The Last Wingman (Wingmen Book 6), page 22
My coworkers have horns and horizontal pupils.
At least they don’t take long smoke breaks or spend their paychecks on beer.
Unlike my business partner.
I could never work with my brother. Up until last year, we lived together. That was enough. But I’d take him over working with our dad most days.
If I had the chance, I’d do things differently.
I used most of my savings to buy the goats. Tom Donnely helped me build their custom trailer. Those were the major business investments. Pretty straightforward, unlike the dynamics of the Kelsos.
Family is a bramble of blackberry bushes. A tangled mess, with a nearly impenetrable bond. Sweet, but can easily cut you deeply. I’ve learned how to protect myself over the years.
When Mom or Erik ask how things are going, I lie.
Both to cover for Dad and save them from worrying.
Saving face is something ingrained in the Kelsos.
Pretend everything is okay and maybe it will be. Fake it until you make it. Or can’t anymore. Or it all goes to hell in a spectacular, public way.
No one knows what goes on behind closed doors.
The perfect Sunday churchgoing family hides a history of conditional love and dirty secrets.
A married father of two boys and the nicest wife turns out to be a serial cheater.
The owner of the tavern and the crankiest SOB on the island, who might as well be a troll under the bridge, writes a huge check to the local domestic and sexual violence support group.
The island slut who—
“You going to stand there staring all day?” Jonah interrupts my thoughts by bumping my shoulder, shaking me out of my list as if he knows I’m thinking about his sister.
As far as I know, the only person who knows anything about my opinion of Ashley is Dan, friend and owner of Sal’s Pizza. A few months ago I was doing work on his property, helping him build a fire pit and patio for his girlfriend for Valentine’s Day. Because she wanted cozy fires outside and that’s the kind of guy he is. He’d do anything for her. I must’ve felt inspired to spill about Ashley.
Or I’m terrible at hiding the truth behind a closed door.
“I brought the grounds from the Bean.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. “Where do you want them?”
Erik points at the long steel table in the center of the room away from the roasters and storage containers. “I’ll have the crew handle them tomorrow.”
People say Erik and I could be twins. We have the same dark blond hair and lanky builds, but his eyes are brown. I’m the only one in our family to get blue eyes. The same people who joke we could be twins also like to tease my mom about the milk man. Make up your minds, folks. Opinions, everyone has more than their share.
Where Erik and I have light hair, tall and lean builds, Jonah’s all darkness. Dark hair, dark eyes, and enough black in his wardrobe to clothe a goth club. I lost track of the number of tattoos he’s gotten over the years. Jonah has at least five piercings you can see when he’s fully clothed.
If people compare Erik and I to golden retrievers, then Jonah would be a bat. Broad shoulders, tattoos, gauges in his stretched lobes, a pierced eyebrow and who knows what else, he’s the dark to our light. We look like the all-American guys in a Tommy Hilfiger ad. Jonah’s the bastard child of a hipster and a pirate.
I laugh at how far from the truth of his parentage those two things are.
He and Ashley couldn’t be more different. If anyone around has a secret baby daddy, it’s probably their mom. I snort at the idea of super uptight, judgmental, and conservative Karen fooling around on her husband. Icicles in hell would be more likely.
If you only met them now, you’d never guess he and Ashley grew up in an ultra-conservative family. Then again maybe it’s obvious. They’re each rebels in their own way.
We all are.
By the time I return with the bag of coffee grounds, Jonah and Erik are done with their roast. I sit on a pallet of burlap sacks of raw beans. The scent of coffee makes me think of Ashley. Lately, it seems like everything does.
Coffee.
The color red.
A combination of orange and sweet flowers that reminds me of her shampoo.
Morning wood.
The general loneliness I feel hanging around my brother and his girlfriend or our married friends. Couplehood spread through my wingmen like a hardy flu strain. So far Jonah and I are the only two left standing.
“Hey, Jonah.”
He looks up from where he’s wheeling a garbage can of beans toward the wall.
“Want to go over to town tonight and blow off the stink?”
“What about me?” Erik sounds like the little brother being left out. Which he is. “Cari and I like to go to town.”
I ignore the opportunity for a sex euphemism, but Jonah jumps in with, “Especially downtown.”
Then laughs at his own joke.
Erik’s grin is smug and unapologetic.
