Truly
By:
Ruthie Knox
Releasing August 5th, 2014
Loveswept
RITA finalist and New York
Times bestselling author Ruthie Knox kicks off a steamy new series set in
the city that never sleeps—alone, at least.
May
Fredericks hates New York. Which is fair enough, since New York seems to hate
her back. After relocating to Manhattan from the Midwest to be with her
long-distance boyfriend, NFL quarterback Thor Einarsson, May receives the
world’s worst marriage proposal, stabs the jerk with a shrimp fork, and storms
off alone—only to get mugged. Now she’s got no phone, no cash, and no friends.
How’s a nice girl supposed to get back to safe, sensible Wisconsin?
Frankly,
Ben Hausman couldn’t care less. Sure, it’s not every day he meets a genuine,
down-to-earth woman like May—especially in a dive in the Village—but he’s
recovering from an ugly divorce that cost him his restaurant. He wants to be
left alone to start over and become a better man. Then again, playing the white
knight to May’s sexy damsel in distress would be an excellent place to start—if
only he can give her one very good reason to love New York.
(from
Chapter One)
She wanted a
magical unicorn to arrive, nicker at her with gentle understanding, and fly her
to her family’s cabin in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, where she could take
the rest of Labor Day weekend off from reality.
Too bad
there were no magical unicorns in sight. Only the bartender, whose gaze she was
assiduously avoiding.
And this
guy.
This guy
with the book and the elbow and the face that said Don’t even fucking think about
it.
The trouble
was, it was difficult to know what to look at when you couldn’t look at the guy
or the bartender, and you’d already been sitting at the bar for two hours.
She’d had plenty of time already to take in the tiered rows of liquor bottles
and the decorations—the novelty cheese-wedge Christmas lights strung along the
ceiling, the pristine gold and green holmgren way street
sign, the placard that advertised the availability of Old Fashioneds made with
real Door County cherries.
She’d read
an article about this bar, back before she moved. Pulvermacher’s had a colorful
history as a Beat-scene watering hole, but these days it made its money on New
York’s Wisconsin exiles. Packers fans gathered in Greenwich Village on game
days to drink beer and yell at the television in the company of dozens of other
people who cared as much as they did about the fate of Titletown’s team.
May’s kind
of bar, and May’s kind of people.
She hadn’t
come here on purpose—she’d never even been here before. She’d just been walking
aimlessly, head down, mind spinning. She’d been thinking, You have to come up with a plan. But
no plan had occurred to her. She’d wandered into the Village and was thinking
about sitting down in the little slice of public park she’d spotted, when she
saw the awning over the basement bar’s entrance.
Pulvermacher’s.
She’d
recognized the name, and her feet had stopped moving of their own accord. The
line had nudged at her heels, urging her inside.
It had
seemed possible two hours ago, when she slid her last five bucks across the
bar, that she would meet some nice Wisconsin person—some woman named Pat who
was built like a tank and knew how to make football dip with two cans of
Hormel, a package of Philly’s, and some sliced Muenster. Or a Steve from
Oconomowoc who hunted elk just like her dad. May and her new friends would
exchange names, origins, stories. Imaginary Pat or Imaginary Steve would buy
her a beer, and she would carefully glide the conversation on lubricated
alcohol wheels in the direction of what had happened to her.
Here, hon, Imaginary Steve would say, use my phone to
call your folks.
Imaginary
Pat would clap her on the shoulder. You’ve had a run of bad luck. If you want, you can sleep in
my guest bed tonight. We’ll get you squared away and off to the airport
tomorrow.
It was a
fantasy—she knew that. Her mom always said May couldn’t tell the difference
between fantasy and reality, but of course she could. Fantasy was what had convinced her to move here and had
pulled her into this bar. It was the voice in her head that told her, Dan’s the one. You’re going to love New York.
Pulvermacher’s is going
to rescue you from yourself.
Reality was
the thing that was always letting her down.
Author
Info
New York Times bestselling author Ruthie
Knox writes contemporary romance that’s sexy, witty, and angsty—sometimes all
three at once. Her debut novel, Ride with
Me, is probably the only existing cross-country bicycling love story. She
followed it up with About Last Night,
a London-based romance whose hero has the unlikely name of Neville, and then
Room at the Inn, a Christmas novella—both of which were finalists for the
Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award.
Her
four-book series about the Clark family of Camelot, Ohio, has won accolades for
its fresh, funny portrayal of small-town Midwestern life. Ruthie also writes
New Adult romance as Robin York. She moonlights as a mother, Tweets
incessantly, and bakes a mean focaccia. She’d love to hear from you, so visit
her website and drop her a line.
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