My kind of perfect, p.1
My Kind of Perfect, page 1
Praise For Tracy Brogan
The New Normal
“Brogan’s voice is distinct and irresistible, offering both laugh-out-loud scenarios and moments of poignancy as Carli and Ben wade through the murky waters of divorce and single parenthood. Supportive neighbors enhance the hilarity and add a sense of community sure to tug at the heartstrings. This sweet romance is a joy.”
—Publishers Weekly
My Kind of Forever
“[An] adorable contemporary . . . This charming sequel successfully continues threads from its predecessor and deepens the community and character relationships . . . Will provide satisfying comfort for both new readers and returning fans.”
—Publishers Weekly
My Kind of You
“In this relaxed contemporary, Brogan (Love Me Sweet) creates a charming small town where even the scandals and secrets are relatively wholesome. Events sweep readers along, making them long for the idealized community Brogan portrays.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Recommend this romantic story to fans of women’s fiction.”
—Booklist
“This story is filled with lively characters who jump off the page. The author knows how to capture her readers’ attention. The scene where the hero tells the heroine that she’s ‘the kind of woman a man wants to make promises to’ was romantic and sweet.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars
Crazy Little Thing
WALL STREET JOURNAL BESTSELLER
RWA RITA® FINALIST, 2013, BEST FIRST BOOK
“Heart, humor, and characters you’ll love—Tracy Brogan is the next great voice in contemporary romance.”
—Kristan Higgins, New York Times bestselling author
“Witty one-liners and hilarious characters elevate this familiar story . . . Readers will love the heat between the leads, and by the end they’ll be clamoring for more.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars (HOT)
“Brogan shows a real knack for creating believable yet quirky characters . . . The surprising emotional twists along the way make it a satisfying romp.”
—Aleksandra Walker, Booklist
“Crazy Little Thing by Tracy Brogan is so funny and sexy, I caught myself laughing out loud.”
—Robin Covington, USA Today, Happy Ever After
“Tracy Brogan is my go-to, laugh-out-loud remedy for a stressful day.”
—Kieran Kramer, USA Today bestselling author
The Best Medicine
RWA RITA® FINALIST, 2015, BEST CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
“With trademark humor, lovely, poignant touches, and a sexy-as-sin hero, The Best Medicine is Tracy Brogan at her finest. Charming, witty, and fun.”
—Kimberly Kincaid, USA Today bestselling author
Love Me Sweet
RWA RITA® FINALIST, 2016, BEST CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
“An upbeat, generous message about finding yourself, standing up for yourself, and living an authentic life . . . A sexy, slightly kooky romance that should please Bell Harbor fans.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Jingle Bell Harbor: A Novella
“Brogan’s hilarious voice and wordplay will immediately ensnare readers in this quick but satisfying small-town romance.”
—Adrian Liang, Amazon Book Review
“Jingle Bell Harbor is a fun, funny, laugh-out-loud Christmas read that will surely put you right in the mood for the season.”
—The Romance Reviews, 5 stars
“This was an incredible read! I was definitely surprised by this book and in a great way.”
—My Slanted Bookish Ramblings, 4.5 stars
“Jingle Bell Harbor by Tracy Brogan is about discovering what you want, deciding what you need to finally be happy, and rediscovering a love of the holidays. It’s a quick, easy read filled with laughter and enjoyable, quirky characters. If you’re in the mood for something light and funny, I would recommend Jingle Bell Harbor by Tracy Brogan.”
—Harlequin Junkie, 4 stars
“This is a really cute, uplifting Christmas novella. It’s quick, light, and gives you warm fuzzies just in time for the upcoming holidays. There is plenty of humor to keep you entertained, and the quirky residents of Bell Harbor will keep you reading to see what else is in store.”
—Rainy Day Reading Blog, 4 stars
Hold on My Heart
“Successfully blends a sassy heroine and humor with deep emotional issues and a traditional romance . . . The well-developed characters and the sweet story with just a touch of heat will please readers looking for a creative take on romance.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Launched in hilarious style by an embarrassingly cute meet, this delightful romantic comedy will keep the smiles coming.”
—Library Journal
Highland Surrender
“Highland Surrender features plenty of action, romance, and sex with well-drawn individuals—a strong yet young heroine and a delectable hero—who don’t act out of character. The story imparts a nice feeling of ‘you are there,’ with a well-presented look at the turbulent life in sixteenth-century Scotland.”
—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars
“Treachery and political intrigue provide a well-textured backdrop for a poignant romance in which a young girl, well out of her depth, struggles to reconcile what she thinks she knows with what her heart tells her. Highland Surrender is a classic sweep-me-away tale of romance and derring-do!”