“I was thinking of a guys’ night. Maybe go to Pioneer Square and hear some live music.”
“Pick up women? Is that why you don’t want me to go?” Erik whines. “I can be your wingman. The honey for the bees.”
“You mean pollen. Bees are attracted to pollen. They make honey.” I correct him. I can’t help it. Once a little brother, always a little brother.
“Fine, whatever,” Erik huffs.
Jonah observes us before speaking, “Sure. There’s a punk country band I like who have a gig tonight. Probably not your scene, but the music’s excellent.”
“Will there be women there?” I ask.
Jonah lifts his eyebrows in confusion. “There usually are.”
“Then it’s my scene.” I nod to emphasize my point.
Chuckling, Jonah brushes a hand over his beard. “Suit yourself. Should make for an interesting night.”
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Sneak Peek - Two
Ready to Fall
Chapter One
A high pitched wailing entered my dream. Slowly, I shook off the warm breeze and sunshine from the catamaran and opened my eyes to my bedroom. It took a minute or two for me to determine the sound wasn’t from my dream, but coming from next door. From Maggie’s house. Her smoke detector was going off.
From where he stood on the comforter facing the window overlooking the beach, Babe’s barks drowned out the noise. Tossing the comforter and blankets off of me, I leapt from the bed, followed by Babe, and headed downstairs. Kelly rolled over and put the pillow over her head, grumbling about it still being dark out and what the hell was wrong with me for waking her up. Ignoring her, I grabbed my jeans and thermal from the floor, and raced from the room, not bothering to zip my jeans.
I reached the door to the deck where Babe pawed to get outside. The second I opened the door, he bounded out and barked at Maggie’s cabin.
I peered through the pre-dawn gloom, but couldn’t see any flames or smoke. As far as I knew, Maggie was in Portland with whatshisface. There shouldn’t be any reason for her smoke detector to be going off. The battery could be dying, and if that was the cause for the ruckus, I’d give her an earful about changing her batteries with the time change next time I saw her.
The breeze shifted and I could smell the distinct scent of smoke coming from her cabin. Where there was smoke, there was fire.
I ran across the narrow yard separating our properties. Luckily, I knew she hid a key under a frog at the foot of her steps. Searching for the damn frog, I bent over, peering into the dark when the door to the deck flew open and slammed into the wall.
What the hell?
A petite brunette I’d never laid eyes on swung a throw blanket over her head while she attempted to chase the smoke pouring from the door.
Who the fuck is that? I stared at her. Now she ran around the living room, opening windows as the smoke detector continued to squawk its annoying beeping into the sleepy morning.
The smoke appeared to be coming from the wood stove. Miss Blanket Waver probably hadn’t opened the flue. She must not be from around here.
Walking through the open door, I coughed and waved the smoke away from my face as I headed toward the stove.
Without introducing myself, I said, “You forgot to open the flue.”
The woman stood at the kitchen sink, trying to open the window, and jumped at the sound of my voice.
“Cheesy Rice and Joseph!” she shouted and turned to face me, clutching her hand to her chest. “Who the fuck are you?”
Leaning over, I swung the lever to open the flue on the chimney stack. “I’m the neighbor. Who the fuck are you? Cause I know this isn’t your house.”
With the doors and windows open the room began to clear of smoke, but the smoke alarm continued its piercing cadence. Where the hell was the damn thing? I stared at the ceiling and followed the beeping until I spied the red-lighted beast in the hallway. I reached up and knocked it from its perch, removed the batteries, and set it on the kitchen counter.
“Ah, silence,” I said. Observing the woman, I noticed she had wrapped her blanket weapon around her shoulders. Sticking out below the blanket I could see a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and mismatched socks. “You going to tell me who you are and what you are doing in my friend’s house? Or am I going to call the sheriff?”
She tightened the throw around her shoulders and glared at me, but not before I noticed her eyes linger at my waist and my jeans hanging off my hips.
I smiled at her to let her know I’d caught her staring before closing my jeans.
She didn’t blush or glance away, but continued to glare at me. “Do you always barge into people’s homes at the crack of dawn?”
“I do when the alarm wakes me up and smoke fills the air.” I crossed my arms and waited.
“I’m renting the place for a few months. Arrived on the ferry last night.”
She didn’t tell me her name. Nope, definitely not from around here.
