Strawberry Sundays

By Erin Lee

Monday through Saturday, Leena Harrison worked in a donut shop. Between coffee versus cream and glazed or not, there wasn't much time for fun.

That is, until the day a stranger walked in and a simple pact was struck:

They'd meet on Sunday's over the 'fruit of the heart' and see if they could shake things up.

It was a delicious arrangement until daylight savings set back the clocks and everything went wrong.

Can true love find its way past rotten luck?

Strawberry Sundays, a contemporary romance, is the story of an unsuspecting love between strangers with a quirky bond sweeter than anything Leena ever tasted at the donut shop.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: Feb 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393336617

Erin Lee

Erin Lee lives in Queensland, Australia and has been working with children for over 25 years. She has worked in both long day care and primary school settings and has a passion for inclusive education and helping all children find joy in learning. Erin has three children of her own and says they have helped contribute ideas and themes towards her quirky writing style. Her experience working in the classroom has motivated her to write books that bring joy to little readers, but also resource educators to help teach fundamental skills to children, such as being safe, respectful learners.

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COPYRIGHT © 2019 BY Crazy Ink

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Book Layout © Crazy Ink

Monday through Saturday, Leena Harrison worked in a donut shop. Between coffee verses cream and glazed or not, there wasn’t much time for fun.

That is, until the day a stranger walked in and a simple pact was struck:

They’d meet on Sundays over the ‘fruit of the heart’ and see if they could shake things up.

It was a delicious arrangement until daylight savings set back the clocks and everything went wrong.

Can true love find its way past rotten luck?

Strawberry Sundays, a contemporary romance, is the story of an unsuspecting love between strangers with a quirky bond sweeter than anything Leena ever tasted at the donut shop.

Dedications

To those who have left handprints on my heart.

Thank you.

Also for Milo Muse.

Chapter One

Leena

It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be. I tried to remind myself of this as I dug under the counter for a back-up box of powdered creamer. It was hard to believe it had been five years since I’d signed on for what was supposed to be a temporary gig at Nuts & Holes. Hell, I had never had any intention of being here more than a few weeks. I’d only needed a quick way to pay off the landlord.

But here I was. Six credits short of my degree, drowning in student loans and half a decade later. I tried to ignore the grumbles of customers in the tired line. It wasn’t like they couldn’t go to Dunks or something. I was one person and I wasn’t the one in charge of ordering.

Pulling a box of napkins with the wrong logo out of the way, I finally gave up. If Ray had ordered more they’d be there. It wasn’t like my boss was much of a mover. There was no way he’d have walked it back behind the store. That, and basically everything to do with this place, was my job.

Where the hell is Susan? That line won’t fix itself!

Since being diagnosed back in November with a brain tumor, Ray just wasn’t the same. While he’d managed to come out of two brain surgeries and a six-week round of chemotherapy with only a few memory issues, he was never around anymore. If I didn’t care so much about the guy and his family, I’d have been gone by Christmas. Now? Well, who knew what the future had in store. Fuck, my messed up baby sister had a better shot at a happy ending than I did now.

Popping up from the counter, I decided it was best to handle the situation head on. Smiling, I adjusted my cherry red Nuts & Holes cap and smiled at one of our regulars praying she’d have mercy on me.

Sorry, Ma’am. We’re out of it. Would you like something else? Or even made another way? We do have hot chocolate too. I could give you that on the house.

Thankfully, it was my lucky day. Instead of bitching me out—the way many customers often did—she smiled back and told me she’d settle for an orange juice. She asked about Ray and told me that, every night, she prayed for him. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that even after remission, Ray’s tumor would eventually come back. He was looking at seven to ten years at best. It often made me wonder how long the donut shop would even be around. With my boss and business both slowing down, I didn’t have a lot of hope for that either.

A familiar-looking man who could have used a shave a month ago grumbled. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he crossed his arms over his chest and bellyached again. Not one to miss even a subtle message, I picked up my pace. Turning to the donut case, I grabbed the woman her usual: one double chocolate, one plain.

With the regular well-wisher satisfied and on her way, Mr. Grumbles stepped up to the counter. Tilting his head, he asked me why I looked so familiar. I wanted to roll my eyes. I refrained. Unlike Susan, I knew a thing or two about customer service. Everyone around knew it was because Ray had talked me into being on his stupid commercial. The thing had played on local channels over and over for so many months I’d finally cancelled my cable. I hated looking at myself.

WMZR. The commercial, I said.

Oh. Yeah. Maybe that.

What would you like to order? I asked, with one eye on the ever-growing line.

I probably should have paid more attention. But at the time, I had no real interest in a stranger and his stupid comments about how I looked better in person. I was well aware. Hell, I’d lost thirty pounds since that commercial too. And there wasn’t a pick up line I hadn’t heard before. Not at the shop.

Since working here, it was like being a living target for bad lines. At times, I felt like a bartender. But what men saw in me with my stupid uniform—right down to the baseball cap—was something I’d never understand. I looked like an idiot. Period. End of situation.

"Coffee. Black. Large. And a plain bagel with cream