Situationship, p.1
Situationship, page 1
Praise for Marina Adair
“With a beautifully layered plot, a unique
cast of characters, laughter, and tears . . .
Marina Adair just keeps getting better!”
—Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author on RomeAntically Challenged
“Marina Adair’s books always make me sigh
with happiness. She writes warm, funny, wonderful
stories about lovable characters in genuine
situations. I can’t wait for every new release!”
—RaeAnne Thayne, New York Times bestselling author
“Marina Adair is a breath of fresh air. Her delicious
characters come alive on the page to steal our hearts
and warm our souls, and her stories are the stuff
we dream about when we close our eyes at night.
Don’t miss a word from this magnificent author!”
—Darynda Jones, New York Times bestselling author
“Complex family relationships ground Adair’s second
When in Rome romance, which manages to be lighthearted
and humorous without sacrificing depth of feeling....
Adair masterfully balances their cute developing
relationship with their stressful professional and personal
lives. The result is a sweet, satisfying romance.”
—Publishers Weekly on Hopeless Romantic
“If Marina Adair is not on your literary radar,
she needs to be . . . insightful and witty, steamy,
and hilarious. It has it all. RomeAntically Challenged
will be your next guilty pleasure.”
—Fresh Fiction on RomeAntically Challenged
“These convincing and sympathetic characters
make this a pleasurable read.”
—Journal Inquirer
“Adair skillfully blends spicy romance with humor and
tenderness. The resolution is both satisfying and charming,
with the characters earning their happiness together.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review) on A Taste of Sugar
“An adorable, fun, new contemporary series . . . delightful.”
—Library Journal on RomeAntically Challenged
“Sweet and sensitive, Hopeless Romantic is a
funny romance that gently manages heavy issues....
In this charming, quirky romance, two people
who have spent their lives caring for their families
finally try to find love for themselves.”
—Shelf Awareness
BOOKS BY MARINA ADAIR
Romcom Novels
Situationship
RomeAntically Challenged
Hopeless Romantic
Romance on Tap (novella)
Sweet Plains, Texas series
Tucker’s Crossing
Blame It on the Mistletoe (novella)
Nashville Heights series
Promise Me You
Sequoia Lake series
It Started with a Kiss
Every Little Kiss
The Eastons
Chasing I Do
Definitely Maybe Dating
Summer Affair
Single Girl in the City
Four Dates and a Forever
Heroes of St. Helena series
Need You for Keeps
Need You for Always
Need You for Mine
St. Helena Vineyard series
Kissing Under the Mistletoe
Summer in Napa
Autumn in the Vineyard
Be Mine Forever
From the Moment We Met
Sugar, Georgia series
Sugar’s Twice as Sweet
Sugar on Top
A Taste of Sugar
Situationship
MARINA ADAIR
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Praise
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
Teaser chapter
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2022 by The Adair Group
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
The K with book logo Reg US Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2771-8 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2768-8
To Hannah Jayne,
the Sofia to my Dorothy
Thank you for being a friend.
Travel down the road and back again.
Your heart is true, you’re a pal and a confidant.
And if you threw a party,
invited everyone you knew.
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
and the card attached would say,
thank you for being a friend.
—Andrew Gold
Dear Reader,
It’s been a while since I’ve written a little girl in my books, mainly because it’s been a while since I’ve had a little girl. Over the years, I’ve had the honor and privilege to watch my daughter grow up, graduate from high school, and go off to college to begin her next chapter. After all, that’s the role of a mom, right? To prepare our kids to leave the nest. Lately, my nest has started to feel a little empty.
I know the appropriate thing for a mom to say is that the present age of their kid is her favorite age. But in all honesty, my favorite age is between four and five. Old enough to manage potty time by themselves but still young enough to curl up in your arms while you read them a bedtime story.
I was looking over family photos when I had my aha moment. What’s better than one tiny tyke? Two. Just like that, Lily and Poppy were born. Two halves to represent the fearless four-year-old juxtaposed by quiet spirit, both inspired by the memories and photographs (a lot of photographs) of my daughter during that precious time in her life.
While I can’t go back in time, I did use some fun antics and warm memories from my daughter and my fun adventures. I hope you love Teagan and Colin’s story as much as I loved writing their journey. Most of all, I hope you get a tiny taste of just how lucky I was to be a part of my daughter’s life.