“Well, that explains what you are doing here, but not who you are. I’ll go first. I’m John Day. I live next door. The yellow lab out on the deck is Babe. Your turn.”
“Diane. Diane Watson. Well, Woodley, but Watson soon.”
“Nice to meet you, Diane Woodley-but-Watson-soon. Is that hyphenated?” I stuck out my hand to shake hers, figuring it was the polite thing to do.
She laughed, but it sounded hollow, not a real laugh. Somehow the smile didn’t reach her brown eyes. She shook my hand and said, “Just Woodley. Watson is my maiden name. I’m thinking of changing it back.”
“No more Mr. Woodley?” I asked.
She scowled. “No more Mr. Woodley. Or there won’t be soon enough.”
“If you are planning on murdering your husband, don’t tell me. I don’t want to be an accessory. I’m here to open the flue and prevent you from burning down my friend’s house.” I smiled at her. “Plus, it’s way too early to hear all the gory details of your personal life.”
She laughed this time and it was real. “No, no murder. Not that it hasn’t crossed my mind. Sorry about the smoke detector. I thought I knew how to build a fire. The fire part I figured out, but not the flue. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Thanks for coming over and saving the day.”
“No problem. I keep an eye on the house for Maggie, it’s what neighbors do around here.” I surveyed the quiet beach. “In January, not many of us live down here on the beach, we have to band together.”
“I appreciate it. I’d hate to have the fire department show up on my first morning here. Sorry to wake you so early. I guess I’m still on east coast time.”
“Honestly, no problem. Nice to meet you,” I said, backing toward the door. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. You probably want to change out the batteries on all the detectors. Who knows the last time Maggie changed them.”
She looked forlorn standing alone in the living room with the blanket falling off her shoulders. The Soon-to-be-not-Woodley blinked at me before remembering her manners.
“It was nice to meet you. I don’t know anyone on the island, so it’s nice to meet my neighbor. I hope to see you around again.”
“You probably will. Island’s a small place, and the beach especially. Give a holler if you need anything.” I turned when I opened the door. “And don’t forget to open the flue when you start a fire.”
She seemed embarrassed, but smiled. “Thanks, John.”
I gave her a wave and headed back over to the house with Babe on my heels. It was weird to have someone besides Maggie living in the cabin. Diane appeared nice enough, but she was no fiery redhead like Maggie.
I crawled back into bed after shedding my jeans. Kelly rolled over and curled into my side, mumbling about barking dogs and smoke. I stayed awake for a while, thinking about the woman next door and the expression on her face as if she didn’t have a friend in the world. I’d have to text Maggie later to let her know about the wood stove. And find out more about her new tenant with the sad eyes.
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Acknowledgments
To Whidbey and the real life residents who inspired this fictionalized world, thank you for embracing me as one of your own. Someday I’ll call the island home again. Until then, send me all the Happy Hippie!
To the readers who have been here from Ready to Fall, thank you for sticking with me through the long wait between books. Thank you for loving this series.
Thank you to Julianne Burke for another gorgeous Wingmen cover. I am in love with the new branding.
Thank you to Heather Lyons for volunteering your time to beta read the early version of this book—it is infinitely better with your input. To my editor, Caitlin, I owe you a saison and some oysters. To Janice, thank you for proofing this book. Any remaining errors are entirely my fault.
All of my love to my husband, whose steadfast support of me and my writing keeps me going even on the hardest days. Thank you for giving your perspective and insight to make these fictional men the best they can be. Each of the Wingmen contain elements of you and they’re better for it. For my family, who encourages me to follow my dreams, thank you for nurturing my roots with your love.
To the Indie book community, thank you for continuing to be a place of support and fellowship. To the BSGs, you are amazing. Special thanks to Tina Gephart, Julia Kent, Helena Hunting, Heather Lyons, Katana Collins, Penny Reid, EL James, Autumn Davis, Becca Mysoor, Katherine Stevens, April White, Elizabeth Hunter, Hilaria Alexander, Benita Botello, Tina Lynne, Fiona Fischer, the Modern Inklings, the Nerdy Little Book Herd authors, and so many others who offer a word of support, a laugh, or a kind gesture. Your friendship and encouragement have kept me afloat during a tough season.