—Connie Brockway, New York Times bestselling author
Other Books by Tracy Brogan
Trillium Bay Series
My Kind of You
My Kind of Forever
Bell Harbor Series
Crazy Little Thing
The Best Medicine
Love Me Sweet
Jingle Bell Harbor: A Novella
Stand-Alone Novels
Highland Surrender
Hold on My Heart
The New Normal
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2021 by Tracy Brogan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542094399
ISBN-10: 1542094399
Cover design by Laura Klynstra
For Webster Girl and Tenacious D
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
“And just like that, Gigi O’Reilly-Callaghan-Harper-Smith died the way she lived. With a martini glass in each hand.”
My sister Brooke performed a lazy, single-fingered sign of the cross as our grandmother, the very much alive Gigi O’Reilly-Callaghan-Harper-Smith, tripped over a calico house cat, swayed on one foot before bumping her gray-haired noggin against the doorframe, and yet somehow managed to not spill a drop from either of the glasses she held aloft. Not a dribble nor a droplet. Nary a ripple. The olives didn’t even wobble.
“This is designer gin,” Gigi responded matter-of-factly, lurching forward and plunking the drinks down on the red-and-white-checked cloth that covered the old pine table in her kitchen. “It was a parting gift from Gus.”
“Does Gus know it was a parting gift from Gus?” Brooke’s tone remained as dry as the hint of vermouth Gigi typically waved over her drink of choice, but our grandmother just scoffed good-naturedly. She was a tiny dynamo in faded jeans and an extra-large blue-plaid flannel shirt that swallowed her to the knees. The sleeves were rolled up a half dozen turns and were still cuffed just above her wrists.
“After what I put up with at his place, I think I earned myself a few door prizes on my way out. And anyway, he shouldn’t drink so much.”
I locked eyes with my sister, who shrugged off the comment with practiced resignation. There was no point in telling Gigi that she also drank too much. Every time the topic arose, she’d just tell us she was pickling herself to ward off old age, and she might be onto something. At seventy-plus years old, she was as vivacious as ever and showed no signs of slowing down—as evidenced by the fact that, until two weeks ago, she’d been shacking up with a much younger man—one Mr. August Mahoney.
&n
They’d lived together just long enough for Gigi to discover that the hard-of-hearing Gus was a nocturnal TV watcher of true-crime documentaries who ate potato chips in bed while wiping greasy fingers on the sheets, habitually left up the toilet seat, and needed pruning shears to clip his freakishly fast-growing toenails. It was all a bit too much, even for a scrappy, adaptable gal like Gigi, who’d been widowed not once, not twice, but thrice. So she’d informed Gus it was over and moved back to her own house, where she could drink his designer gin in peace and quiet.
I’d caught up on all this information, along with a few more salaciously repellent details about Gus and Gigi’s romantic exploits, while sitting in my grandmother’s homey, cinnamon-scented kitchen. It was April, and a late-season northern Michigan snowstorm was blowing against the windows, but the house was cozy inside thanks to a fire crackling in the fireplace. I’d missed that sound of a wood fire burning, just as I’d missed the wind howling and sleet pelting against the glass panes. After spending the past several months in warm, sunny Sacramento in a $2 million house with glossy glass-stone fireplaces that were sleek and silent and really just for show, I found myself appreciating these quaint, familiar sounds of home.
This was home. Trillium Bay on Wenniway Island, and in spite of the questionable subject matter at hand, I was very glad to be there. And very glad that one of those martinis was for me because I’d arrived just two hours earlier, and the travel from California had been exhausting, both physically and emotionally. Like my grandmother, I, too, was flailing in the wake of a doomed love affair, but unlike in Gigi’s situation, no one on the island knew yet that my relationship with John Taggert was teetering on the brink of disaster. My family thought I was there for a short visit, but it looked to me like I was home to stay.
I’d have to explain things to everyone eventually, of course. They’d notice if I never left, but the situation was complicated, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to tell them. Tag and I were sort of . . . on a break, but I suspected it was the irreconcilable sort of break that couples didn’t recover from. And while no one would technically judge me for this, a long line of people were waiting to say, “I told you so, Lilly,” because I’d been cautioned—repeatedly—that the relationship was a mistake.
“She’s all set, you guys! Oh my gosh, are you ready?” my niece, Chloe, called out excitedly from the top of Gigi’s stairs, where Emily—the middle Callaghan sister and Chloe’s mother—was waiting to model her bridal gown. She was getting remarried in a few months, and this big-reveal moment was exclusively for me because Gigi, Brooke, and Chloe had already seen it. I’d missed the wedding dress shopping excursion because I’d been in California with Tag, and the regret still stung. I hadn’t been home when my sister had gotten engaged, either. I’d missed Christmas with my family because we’d been on a Caribbean vacation. Even the courtship of Brooke and her boyfriend, Leo, who was now a deputy with the Wenniway Island Police Department, had blossomed without me around to share in the joy of it, but still, it was the dress shopping that seemed to rattle me the most. I’d missed all the feels and the aahs and the oohs and the giggles and the cheers and the saying yes to the dress, and for some reason that really bothered me.