Warmly,
Marina Adair
Chapter 1
If life gives you lemons, it’s only fair that a
guy with vodka isn’t far behind.
—Unknown
Teagan Bianchi was at the crossroads of Forgiveness and Letting Go when her GPS crapped out—a problem of living life on autopilot for too long. In the past she would have relied on her intuition. But intuition was one finicky prick.
“Are we there yet?” a tiny voice asked from the back seat. It was the fifth time since their last potty stop. One of thousands on their trip from Seattle to California.
Teagan always encouraged curiosity in her daughters, so it wasn’t the question that bothered her. It was the feelings it evoked. It made her feel like a fraud. Even worse, a failure.
“What does your tablet say?” she asked Poppy, her elder daughter by seven minutes. After thirty-three weeks of sharing thirty-six centimeters, the twins had come out of the womb inseparable.
“Da blue dot is by da red dot,” Poppy said, her Ts sounding more like Ds.
“What number does it show?” She glanced over her shoulder at her daughter, and all four years of her smiled back, filling Teagan with a sense of purpose. With the disillusionment of her marriage in the rearview mirror, she was moving away from her immediate past and toward a happier and simpler time.
“Five,” she said, holding up the coordinating number of fingers. “One, two, fwee. Four. Five.”
“That’s right. Good job,” she said, and a bark of agreement came from the back seat as a wet nose nudged her shoulder.
Their horse-sized puppy, who’d broken free from his crate—with help from his two partners in crime—wedged his head between the two front seats.
“
Garbage Disposal barked excitedly at the mention of his name, then took a flying leap, and 120 pounds of dog landed on the passenger seat with a thud. Teagan leaned right, pressing herself against the window to avoid being smacked in the face by a wagging tire iron.
“You want me to pull over and put you in the cage?” she threatened but he panted happily and stuck his head out the open window so he could drool on the cars behind them. Part Portuguese water dog and part Great Dane, Garbage Disposal looked like a buffalo with four left feet fathered by Mr. Snuffleupagus. While he more than lived up to his name, he had a heart the size of his stomach.
Teagan pulled through the quaint downtown, noticing gas-lamped streets, brick sidewalks, and awninged storefronts, then turned down Lighthouse Way, where the landscape opened, revealing the crystal blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. Coiling with intensity, the waves gathered speed before crashing against the cliffs ahead. On her left sat rolling hills dotted with cypress trees and rows of bright-colored Victorians. To her right was the road to fresh starts, childhood memories . . . and heartache.
It was the last part that had panic knotting in her chest and activating her internal countdown. She was one, two, fwee, four minutes away from the place she’d called home for most of her childhood—well, the happy parts anyway.
Pacific Cove was a sleepy beach town nestled between Monterey and Carmel. Settled by Episcopalians, it was a sea of steeples on a stunning horizon. It was later home to many military families during World War II, thanks to its location close to three military bases: Army, Navy, and Coast Guard. Teagan’s grandmother had been one of those Navy wives whose last missive from her husband had been a Just in Case letter with his wedding ring enclosed.
Grandma Rose had reinvented herself in this very town, and Teagan could too. Or at least that was the hope.
“Are we there yet?”
At a stop sign, Teagan turned back around to look at Poppy. “You just asked that question.”
“Lily wants to know. You said we’d be there at fwee-oh-oh. And it’s four-oh-oh.” Hushed negotiations ensued. “Lily say that four comes after fwee.”
Teagan’s ETA hadn’t accounted for the wind drag of towing a twelve-foot trailer or the volume of potty breaks. “We’re about four minutes out from Nonna’s.” Even though Nonna had passed and willed the beach cottage to Teagan, she always thought of it as Nonna Rose’s house.
“We’re about four minutes out from Nonna’s.” Word for word, Poppy repeated their ETA to Lily and then, doing their twin thing, her too-big-to-be-toddlers and too-small-to-be-schoolkids had a complete conversation without saying a word. “She’s gotta go number one.”
Better than number two. “Sweetie, can you hold it for just another few minutes?”
Lily, who was having a silent conversation with the tops of her shoes, shook her head, then gave a thumbs-down to her sister.
“She said no,” Poppy translated, and Garbage Disposal barked in solidarity.