Thank you to Jennifer Beach for being my incredible PA. I’m lucky to have you on my team. All the love for Christina Santos and Sarah Piechuta. Thank you for your friendship and keeping me sane. To KP and Emilie at Inkslinger, thank you for helping me navigate the ever-changing waters of Indie publishing and marketing. To Meire Dias at Bookcase Literary Agency, thank you for your unwavering faith in my writing.
To everyone in my Facebook reader group, Daisyland, thank you for hanging out with me and chatting about sloths, books, and life.
To all amazing the book bloggers and bookstagrammers, thank you for sharing your passion for reading. I am forever in awe over the time, energy and creativity you put into your reviews, blogs, and pictures. Thank you for your continued support for me and my books.
Finally, if you are reading this, thank you. There are millions of books in the world. Thank you for spending your time and money on mine. I’m blessed to be able to write and publish books as my career. I couldn’t continue to do what I love without you, and I’m forever grateful.
I love hearing from readers. Come find me on social media and say hi, or email me at daisyauthor@gmail.com.
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Other Books by Daisy
Want a reading list?
Book List
Wingmen
Ready to Fall
Confessions of a Reformed Tom Cat
Anything but Love
Better Love
Small Town Scandal
Wingmen Babypalooza
The Last Wingman
Love with Altitude
Next to You
Crazy Over you
Wild for You
Up to You
Modern Love Stories
We Were Here (prequel to Geoducks)
Geoducks Are for Lovers
Wanderlust
Tinfoil Heart
Bewitched Series
Bewitched
Spellbound
Enchanted
Charmed
Wicked Society
Get Witch Quick
Someday my Witch Will Come
Four Witches and a Funeral
Stand Alones
Tinfoil Heart
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About Daisy
Daisy Prescott is a USA Today bestselling author of small town romantic comedies. Series include Modern Love Stories, Wingmen, Love with Altitude, as well as the Bewitched and Wicked Society series of magical novellas. Tinfoil Heart is a romantic comedy standalone set in Roswell, New Mexico.
Daisy currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with her husband, their rescue dog Mulder, and an indeterminate number of imaginary house goats. When not writing, she can be found in the garden, traveling to satiate her wanderlust, lost in a good book, or on social media, usually talking about books, bearded men, and sloths.
At least they don’t take long smoke breaks or spend their paychecks on beer.
Unlike my business partner.
I could never work with my brother. Up until last year, we lived together. That was enough. But I’d take him over working with our dad most days.
If I had the chance, I’d do things differently.
I used most of my savings to buy the goats. Tom Donnely helped me build their custom trailer. Those were the major business investments. Pretty straightforward, unlike the dynamics of the Kelsos.
Family is a bramble of blackberry bushes. A tangled mess, with a nearly impenetrable bond. Sweet, but can easily cut you deeply. I’ve learned how to protect myself over the years.
When Mom or Erik ask how things are going, I lie.
Both to cover for Dad and save them from worrying.
Saving face is something ingrained in the Kelsos.
Pretend everything is okay and maybe it will be. Fake it until you make it. Or can’t anymore. Or it all goes to hell in a spectacular, public way.
No one knows what goes on behind closed doors.
The perfect Sunday churchgoing family hides a history of conditional love and dirty secrets.
A married father of two boys and the nicest wife turns out to be a serial cheater.
The owner of the tavern and the crankiest SOB on the island, who might as well be a troll under the bridge, writes a huge check to the local domestic and sexual violence support group.
The island slut who—
“You going to stand there staring all day?” Jonah interrupts my thoughts by bumping my shoulder, shaking me out of my list as if he knows I’m thinking about his sister.
As far as I know, the only person who knows anything about my opinion of Ashley is Dan, friend and owner of Sal’s Pizza. A few months ago I was doing work on his property, helping him build a fire pit and patio for his girlfriend for Valentine’s Day. Because she wanted cozy fires outside and that’s the kind of guy he is. He’d do anything for her. I must’ve felt inspired to spill about Ashley.
Or I’m terrible at hiding the truth behind a closed door.
“I brought the grounds from the Bean.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. “Where do you want them?”
Erik points at the long steel table in the center of the room away from the roasters and storage containers. “I’ll have the crew handle them tomorrow.”
People say Erik and I could be twins. We have the same dark blond hair and lanky builds, but his eyes are brown. I’m the only one in our family to get blue eyes. The same people who joke we could be twins also like to tease my mom about the milk man. Make up your minds, folks. Opinions, everyone has more than their share.
