Love At First Sight

By K.S. Thomas

A first impressions collection featuring sixteen first chapters from various K.S. Thomas novels.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.S. Thomas
• Release date: Feb 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393496380

K.S. Thomas

Originally born and raised in Bremen, Germany, I currently reside in sunny Florida with my teenage daughter, our coyote, a three-legged roo, and a tamed wolf (AKA, our dogs). I like to think we have a bit of a Gilmore Girls thing going, except my kid is obsessed with dance not books, and I’m (much to my increasing disappointment) appropriately aged to have a teenager.    I love coffee and yoga and the ocean and cooking and asking 'none of my business' questions whenever possible. While I spent my childhood certain I could be a Disney princess, sitting here, surrounded by my crystals, smudge sticks and tarot cards, eager to get out to my garden and walk on the earth in my bare feet and chat with the lizards about not eating my plants, I’m pretty sure I grew up to be the witch. The good sort. And, obviously, I write romance novels. That is, after all, what brought us together. Our love for...well, love. And who can blame us? Love has the power to bring out the best and the worst in us. It can make us strong or be our greatest weakness. It can make us move mountains or make us do some of the dumbest shit in the history of dumb shit. In short, love is entertaining as hell.

Book preview

A CINDERELLA TWIST

GREER

I’m borrowing your half and half! I call out as I burst into the apartment across the hall from mine and make a beeline for the fridge. I moved past the knocking and asking phase about three weeks after Chase and Abbas moved in. And that was seven years ago.

I don’t care if you keep it, as long as you stop shouting, a furious hiss returns just as I swing the refrigerator door back into place.

My back is to the living room, and whatever angry demon I accidentally summoned here on my quest for creamer this morning. I’m sorry, I whisper, hands moving up in surrender, the right gripping the carton of half and half tight. Just in case I need to use it as a weapon at some point.

What are you doing? the demon’s hiss sounds more human now, and less angry.

Trying to save my soul and still have my morning coffee, I answer, slowly venturing a look over my shoulder. Or are you a burglar? Is that why I can’t make noise? Are you worried my being loud will wake someone and get you caught? Because if you are, I should tell you, you’re wasting your time in this apartment. 6B two flights up has much better shit and the two dudes who live there are already at work this time of morning. Even on a Sunday. I turn all the way around to ease the kink starting in my neck from staring at him over my shoulder. Also, a bomb could go off here on a weekend morning, no one in this apartment would wake up. It’s why I don’t waste time at the door with formalities. And I only even announced my intentions to borrow half and half for principal sake. In case someone asks down the road. I ramble when I’m nervous. And my judgement sucks before coffee. I can see where the combination has potential here to get me killed to shut me up or set me free just to make me go away.

Meanwhile, the only response I get from my rant is a frown and a frazzled but clearly frustrated, What?

I lower my hands, doing away with all signs of surrender. Now that I’m looking at him, he doesn’t seem so demon-like. Nor does he appear to be mid-thieving this place. Given he’s wearing nothing but a towel, he’s not exactly dressed for it. Also, he’s wearing nothing but a towel. It’s worth the repeat. It’s also worth mentioning that between the endless muscles and flawless skin, no amount of coffee is going to help me focus today after the sight of him. I’m sorry, who are you?

I should be asking you that, he points out, tension returning to his voice. It’s deep and gravelly, and definitely lent itself well to the demon theory, though, admittedly sounds sexier now that it’s paired with a half-naked hot guy with wet, slicked back, blond hair long enough to reach the nape of his neck, the perfect amount of stubble to qualify as rugged (or maybe it’s just the strong jawline and full lips that make the lack of shaving work so well) and piercing blue eyes that make you miss the ocean just looking at them. "You’re the one busting in on me, not the other way around."

Yeah, I concede to this obvious truth, but I know for a fact you don’t live here, so I’m not so sure you’re really more entitled to have your question answered than I am.

He sighs and with the exhale his defenses fall away. Greer?

Kind of veering back toward my demon theory now. How do you know my name?

Because I told him our neighbors Talks-a-lot-Greer and Steals-your-food-deliveries-Mallory would probably pass through our kitchen sooner rather than later, Chase answers, scratching the back of his head as he does his half-awake shuffle out of the bedroom and into the main living area.

"Actually, you called her Talks-a-lot-of-crazy-Greer," the dude corrects. Apparently, not a demon after all. Just a stickler for details with a good memory and solid observation skills.

I mean, that’s hurtful, I point out, eyes wide, in a painfully honest sort of way.