Emily’s first marriage at nineteen had been a spontaneous runaway elopement, so the entire family had missed out on that one. I was only fifteen at the time, and there’d been no dress shopping or cake tasting or bridal shower attending. No bouquet toss or champagne toast or vision of my father walking her down the aisle—a point of contention that had created a fair amount of friction between the two of them that they’d only recently resolved. So this wedding was meant to make up for that wedding. Emily tying the knot with Ryan was going to be an event, with all the matrimonial fanfare, frothy tulle, fragrant white roses, and tuxedoed harpists that my sister could wrangle together. And of course, most importantly, there would be the Perfect Dress. The dress I hadn’t helped choose but was eager to see nonetheless.
“We’re ready!” called out Brooke, and Gigi began to hum a pitchy version of the “Wedding March.” Thirteen-year-old Chloe’s laughter preceded her as she bounded down the wooden stairs in sneakers, sounding more like a basketball player galloping across center court than the slender girl she was. She rounded the corner and skidded to a halt, shoes squeaking and hair swirling, before turning back toward my sister.
Emily descended with far more grace and solemnity, the swish of chiffon nearly drowned out by Gigi’s off-key humming as my sister floated her way down the steps and into the kitchen. She did a slow Cinderella-quality turn with one hand holding out the soft white fabric of the gown. She smiled at me, her cheeks pink with excitement. Her red-gold hair was twisted up in a simple knot, her blue eyes sparkling. I pressed my hands to my own instantly warm cheeks as fat tears full of mixed emotions puddled in my eyes.
“Well?” she asked tentatively. “How’d I do?”
“Yeah, how’d we do?” demanded Chloe, the mini-version of her mother right down to the red hair and smattering of freckles.
It was well established that I was the most fashion conscious of the three Callaghan sisters, although admittedly the bar was low. Dark-haired Brooke lived in jeans and sweaters, even though she was the mayor of our town, and strawberry-blonde Emily leaned more toward nicer jeans and nicer sweaters, but I was the one who paid attention to the latest trends. Thanks to a brief (and disastrous) stint in the pageant world, I knew how to play up my assets, accentuate my best features, and pose to look five pounds lighter.
But Emily didn’t need any of that.
“Oh my gosh, Peach,” I said on a big exhale. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Am I?” she asked, laughing.
“You are stunning. The dress is perfect, and you are gorgeous. Oh my gosh. Give me another twirl,” I said, rising from my chair. I needed to get a closer look. Her gown was snowy white with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves trimmed in just a hint of sparkly rhinestones. Just right for her.
Emily obliged my request, turning a full spin and then rotating back in the other direction before stopping to face me. Her grin was wide and blissful—for about five seconds. Then she burped, slapped a hand over her mouth, rushed to the kitchen sink . . . and puked.
I gasped in stunned surprise, but Gigi just admonished her to not get any on the dress, and Brooke calmly took a sip of her own martini. Even Chloe didn’t react. They seemed not the least bit concerned, which was my first clue. Actually, it was the second clue, the puke being the first.
Emily gingerly picked up a towel from the kitchen counter and dabbed at her mouth before turning, slowly, back around to face me. Her expression was more sheepish than shocked.
“So,” she said. “Guess who’s pregnant?”
Half an hour later we’d gathered once more around the table. Emily had replaced her gown with fleece pajama pants decorated with sloths drinking coffee and an oversize sweatshirt bearing the image of the island’s own Imperial Hotel. “Of course Ryan and I are thrilled,” she said. “We knew we wanted to add to the family soon, like right after the wedding, but I guess we jumped the gun a bit. Turns out there’s no grace period after going off the pill. The only downside is that it took Dad almost fifteen years to forgive me for running off with Chloe’s dad, and now here I am, finally getting remarried to a wonderful guy, properly this time, in a church, with the veil and the dress and the priest, and now I have to tell him I’m already knocked up.”
“Harlan isn’t that observant,” Gigi said. “I don’t think we need to tell him.”
“You’ve been engaged for a while, so at least no one will think this is a shotgun wedding. And with that empire waistline, you picked the perfect dress. No one will even notice,” Brooke added.
“Unless she throws up in her bouquet,” Chloe murmured.
Emily, to her credit, chuckled. “The wedding isn’t for a couple of months yet. The morning sickness should be gone by then, but there will be no hiding my belly. Ah, well. Ryan and I figured we’d wait a few more weeks but then probably just tell everyone anyway. In the meantime, though, this is a secret.” She glared at Gigi because if anyone was going to let it slip, it would be our grandmother—except it wouldn’t be an accident. Gossip was social currency around here, and this was a valuable piece of intel. Family loyalty only went so far.