Where Erik and I have light hair, tall and lean builds, Jonah’s all darkness. Dark hair, dark eyes, and enough black in his wardrobe to clothe a goth club. I lost track of the number of tattoos he’s gotten over the years. Jonah has at least five piercings you can see when he’s fully clothed.
If people compare Erik and I to golden retrievers, then Jonah would be a bat. Broad shoulders, tattoos, gauges in his stretched lobes, a pierced eyebrow and who knows what else, he’s the dark to our light. We look like the all-American guys in a Tommy Hilfiger ad. Jonah’s the bastard child of a hipster and a pirate.
I laugh at how far from the truth of his parentage those two things are.
He and Ashley couldn’t be more different. If anyone around has a secret baby daddy, it’s probably their mom. I snort at the idea of super uptight, judgmental, and conservative Karen fooling around on her husband. Icicles in hell would be more likely.
If you only met them now, you’d never guess he and Ashley grew up in an ultra-conservative family. Then again maybe it’s obvious. They’re each rebels in their own way.
We all are.
By the time I return with the bag of coffee grounds, Jonah and Erik are done with their roast. I sit on a pallet of burlap sacks of raw beans. The scent of coffee makes me think of Ashley. Lately, it seems like everything does.
Coffee.
The color red.
A combination of orange and sweet flowers that reminds me of her shampoo.
Morning wood.
The general loneliness I feel hanging around my brother and his girlfriend or our married friends. Couplehood spread through my wingmen like a hardy flu strain. So far Jonah and I are the only two left standing.
“Hey, Jonah.”
He looks up from where he’s wheeling a garbage can of beans toward the wall.
“Want to go over to town tonight and blow off the stink?”
“What about me?” Erik sounds like the little brother being left out. Which he is. “Cari and I like to go to town.”
I ignore the opportunity for a sex euphemism, but Jonah jumps in with, “Especially downtown.”
Then laughs at his own joke.
Erik’s grin is smug and unapologetic.
“I was thinking of a guys’ night. Maybe go to Pioneer Square and hear some live music.”
“Pick up women? Is that why you don’t want me to go?” Erik whines. “I can be your wingman. The honey for the bees.”
“You mean pollen. Bees are attracted to pollen. They make honey.” I correct him. I can’t help it. Once a little brother, always a little brother.
“Fine, whatever,” Erik huffs.
Jonah observes us before speaking, “Sure. There’s a punk country band I like who have a gig tonight. Probably not your scene, but the music’s excellent.”
“Will there be women there?” I ask.
Jonah lifts his eyebrows in confusion. “There usually are.”
“Then it’s my scene.” I nod to emphasize my point.
Chuckling, Jonah brushes a hand over his beard. “Suit yourself. Should make for an interesting night.”
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Sneak Peek - Two
Ready to Fall
Chapter One
A high pitched wailing entered my dream. Slowly, I shook off the warm breeze and sunshine from the catamaran and opened my eyes to my bedroom. It took a minute or two for me to determine the sound wasn’t from my dream, but coming from next door. From Maggie’s house. Her smoke detector was going off.
From where he stood on the comforter facing the window overlooking the beach, Babe’s barks drowned out the noise. Tossing the comforter and blankets off of me, I leapt from the bed, followed by Babe, and headed downstairs. Kelly rolled over and put the pillow over her head, grumbling about it still being dark out and what the hell was wrong with me for waking her up. Ignoring her, I grabbed my jeans and thermal from the floor, and raced from the room, not bothering to zip my jeans.
I reached the door to the deck where Babe pawed to get outside. The second I opened the door, he bounded out and barked at Maggie’s cabin.
I peered through the pre-dawn gloom, but couldn’t see any flames or smoke. As far as I knew, Maggie was in Portland with whatshisface. There shouldn’t be any reason for her smoke detector to be going off. The battery could be dying, and if that was the cause for the ruckus, I’d give her an earful about changing her batteries with the time change next time I saw her.
The breeze shifted and I could smell the distinct scent of smoke coming from her cabin. Where there was smoke, there was fire.
I ran across the narrow yard separating our properties. Luckily, I knew she hid a key under a frog at the foot of her steps. Searching for the damn frog, I bent over, peering into the dark when the door to the deck flew open and slammed into the wall.
