Falling for Salted Caramel

By Anya Sharpe

Pregnant and licking her wounds from a messy divorce, Kyli Ryder returns home for the summer to work at her dad's Cape Cod ice cream shop. The small town is a familiar haven as she wraps her brain around a sudden future as a single mom.
From the minute Kyli and Devon Daughtry laid eyes on each other—as she sat on the floor in a puddle of dishwasher water—there was an unexpected spark. Their friendly flirting and teasing over his daily vanilla waffle cone becomes a salted caramel seduction metaphor for Devon's growing attraction.
Hooked by the undeniable connection between them—one which Kyli refuses to admit, and Devon refuses to ignore—she's a package deal he's intent on having in his life. Can Devon sweet talk his way into her heart, ultimately proving it's okay to love again?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Sep 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781509232857

Anya Sharpe

Anya Sharpe is a former journalist and teacher who has been addicted to reading her whole life. Key to Heart is Book Two of the Hearts on the Line Series. When she isn’t writing or with her nose stuck in a book, she loves to travel—especially anywhere there is a warm, sunny beach—scuba dive, ski, and try interesting restaurants. She’s a pretty good cook, too. Anya lives near Boston with her family, along with her side-kicks, The Dog and The Cat. Visit Anya at www.anyasharpe.com

Book preview

Inc.

Okay, sweetheart. You tell me. Which flavor would you recommend?

She rolls her eyes, and waves at the array of tubs of ice cream in the glass cooler. There are about twenty-five here to choose from. Pick one. Start at one end and work your way through them all for goodness sakes. You’ve got all summer.

I study her. What’s your favorite?

Mine? Who cares?

I care. Which is it? Rocky road? Strawberry cheesecake? No, wait…I bet you’re one of those mint chocolate chip girls.

Nope. She says it with a pop on the P and points at a tub. Salted caramel. Can’t get any better than that.

Okay, I’ll bite. What makes salted caramel so special?

Kyli takes out a tester spoon and dips it into the tub, placing a dab of the silky cold concoction on her tongue, and closing her eyes. She lets out a moan, which does wicked things to me. Mmm. She savors the taste for a few seconds, and opens her eyes slowly. "First, you get all that creamy, luscious vanilla that you love so much. But before your taste buds get complacent, the swirls of gooey, buttery, slightly salty caramel slide right in there and take over. The two mix together, and before you can say hot fudge your tongue is in its happy place. Pure…freaking…heaven."

Let me have a taste.

Praise for Anya Sharpe…

and UNLOCKING LOVE:

I loved the relationship between the two (Erynne, Evan). It was a very good romance. I can’t wait to read more. I hope this is a series!

~Paula J. (librarian), on NetGalley (4 Stars)

~*~

This book had me hooked from the first page. Great story line. Fantastic characters. Funny, sad, happy, angry. This book made you feel all of the above. Can’t wait to read more from this author.

~Marianne H. (reviewer) on NetGalley (4 Stars)

~*~

This was a really good enjoyable read and a great start to the series. This was a good read and it had a lot going on and it held my interest all the way through. I am looking forward to the next book in the series.

~Sarah C. (reviewer) on NetGalley (4 stars)

Falling for Salted Caramel

by

Anya Sharpe

One Scoop or Two

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Falling for Salted Caramel

COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Anya Sharpe

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Champagne Rose Edition, 2020

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3285-7

One Scoop or Two

Published in the United States of America

Chapter 1

Damn this piece of crap equipment.

It’s humid, it’s hot, and my protruding belly is in the way. Irritated, here I sit in a puddle of water on the floor. The dishwasher is broken—again. This time, Dad is two hours away picking up the fancy new mixer he ordered.

Gah! I hate you, you sonofabitch! The wrench flies from my hand across the floor. It skitters and makes a loud clanging sound as it smacks into the base of the walk-in refrigerator. As if I could ever fix this thing. Then, I hear chuckling on the other side of the counter. Great. A customer witnessed my whole rant.

Just a second. Be right with you. Huffing breathlessly, I roll to my knees and push my cumbersome body to a standing position, grabbing the edge of the counter for leverage. I glance down and frown at my wet T-shirt as I shove damp, wayward hair out of my face. I truly hope whoever is here it isn’t the Health Inspector. Let me wash my hands. I don’t make eye contact, although out of the corner of my eye I can tell it’s a guy in a pair of well-worn jeans and a tank. He laughs again, deep and rich with amusement. That small sound is enough to set off sparks I have no business experiencing.

Sure you don’t want to take a shower? I can wait.

I pump soap and scrub my hands. A comedian. Just what I needed this morning. A good laugh at my expense. Drying my hands, I tie a clean, dry white apron around my thick waist to hide the wet shirt and any other unpleasantness from the public, then turn toward the customer.

Holy Mary Mother of… Who the hell is this guy? Tall, broad shoulders, extremely tanned with a mop of disheveled sandy brown hair, two dark brown eyes stare back at me, along with an amused grin. Where’d he come from? As I’ve been back in town for a week, I’m pretty sure I’d have noticed him. Seaport isn’t that big, and since I grew up here I’m familiar with most of the locals. He’s probably another wealthy tourist spending his days on the sunny beaches of Cape Cod for a week or two, while the rest of us hometown slobs work.

Ignoring his remark about the shower, mostly, I approach the counter. Sorry for the wait. Dishwasher’s on the fritz again. I didn’t hear you come in.

Tall, Gorgeous, and Muscular leans over the narrow counter and peers at the machine that’s given me nothing but grief all week.

What’s wrong with it?

Dunno. Keeps overflowing. Dad’s taken it apart three times, but it’s still misbehaving.

Dad? Ronnie’s your father?

Uh, yeah. You know him? Uh…Tank Top Guy is a local? Since when?

Sure. He shrugs. Everyone in Seaport does. I’ve been coming in here every day for the past year for lunch and ice cream. Except for last week when I was out of town, that is. He grins, rests his palms on the counter, and makes direct eye contact with me which, frankly, is unnerving. The better question is where’s he been hiding you?

I, um, came home last week. To help Dad for the summer. Yeah, I came home all right. Tail between my legs, and nowhere else to go where I won’t have to see his face. Or any of our so-called friends. Not wanting this conversation to go anywhere more personal, I bring it back to food. What can I get you…?

Devon. He extends his hand. Guess we’re getting personal after all. We shake.

Kyli. What can I get you, Devon? I pull my hand from his very warm, rough one, and grab an order pad and pen.

He grins and winks. Jerk. The usual. I frown.

Which would be…?

Grilled cheese, fries, coleslaw, and a cola, extra ice. He pays cash, and I step behind the griddle to prep his lunch, wondering where he fits in around town. Devon leans against the counter messing with his phone while he waits. It’s slow today, thankfully. With Dad gone and the dishwasher spewing gray water, I can do without the hassle of a long lunch line. I drop an order of frozen fries into the hot oil, which sizzles upon contact, and turn back to the grill.

Jesus! I practically jump out of my skin, because Devon’s directly behind me. What the hell are you doing back here? He walks past me and squats in front of the dishwasher, removing the lower panel, and sticking a hand inside.

Taking a look at your dishwasher. Ah. A crack in the hose. I’ve got a piece back at the shop that might fit. I’ll come back after lunch and test it out. He stands—jeez he’s tall—and brushes his hands on his jeans. As I’m standing full-on in front of him, his gaze drops to my rounded belly, then flits to my hand, where there is no wedding ring. Not anymore. His brow wrinkles in confusion, but he doesn’t ask any questions, instead