Love and Espresso
(A Limited Edition Contemporary Romance Anthology)
This collection features meet-cutes that take place in a bookstore/coffee shop. The heroines are looking for their HEA but never expected it to happen while picking up a cup of coffee or picking out their next book boyfriend.
Includes a new Atlas Beach story, from PG Forte: Giada Mazzi is Living her Best Life.
Blurb:
"Life is more than just the lies we try and tell ourselves about what we’ve done and who we are.
I guess the truth is that I never stopped loving Ben. And I never stopped imagining how different my life might have been if he were only the person I needed him to be, instead of the person that he is. Which is silly, right? I mean, truly; it’s laughable. Because if he were someone else, he wouldn’t be him. And the world is already full of people like that. What good is one more gonna do me?
Besides, if I’m honest, Ben wasn’t ever the problem. That was me. I was never the person he believed me to be. Oh, I thought I was, in the beginning. I tried hard to be, and that worked for a while. Sort of. But eventually I reached the point where I had to make a choice between living life for myself, or for everyone else.
And when it came right down to that…how could I not choose me?"
I used to think that the reason I loved autumn so much was because it coincided with the start of the school year, but—
No, seriously; I mean it. Hear me out. That’s not as crazy as it sounds.
Every year, like clockwork, as soon as September rolled around, my foolish heart would begin to beat faster, my stupid hopes would start to rise. And my idiotic inner voice would stubbornly insist that this year—this year, for real—things would be different, things would get better.
And then, of course, I’d walk into class and that was never the case. There were no do-overs, no new opportunities, no fresh starts, no second or third or fourth chances to be had. Which, of course, there wouldn’t be!
I lived in a small town. Still do, for that matter. I went to a small, parochial school. My world was, and is, vanishingly small. And nothing’s ever going to change that fact unless I move away, which I don’t plan on doing.
At least, there was always shopping. That was fun…in theory. New clothes, new books, new school supplies—I was there for it! Even when the clothes were wrong, and I didn’t like the way any of them looked or felt on my body. Even though I was never allowed to pierce my ears and was forced to keep my hair unflatteringly short. Even when the looseleaf binders or backpacks that I fell in love with caused the adults in my life to side-eye me and second-guess my choices.
“Are you sure that’s the one you want? That one, really?” I swear, every year I’d have to field the exact same questions. “You can’t possibly like that? Wouldn’t you much rather have one like this instead?”
You’d think they’d learn. But “no, thank you,” I’d have to explain over and over again. To no effect, I might add. “No, I would not rather.”
I’m not saying that their ideas were bad, per se. Primary colors, space exploration, dinosaurs, construction vehicles—those are all very solid choices. For someone else. For someone like Ben (my childhood best friend, who’d’ve loved any of those) they’d have been perfect.
But none of those things ever spoke to me—the me that I always was inside. At least not in the way that mermaids and unicorns and glitter-covered kittens did.
And yeah, okay. I get it. I know what you’re thinking. That I’m as caught up in gender stereotypes as anyone else. And yes, I suppose that’s true. I also know (oh boy, do I) that there are people out there, including an author whose books I grew up reading and used to love, who believe that I’m the one with the reality problem. That I’m the one in denial about my true nature; the one who doesn’t know her own heart, mind, and soul. They think they know who I am better than I do.
And all I have to say about that is, walk a mile in my shoes, biatch. Or better yet, buy me a pair—Jimmies, Manolos, Christians—any of those will do just fine. Double up if you’re not sure; I wouldn’t say no to two pairs, or even three. Your ass can afford ’em and mine never will. Not on my salary. And not to mention that HRT is forever, and it doesn’t come cheap.
But I can see that we’ve gotten off track. Suffice it to say that Autumn rocks and bigots do not.