What the hell?
A petite brunette I’d never laid eyes on swung a throw blanket over her head while she attempted to chase the smoke pouring from the door.
Who the fuck is that? I stared at her. Now she ran around the living room, opening windows as the smoke detector continued to squawk its annoying beeping into the sleepy morning.
The smoke appeared to be coming from the wood stove. Miss Blanket Waver probably hadn’t opened the flue. She must not be from around here.
Walking through the open door, I coughed and waved the smoke away from my face as I headed toward the stove.
Without introducing myself, I said, “You forgot to open the flue.”
The woman stood at the kitchen sink, trying to open the window, and jumped at the sound of my voice.
“Cheesy Rice and Joseph!” she shouted and turned to face me, clutching her hand to her chest. “Who the fuck are you?”
Leaning over, I swung the lever to open the flue on the chimney stack. “I’m the neighbor. Who the fuck are you? Cause I know this isn’t your house.”
With the doors and windows open the room began to clear of smoke, but the smoke alarm continued its piercing cadence. Where the hell was the damn thing? I stared at the ceiling and followed the beeping until I spied the red-lighted beast in the hallway. I reached up and knocked it from its perch, removed the batteries, and set it on the kitchen counter.
“Ah, silence,” I said. Observing the woman, I noticed she had wrapped her blanket weapon around her shoulders. Sticking out below the blanket I could see a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and mismatched socks. “You going to tell me who you are and what you are doing in my friend’s house? Or am I going to call the sheriff?”
She tightened the throw around her shoulders and glared at me, but not before I noticed her eyes linger at my waist and my jeans hanging off my hips.
I smiled at her to let her know I’d caught her staring before closing my jeans.
She didn’t blush or glance away, but continued to glare at me. “Do you always barge into people’s homes at the crack of dawn?”
“I do when the alarm wakes me up and smoke fills the air.” I crossed my arms and waited.
“I’m renting the place for a few months. Arrived on the ferry last night.”
She didn’t tell me her name. Nope, definitely not from around here.
“Well, that explains what you are doing here, but not who you are. I’ll go first. I’m John Day. I live next door. The yellow lab out on the deck is Babe. Your turn.”
“Diane. Diane Watson. Well, Woodley, but Watson soon.”
“Nice to meet you, Diane Woodley-but-Watson-soon. Is that hyphenated?” I stuck out my hand to shake hers, figuring it was the polite thing to do.
She laughed, but it sounded hollow, not a real laugh. Somehow the smile didn’t reach her brown eyes. She shook my hand and said, “Just Woodley. Watson is my maiden name. I’m thinking of changing it back.”
“No more Mr. Woodley?” I asked.
She scowled. “No more Mr. Woodley. Or there won’t be soon enough.”
“If you are planning on murdering your husband, don’t tell me. I don’t want to be an accessory. I’m here to open the flue and prevent you from burning down my friend’s house.” I smiled at her. “Plus, it’s way too early to hear all the gory details of your personal life.”
She laughed this time and it was real. “No, no murder. Not that it hasn’t crossed my mind. Sorry about the smoke detector. I thought I knew how to build a fire. The fire part I figured out, but not the flue. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Thanks for coming over and saving the day.”
“No problem. I keep an eye on the house for Maggie, it’s what neighbors do around here.” I surveyed the quiet beach. “In January, not many of us live down here on the beach, we have to band together.”
“I appreciate it. I’d hate to have the fire department show up on my first morning here. Sorry to wake you so early. I guess I’m still on east coast time.”
“Honestly, no problem. Nice to meet you,” I said, backing toward the door. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. You probably want to change out the batteries on all the detectors. Who knows the last time Maggie changed them.”
She looked forlorn standing alone in the living room with the blanket falling off her shoulders. The Soon-to-be-not-Woodley blinked at me before remembering her manners.
“It was nice to meet you. I don’t know anyone on the island, so it’s nice to meet my neighbor. I hope to see you around again.”
“You probably will. Island’s a small place, and the beach especially. Give a holler if you need anything.” I turned when I opened the door. “And don’t forget to open the flue when you start a fire.”
She seemed embarrassed, but smiled. “Thanks, John.”