Teagan had known that last juice box was a bad idea. Almost as bad as adopting a rescue puppy three months before moving two states away. A clumsy, untrained, former outside dog who loved to be inside and eat Teagan’s shoes, handbag, tampons—the list went on.
“Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking for.”
After an intense exchange of looks, Poppy said, “Fwee works but not four.”
Teagan gunned it. She knew better than to tempt fate. Especially when Lily’s Go Time was about as accurate as a nuclear countdown clock. T-minus fwee was Go Time—toilet optional.
She blew through the stop sign and took a hard right onto Seashell Circle. An ocean-soaked breeze filled the car—reducing the stench from Lily’s bout of car sickness, which had kicked in her twin’s sympathetic reflex.
Winding her way down the hill, she made the final turn into her old neighborhood and a sense of rightness, a sense of home, swept through her body. Because there it was, the purple and white Victorian where she’d spent the first half of her life making memories.
They’d arrived, intact, if not a little wrinkled around the edges, to begin their fresh start, leaving behind a history of pain and disappointment.
Complete with clapboard siding, massive stained-glass windows, and widow’s walk, Nonna Rose’s house—now Teagan’s house—butted up to pristine beach, which was shared by the neighbors on Seashell Circle. At one time, this house had meant everything to her but as she pulled up to the empty drive, she was reminded that Nonna was gone, and Teagan’s earlier excitement was painted with a coat of sorrow.
Another thing she intended to change.
With nine seconds to spare, Teagan pulled into the drive and pushed the button to open the side door. Her daughters freed themselves from their boosters and a flurry of arms and legs exploded out of the car. Garbage Disposal sailed through the window as if it was a fence and he was a thoroughbred at the Royal Cup.
Lily ran behind the big magnolia tree in the front yard, lifted her sundress, and squatted—a recently acquired skill. Adhering to the where one goes, the other follows philosophy, Poppy did the potty-squat even though she didn’t have to go. Garbage Disposal barked and ran circles around them.
Teagan dropped her head against the steering wheel, accidentally honking the horn and dislodging a cheesy poof from her hair. Yup, that pretty much summed up the past year.
She looked at the dog hair stuck to every surface, including but not limited to the passenger seat, the dash, and interior roof of the car. Then there were the grape juice stains on her armrest and clothes.
“Why couldn’t you have packed lemonade?” That was the one chore she’d left for the morning: packing the kids’ snack bags. Somehow in her exhaustion, she’d packed cheesy poofs and grape juice. It was almost as if karma was doing it on purpose.
She thunked her head to the wheel again, wondering about her next move.
“Careful, you might knock something loose.” The voice startled her—in more ways than one.
She must be hearing things. Her sleep-free, peace-free, caffeine-free state was to blame. Surely when she looked up, no one would be standing outside the window smiling. The voice definitely had a smile to it. And brought a feeling of nostalgia that had her heart racing.
Don’t stroke out.
Teagan closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. Hard to do when she smelled like vomit and looked like roadkill.
With the bright smile of someone in control of their world, she looked up and—yup. She was definitely hallucinating. Because standing outside her window was a blast from her past, who did not look like roadkill. No, her unexpected visitor looked cool, calm, and incredibly handsome.
How was it she’d forgotten his family owned the vacation house next door to Nonna Rose? And how was it that the first time she’d seen him since her divorce she looked as if a convenience store bomb had gone off around her?
Colin West, in nothing but bare feet, wet jeans, and bare chest, still damp from washing his truck, looked like the sexy-dad-next-door.
He twirled his hand in the universal gesture for roll down the window and, even though her heart wasn’t in it—it was lodged in her throat—she complied.
“Excuse that.” Teagan looked at her daughters racing around the yard with their sundresses repurposed into superhero capes, leaving them naked. “I’m sorry, they’re . . . it’s been a day.”
“Been there.”
At the foreign voice, Garbage Disposal’s head poked out from beneath a shrub. Covered in leaves, with one ear flopping topsy-turvy, he chewed on a garden hose—the neighbor’s garden hose.
“Um, I think my dog . . .” Oh boy.
Garbage Disposal lurched. Hard and fast, galloping across the lawn in record time with all the grace of a flamingo in a snowbank. He was infamous for licking toes, knocking spill-able things off tabletops with his tail, and knowing the precise latitude and longitude to give the ultimate doggie-high-fives to the crotch.
