A summer job at a lake-town resort brings together two women with an unlikely connection in this new contemporary romance by <USA Today< bestselling author Ashley Herring Blake.

April Evans&rsquo; life is in shambles. She&rsquo;s had to close her tattoo shop in Clover Lake and she&rsquo;s subletting her house to cover her mortgage. And her love life? Nonexistent ever since Elena, her ex-fianc&eacute;e, left her for a younger woman three years ago. When she is asked to teach a summer art class at the town&rsquo;s new resort called Cloverwild, April jumps at the opportunity, especially since the job comes with boarding. She&rsquo;s sure that this is the silver lining she needs . . . until she meets her cabinmate: Daphne Love, the woman who stole her ex-fianc&eacute;e. And even worse, it&rsquo;s clear Daphne has no idea who April is.

Daphne Love is cursed in, well, <love<. She thought she&rsquo;d found the unconditional love she craved in her girlfriend, Elena, but now she&rsquo;s single again and utterly brokenhearted. When her friend hooks her up with a summer gig as an art instructor at a swanky resort in New Hampshire, Daphne feels optimistic for once. If only she had a roommate and coworker who didn&rsquo;t seem to hate her on sight.

Their already-tense relationship gets even shakier when April and Daphne find themselves competing for a rare opportunity to showcase their art in a London museum. But slowly, barriers begin to fall, and an inexplicable allure keeps drawing them closer, leaving them to wonder if the perfect picture they&rsquo;re looking for can only be made with each other.

Autorentext

Ashley Herring Blake

Leseprobe
One

April Evans knew she was prone to astrological panic.

She'd always put a lot of stock in the stars, knew when some planet's position was messing with everyone's communication skills, and had three different zodiac-themed tattoos. Still, she'd like to think panic was the wrong word, despite what her parents would say about it. She was simply dealing with at least twenty complicated feelings at any given time, just like any triple Scorpio.

But right now, as she stood in her own driveway and handed her house keys over to a divorced MILF with shiny brown hair named Trudy while her two kids poked their fingers through the holes of April's cat carriers, April definitely felt a sense of astrological doom.

"So garbage day is on Monday," she said to Trudy, even though these sorts of details were posted on the refrigerator. "And if you have any trouble with that hallway bathroom faucet, just shoot me a text."

"Perfect," Trudy said, tucking the keys into her linen shorts. "I know the kids and I are going to love summering here. Your house is adorable. So eclectic!"

April smiled without her teeth, her eyes gazing up at her admittedly adorable mint-green bungalow. She'd bought it nearly eight years ago, the first year her tattoo shop made a profit, and now she was a landlord, renting it out to a Clover Lake summer person for the next three months because she could no longer afford her mortgage.

She looked at her houseplants on the front porch, which Trudy had promised to water, but had a sinking feeling in her gut they'd all be dried out and brown by August.

Just like her life.

Okay, fine, that was dramatic, but in her defense, her horoscope for the last month had been nothing but darkness and gloom, words like change and risk and decisions constantly floating before her eyes. She shivered, thinking of Madame Andromeda's declaration about her life just this very morning.

Lately, you've been feeling small and overlooked. As a Scorpio, this is unfamiliar territory. So this week, try to view challenges as bright new opportunities to grow-there is always something beautiful hiding in the unexpected.

She was fucking tired of unexpected. And while she was a devout believer in Andromeda's clairvoyant insights, this proclamation was simply a sugarcoated way of saying, Buckle up, bitch.

And she'd really, really rather not.

"Mommy, can't we keep the kitties?" one of Trudy's kids asked. The smaller one-named Coltrane or Copeland or something else that sounded like a jazz musician's last name-pressed their face against the carrier's door. Bianca del Kitty, April's grouchy lynx point Siamese cat she'd had for seven years and who was named for one of April's favorite drag queens, hissed, while Bob the Drag Cat, her beloved orange dumb-dumb and the namesake of another incredible queen, lounged in his own carrier like he was at a spa.

"I don't think so, honey," Trudy said, but then lifted her eyebrows at April. "Any chance you need a couple of cat sitters for the summer?" She placed a hand on top of each of her children's heads. "They'd take good care of them."

April pressed a hand to her chest, appalled. This woman had taken her house-granted, April had freely offered it to her-but she would not take her fucking cats.

They were literally all she had at this point.

Two cats, one broken-down business, and a partridge in a pear tree.

In reality, she knew she had a lot more than that, like disapproving parents and a failed engagement and a best friend who lived three thousand miles away and hadn't responded to her last four texts. And let's not forget a love life that made her want to drill a hole through her skull. Add uncertain financial future to the list, and she was a veritable cornucopia of success.

"I'm good, thanks," she said as calmly as she could, then said a quick goodbye before she could add victim of catnapping to her list of accolades. She grabbed both carrier handles and hauled them to her ten-year-old turquoise MINI Cooper, which was already stuffed to overflowing. She didn't look at her house as she backed out of the driveway, nor did she mentally acknowledge the lump rising in her throat. And she definitely didn't glance at Wonderlust Ink as she drove through downtown, her tattoo, which that she'd only just closed four weeks ago.

Permanently.

She'd been fighting against the decision for over a year. Just six months ago, she'd let Mac go-her only employee, who was now working at a fancy shop in Concord-but that had hardly fixed April's financial woes. A small town like Clover Lake had only so many regular clients, and the summer crowd was no longer keeping her in the black. She'd lived in the red for the last two years, but when she started struggling to pay for high-quality ink and other crucial supplies, she knew it was time to throw in the proverbial towel.

So, about a month ago, she'd referred her regulars to Mac, flipped the sign to Closed on her shop door, and proceeded to spend the next week on her couch eating jalapeño Cheetos and trying to will Paris and Rory from Gilmore Girls to kiss.

Needless to say, they never smashed, and April had to face the reality of her situation, which was how she ended up renting out her home, packing her bags for the summer, and taking a job teaching art classes at Cloverwild, the ritzy new resort opening in just a few days on the north shore. The position came with room and board-a tiny lakeside cabin complete with a cabinmate-and the owner, Mia Gallagher, had asked absolutely zero questions about April's suddenly wide-open summer schedule and need for housing when she'd applied.

April hadn't exactly told anyone about closing her business. Not her parents; not her best friend, Ramona. Only Bianca and Bob knew her secrets, and they weren't talking. In Clover Lake, it was only a matter of time before the news broke, but she'd like to maintain her dignity as long as possible.

She pulled into a parking spot in front of Clover Moon Café, then stepped out into the warm June sunshine. The New Hampshire weather wouldn't get truly hot until July, so she cracked the windows, p…