Excerpt!
Just like that, Miranda announced her newly single status. Greer was on her feet and moving in an instant. One hand slapping the door to her office closed, the other took Miranda by the elbow before forcibly sitting her down in one of the two chairs in the room. Between the shock of being manhandled by Greer and the realization that, at last, the news had broken, Miranda found a split second to be relieved: Greer hadn’t pulled a grotesquely sorrowed face as she’d hauled Miranda to a seat; indeed, she’d looked fierce. Protective even as she perched herself on the edge of her desk. “What happened?”
Leaning forward, Greer interrupted her own question: “Are you okay? Do you need a hug? I’m told I’m an excellent hugger. Only you’ve never appeared…well, it doesn’t matter. Would you like one now?”
Biting her lower lip, Miranda shook her head politely. Damned if she wasn’t on the verge of laughter. The opposite reaction she’d expected to have in this long-imagined moment. Then again, she was speaking to Greer. “I’m okay. Thank you.”
“What happened?” Greer asked again.
Miranda glanced down at her fingers, the nails of one hand chipping at those of the other. Her voice was low but blunt: “He found someone else.”
Greer sucked in a breath, one hand going instinctively against her heart at the words. “Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry, sister.”
“It gets worse. He, ah, he married her.”
Out of her peripheral vision, Miranda watched Greer’s eyes bulge. “Wait. What? I’m confused.”
“Join the club.”
“How long ago did you and he break up?”
“Ah.” Miranda inclined her head in understanding. “Yeah. After the fact.”
“You mean, he married someone else while still dating you?”
Miranda let out a breath. “Yup.”
“And you weren’t a throuple?”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Definitely not. Nor were we in an open relationship, if you were going to ask that next.”
Greer looked ready to bite something. “What a dick.”
“Yeah.” Forcing her gaze to lift, to settle on Greer, Miranda gave the woman a tight look. “It’s rather…hard to talk about. For obvious reasons.”
“Lordy, ducks. I am so sorry.” At the words, Greer was off her desk and squatting down in front of Miranda. Reaching forward, she tipped Miranda’s chin up with her index finger. “Men are absolute beasts. Why do you think I’ve always gone for women?”
Miranda gave a watery chuckle.
Miranda Monroe’s world just imploded. Not only did she just get dumped by her long-time boyfriend, but she got dumped in the most humiliatingly painful way imaginable. Very suddenly single, homeless, and heartbroken, she runs to the only person she knows will always be there for her.
Sam Church. Her best friend (and the man she’d once secretly been madly in love with).
Which is how she finds herself, emotionally spent and financially crippled, somehow agreeing to his outrageous offer: that she move into his guest bedroom. Temporarily, of course. Just until she gets back on her feet.
There’s only one problem. In the midst of mending her shattered heart, in the process of trying to find herself again (just who is Miranda Monroe?), her thoughts keep getting distracted, wandering in the most confusing and forbidden of ways…just down the hall from her.
Which is ludicrous. The most commitment-phobic person she’s ever met, Sam is off-limits to Miranda for all kinds of reasons. But mostly, because he’s her best friend—and she loves him too much to lose him. So why, suddenly, can’t she seem to stop fantasizing about him? Why can’t she stop hoping for something more?
Author bio:
7 Fun Facts about Amber Laura:
1.If there’s creamer, I’m drinking coffee. And when I edit, there’s always creamer.
2.I do my best daydreaming on long car rides.
3.Some of my favorite stories came as follow-up answers to the question: “What if…?”
4.I’m the mother of a darling (if slightly overweight), 16-year-old cat. She’s kind of my mascot.
5.One of my favorite parts of writing is inventing new places—or traveling to spaces where I’ve not actually been. It’s magical and never disappointing.
6.Writing may be a solitary process, but then the characters always keep me company.
7.I’ve never quite figured out if I like to write by plot or the seat of my pants.
8.(Because I write, I don’t math.) When a scene isn’t coming together on a piece of writing, or a string of dialogue is falling flat, I like to close my eyes and picture the whole thing as though it were being acted out on a movie screen—and forty minutes later, I usually wake up!
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