Nothing could take the edge off of the way Jack was reacting to Zooey.
Just as he’d been afraid it wouldn’t.
He’d kept himself away from the house, from her, for most of the past ten days and it still didn’t negate or even blunt the attraction he felt toward her. If anything, it sharpened it. Zooey intrigued him, she amused him, she attracted him.
Any way he sliced it, Jack felt doomed.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it because he needed a nanny and the kids were wild about her. She seemed to be the only one who could keep them from being wild, period.
Doomed. Yep, that was about the size of it.
Dear Reader,
I always wanted to live on a cul-de-sac. I grew up in a New York apartment building where the tenants mostly kept to themselves and eye contact was only made on those occasions when you were stuck on an elevator together, something that happened with a fair amount of frequency. When I moved to the opposite coast, I discovered a friendlier breed of people (constant sun tends to mellow you out). And I wound up moving to a cul-de-sac when I got married. Sadly, I live on a block with nice, friendly, but definitely non-dramatic people. They’re nothing like the residents of Danbury Way, the stars of TALK OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD. A tantalizing potpourri of people can be found here. My two happen to be a harried single dad of two, who behave more like an army of five hundred, and a young woman who is trying to find her true niche in life. On the surface, Zooey and Jack find one another rather quickly, but it takes a while for their souls to make the same discovery—and turn it into a lasting one.
Come, take a peek, and watch them fall in love. It’s worth the wait.
As always, I wish you love,
Marie Ferrarella
Mother in Training
Marie Ferrarella
MARIE FERRARELLA
This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award–winning author has written over 150 books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.
To
Patience Smith,
the kind keeper
of my sanity.
Thank You
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
January
The short, squat man moved his considerable bulk between her and the front door, blocking her line of vision. The look on his round, florid face fairly shouted of exasperation.
“You know how a watched pot don’t boil?” he asked her. “Well, a watched door don’t open, neither. So stop watching the door and start doing somethin’ to earn the money I’m paying you, Zoo-ie.”
Zooey Finnegan grimaced inside. Milo Hanes, the owner of the small Upstate New York coffee shop where she currently clocked in each morning in order to draw a paycheck, seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure mispronouncing her name.
Most likely, she thought cynically, it was a holdover from his days as the schoolyard bully.
That was okay, she consoled herself. It wasn’t as if waitressing at the coffee shop was her life’s ambition. She was just passing through. Just as she’d passed through a handful of other jobs, trying them on for size, searching for something that would arouse a passion within her, or at least awaken some heretofore dormant potential.
Her parents had been certain that her life’s passion would be the family furniture business. As the firstborn, she’d been groomed for that ever since she was old enough to clutch a briefcase. They and her uncle Andrew had sent her off to college to get a business degree, and after that, an MBA.
The only problem was, Zooey had no desire to acquire a degree—not in business, at any rate.
Her family had made their money designing and selling stylish, affordable furniture. What had once been a small, single-store operation had branched out over the years to include several outlets, both in state and out. Proud as she was of their accomplishments, Zooey couldn’t picture herself as a company executive, or a buyer for the firm, or even a salesperson in one of their seven showrooms. As far as she was concerned, Finnegan’s Fine Furniture was going to have to remain fine without her.
She loved her parents, but she refused to be browbeaten by them into living a life of not-so-quiet desperation. Stating as much had led to “discussions,” which led to arguments that indirectly resulted in her breaking up with Connor Taylor. Her parents felt he was the perfect man for her, being two years older and dedicated to business. What he was perfect for, it turned out, was the company. He’d upbraided Zooey when she’d told him her plans, saying she was crazy to walk away from such a future.
That was when she’d realized Connor was in their relationship strictly for the money, not out of any all-consuming love for her. If it had been the latter, she’d informed him, he would have been willing to hike into the forests of Oregon and subsist on berries and grubs with her. Declaring that she wanted to be mistress of her own destiny, she’d had a huge fight with everyone involved—her parents, her uncle and Connor. When her parents threatened to cut off her funds, she’d done them one better. She’d cut them off and left to find her own way in the world.
So far, her “way” had led her to take up dog walking, to endure a very short stint as a courier, and now waitressing. None of the above proved to be very satisfying or fulfilling. As a dog walker, she’d managed to lose one of her charges. As a courier she’d gotten lost three times in two days, and her first week’s pay as a waitress went to repay Milo for several cups and saucers she’d broken when she’d accidentally tilted her tray.
A lesser woman might have given up and gone home, but Zooey had her pride—and very little else. Cut off from the family and the family money, she was running out of options as well as cash. The rent on her closetlike apartment was due soon, and as of right now, she was still more than a hundred dollars short.
She supposed she should have been worried, but she wasn’t. Zooey was, first and foremost, a diehard, almost terminal, optimist. She refused to be beaten down by circumstances, or a scowling boss who could have doubled as a troll in one of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.
Something would come along, she promised herself. After all, she just didn’t have the complexion to be a homeless person.
In the meantime, she still had a job, she reminded herself.
Offering Milo a spasmodic smile, she went back to mechanically filling the sugar containers on each of the small tables and booths scattered throughout the coffee shop. As she worked, Zooey tried not to look toward the door. Or at least, not to appear as if she was looking toward the door.
He