I gave her a wave and headed back over to the house with Babe on my heels. It was weird to have someone besides Maggie living in the cabin. Diane appeared nice enough, but she was no fiery redhead like Maggie.
I crawled back into bed after shedding my jeans. Kelly rolled over and curled into my side, mumbling about barking dogs and smoke. I stayed awake for a while, thinking about the woman next door and the expression on her face as if she didn’t have a friend in the world. I’d have to text Maggie later to let her know about the wood stove. And find out more about her new tenant with the sad eyes.
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Acknowledgments
To Whidbey and the real life residents who inspired this fictionalized world, thank you for embracing me as one of your own. Someday I’ll call the island home again. Until then, send me all the Happy Hippie!
To the readers who have been here from Ready to Fall, thank you for sticking with me through the long wait between books. Thank you for loving this series.
Thank you to Julianne Burke for another gorgeous Wingmen cover. I am in love with the new branding.
Thank you to Heather Lyons for volunteering your time to beta read the early version of this book—it is infinitely better with your input. To my editor, Caitlin, I owe you a saison and some oysters. To Janice, thank you for proofing this book. Any remaining errors are entirely my fault.
All of my love to my husband, whose steadfast support of me and my writing keeps me going even on the hardest days. Thank you for giving your perspective and insight to make these fictional men the best they can be. Each of the Wingmen contain elements of you and they’re better for it. For my family, who encourages me to follow my dreams, thank you for nurturing my roots with your love.
To the Indie book community, thank you for continuing to be a place of support and fellowship. To the BSGs, you are amazing. Special thanks to Tina Gephart, Julia Kent, Helena Hunting, Heather Lyons, Katana Collins, Penny Reid, EL James, Autumn Davis, Becca Mysoor, Katherine Stevens, April White, Elizabeth Hunter, Hilaria Alexander, Benita Botello, Tina Lynne, Fiona Fischer, the Modern Inklings, the Nerdy Little Book Herd authors, and so many others who offer a word of support, a laugh, or a kind gesture. Your friendship and encouragement have kept me afloat during a tough season.
Thank you to Jennifer Beach for being my incredible PA. I’m lucky to have you on my team. All the love for Christina Santos and Sarah Piechuta. Thank you for your friendship and keeping me sane. To KP and Emilie at Inkslinger, thank you for helping me navigate the ever-changing waters of Indie publishing and marketing. To Meire Dias at Bookcase Literary Agency, thank you for your unwavering faith in my writing.
To everyone in my Facebook reader group, Daisyland, thank you for hanging out with me and chatting about sloths, books, and life.
To all amazing the book bloggers and bookstagrammers, thank you for sharing your passion for reading. I am forever in awe over the time, energy and creativity you put into your reviews, blogs, and pictures. Thank you for your continued support for me and my books.
Finally, if you are reading this, thank you. There are millions of books in the world. Thank you for spending your time and money on mine. I’m blessed to be able to write and publish books as my career. I couldn’t continue to do what I love without you, and I’m forever grateful.
I love hearing from readers. Come find me on social media and say hi, or email me at daisyauthor@gmail.com.
Find me here:
Mailing list | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Website
Other Books by Daisy
Want a reading list?
Book List
Wingmen
Ready to Fall
Confessions of a Reformed Tom Cat
Anything but Love
Better Love
Small Town Scandal
Wingmen Babypalooza
The Last Wingman
Love with Altitude
Next to You
Crazy Over you
Wild for You
Up to You
Modern Love Stories
We Were Here (prequel to Geoducks)
Geoducks Are for Lovers
Wanderlust
Tinfoil Heart
Bewitched Series
Bewitched
Spellbound
Enchanted
Charmed
Wicked Society
Get Witch Quick
Someday my Witch Will Come
Four Witches and a Funeral
Stand Alones
Tinfoil Heart
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About Daisy
Daisy Prescott is a USA Today bestselling author of small town romantic comedies. Series include Modern Love Stories, Wingmen, Love with Altitude, as well as the Bewitched and Wicked Society series of magical novellas. Tinfoil Heart is a romantic comedy standalone set in Roswell, New Mexico.
Daisy currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with her husband, their rescue dog Mulder, and an indeterminate number of imaginary house goats. When not writing, she can be found in the garden, traveling to satiate her wanderlust, lost in a good book, or on social media, usually talking about books, bearded men, and sloths.