Yeah, I’m not awake enough yet to pretend to care about your fake hurt feelings, Greer, Chase mutters, coming to a stop at the center of the living room and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. I notice his eyes aren’t so much directed at me while he’s talking as they are at my hands. Can I assume based on my creamer in your hand that you have coffee made already at your place?

You should assume I have coffee made period. Though, I forgot for a moment there. Things get tricky when you assume that I will share. I take a poignant step backwards toward the door. With you.

You’re seriously going to take the man’s half and half and not give him coffee? The other dude. The half-naked dude. The not-a-demon dude. The apparently-not-robbing-the place, dude. The -

I need a name, I announce loudly, interrupting my own train of inner crazy and startling them both.

Can you please stop with the shouting?! The angry hissing returns, but I don’t have time to respond beyond shooting him a dirty look. I’m far more interested in what Chase has to say. He’s the one I’m counting on for answers here.

Only Chase looks more clueless than he did two days ago when I woke him up at four a.m. to ask him if the box of Cocoa Krispies I found in his pantry was still good. It wasn’t. Cereal was stale as hell. A name for what?

A name for the half-naked man in your apartment who’s been hassling me since I strolled in here to grab my half and half, I state what I deem to be quite obvious.

"I’m sorry, your half and half?" The other dude. Again. With the stickling and observing.

Possession is nine-tenths of the law, buddy, I quip, darting my eyes briefly in his direction before I zero in on Chase again.

He’s grinning now. Oh, right. For a second there, I forgot you two haven’t met. He shrugs, still clearly amused by something. Just, the way you two are going at it, kind of felt like you already knew each other. He chuckles and starts walking again, making our little triangle standoff smaller with each step he takes. Greer, this is Lachlan. My brother. Lachlan, you obviously already know, but this is Greer, my talks-a-lot-of-crazy, neighbor. He clasps his hands together and nods, giving me a satisfied smirk. Feel better now?

Yes. No. I don’t. That answered nothing. In fact, I now have more questions than I did before. But, repeatedly being referred to as the girl who talks a lot of crazy is curbing my enthusiasm for pursuing my curiosities. At least while Lachlan is present. Lachlan. He looks like a Lachlan. He does not look like he’s Chase’s brother. Or distant cousin. Or shares any DNA with him, period.

Feel appeased enough to share your coffee? Lachlan asks. His tone is still awfully stern for someone asking me for my morning brew.

Not with you, I snip. Also, what is your noise sensitivity issue? Am I going to be told to shush every time I come over? Because I’m not going to be fond of that and it will absolutely cut into my willingness to share coffee with anyone residing in this unit.

Is it going to cut into your willingness to help yourself to things from my fridge? Chase asks, still smirking.

I scoff, too appalled to form words.

Then, the silence I leave in my state of mock shock is filled by yet another voice. A much, much smaller one. And it utters a word I haven’t heard spoken inside this apartment since Abbas dated Weird Kayla.

Daddy?

Yeah. That’s what made her weird.

Lachlan’s expression changes in an instant when he responds. Coming. Then he glares at me and adds, "I don’t have a noise sensitivity issue. I did have a sleeping child," before rushing past Chase toward the hall leading to the other two bedrooms.

What. Is. Happening? I squeal whisper at Chase as soon as Lachlan is out of sight. "You have a brother? And you’re an uncle? Do I even know you?"

Calm down. Even as he’s saying it, he’s moving again, hands reaching for my hips and turning me around to usher me from the apartment. Coffee first. Talking second.

Seems like the responsible course of action here. So, I nod and let him lead me across the hall and into my own place. As soon as we’re inside, I yell, Mal! Chase has a smokin’ hot secret brother who happens to be someone’s baby daddy and he’s about to tell us all about him.

Mallory, my roommate, and more specifically, best friend of the last eight years, opens the bathroom door and comes wandering out, hair in a towel turban-style and wearing only a t-shirt and underwear thus far. Normal attire around here in the mornings, and unlike my run-in with nearly naked Lachlan, not all that exciting to anyone, least of all Chase.  Chase has no siblings. I’ve heard his dad’s ‘my one lucky swimmer’ story often enough to be certain of this. We’ve all heard it. Apparently, there was a baseball injury involving his groin area during college. Allegedly, there were no survivors. But then there was that one lucky swimmer. And here we are. Blessed with Chase and his dependable grocery shopping skills.

Correct, Chase confirms, gesturing for me to do the thing and pour the coffee. I am my father’s only child.

