. Holding the two glasses, Carl blinked drops of wine from his lashes.
Sylvie’s mouth hung open as she stared at him in dismay. “Oh my God! I am so, so sorry!”
“It’s okay,” he said, smacking his lips. “I like a good rosé.” He set the glasses on the tray and took it from Sylvie’s hands. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
Pain radiated from where her knee had connected with the stupid coffee table. It wasn’t bleeding, but she’d have a lovely bruise tomorrow. “No,” she replied, bending her knee experimentally. “I’m fine, but your shirt isn’t.” Soaked through in spots, the fabric was rapidly turning pink.
He took the tray into the kitchen and returned, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from the waistband of his trousers. “It’ll wash. But do you have a towel? I’d like to clean up a bit.”
After guiding him to the bathroom and handing him a towel, Sylvie went to clean up the mess. The good news was that nothing had broken, and only Carl had gotten wet. The bad news was…she sucked at seduction. He probably had an Uber on the way, ready to make his escape. She scooped the remains of her carefully planned evening off the coffee table and got down on her knees to retrieve tiny pickles from under the couch.
Author Bio:
Lynne Hancock Pearson writes fun, flirty, feel-good fiction that simmers at low heat. Set in the Pacific Northwest, they are stories of people finding their way, even if it takes a while to get there.
She lives near Seattle with two and a half finicky felines and one long-suffering husband. She is a left-handed middle child who grew up in the Great White North and is a proud member of the Métis Nation of Canada.
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