Ah...but not your mother’s, I conclude dramatically like it’s a game of Clue and I’m about to call out the killer for committing murder in the library with the candelabra.

Not my mother’s. He welcomes the full cup I hand him, cream and honey already stirred in the way he likes. My mother, unlike my father, had two children. Lachlan with her first husband, he explains, pausing to have a sip, and then, three years later, me. With my dad.

I mean, you didn’t need to include that your dad is your dad, Mallory points out dryly, fixing herself a mug of coffee as well. Not that it requires much fixing. She drinks it black. Like a psychopath. But you could include why you’ve never mentioned this mysterious brother in all the years we’ve known you.

And why he’s suddenly here now, I add.

Um. Chase looks like he’s contemplating our questions. They weren’t really all that complicated though. I guess I don’t really talk about him much. He shrugs, blowing it off, like it’s normal to forget to mention your siblings for seven years. He went to live with his dad after he turned eighteen. That was kind of the deal my mom made with him. Lachlan got to grow up with us, but then he had to go live with his dad when he was of age.

I frown. If this was a game of Clue, I’d be back at square one. What kind of custody arrangement covers adulthood?

Oh. Chase waves his hand like I’ve concluded something crazy. Again. It wasn’t an official custody thing. He wanted him to move back to learn the family business. It’s a generational thing. They keep passing it down. I guess it’s a pretty big deal. He rolls his eyes, like he has his doubts about this. Anyway, that’s what happened. Lachlan turned eighteen. Moved to Linden. And he hasn’t been back much since. He slides into a stool at the breakfast bar and starts to peruse the box of donuts we stole from his kitchen yesterday.

I’m sorry. Where’s Linden? I ask, wondering if it would be too outrageous to tell him not to eat the chocolate covered chocolate one because I want it.

Europe. It’s a little island in the Scandinavian section. He chooses a jelly filled and I internalize my sigh of relief. It’s cold as shit there, but really pretty.

Mallory reaches past him into the box to retrieve the last Boston crème. The nonchalant way you’re telling this very non-nonchalant story is super suspicious, by the way.

Only because you hang around crazy-pants here too much, he says, mouth full of donut and spitting powdered sugar. It’s really as basic as it sounds. My mother fell in love with a European guy while doing the hike across Europe after graduation thing. They were married for like two seconds, realized it was crazy because she was way young and he was way older and they barely knew each other, but you know, knew each other just well enough to make a baby. Got divorced. She came home to the states. Had Lachlan. Met my dad. Had me. End of story.

Until Lachlan up and disappears on his eighteenth birthday, I throw in with dramatic flair. I’m really feeling the clue vibes this morning.

He didn’t disappear, Chase argues. Just because you didn’t know where he was, or that he existed, doesn’t mean I haven’t been in touch with him this whole time. Or that Abbas hasn’t known him all along.

But you said he hasn’t been back much, Mallory points out, clearly still as skeptical as I am.

He hasn’t. Work keeps him really busy. Chase shrugs. But my work doesn’t. And I get holidays off, plus long summer breaks. So, I go to him.

You mean, your fancy European ski vacations are to visit your brother?

He laughs. Yeah. I’m a teacher. You really think I could afford to take those if I wasn’t skipping the cost of hotels and car rentals?

Hm. Mallory looks like she’s ready to accept this story at face value. I have wondered about that. But I didn’t want to be an ass and ask.

Right. Because not wanting to be an ass is the sort of thing you two worry about constantly. He nods, his brows climbing his forehead. It shows. All the time.

Mallory doesn’t use words to respond. Instead, she lets her finger do the talking.

But for real, I bring the conversation back around to its origin. Lachlan is your brother. By blood.

You could be a little less disbelieving of the fact that I’m related to a man who looks like a Viking God of some sort.

Chase does look woefully puny and pasty compared to his older brother. But I don’t point either of those things out. I’m just saying. You have brown hair and brown eyes. He’s blond and blue-eyed. You don’t exactly scream twins. I turn away toward the coffee maker and refill my cup before I go on, Unless we’re talking that movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito. Then it screams twins. Loudly.

Wow.

I know. That’s what this is for me too. Just one ‘wow’ moment after the next. I take a sip. Now let’s move on to the kid part.

LACHLAN

SORRY, DID WE WAKE you? I leave out the ‘again’ when I notice Abbas still has his eyes scrunched closed and is opting to blindly stumble down the hall toward the bathroom Monroe and I only just vacated.

Greer, he grumbles his one-word response.

Right. Even if I’d like to blame her,