Lobsters, Bisques & Berries: Modern Mail Order Brides, #12

By Olivia Gaines

Lakota Simjak is nothing like he looks. A laid-back kind of fella that takes life as it comes, while enjoying the simple beauty of the day to days. However, the lonely nights and eternal mornings tells him it's time for a change. He wants a wife.

 

Melody Willis' trophy case displays thirty years of being in the music business and performances all over the world. Yet, she goes to bed alone. Tired of fighting in the rat race she takes a chance. Dressed down, she heads to the offices of the Perfect Match and sits in front of the screen. It didn't take her long to find the one thing she wanted. Through the screen his heart called to her as well.

 

"Coraline, I'm going to marry him," Melody said with a definitive nod of her head.

 

The rest they say, is for the history books. Pack your bags and climb aboard for the funniest ride into the remote wilderness of Maine for a hearty helping of Lobsters, Bisques and Berries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Davonshire House Publishing
• Release date: Feb 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393492702

Olivia Gaines

Olivia is a USA Today Best Selling and multiple award-winning author who loves a good laugh coupled with some steam, mixed in with a man and woman finding their way past the words of “I love you.” An author of contemporary romances, she writes heartwarming stories of blossoming relationships about couples not only falling in love but building a life after the sensual love scene. 2015 Swirl Award Winner, Best Erotic Romance, Thursdays in Savannah. 2017 IRAE Award Winner, Best Contemporary Romance, Wyoming Nights 2019 IRAE Award Winner, Favorite Series, The Men of Endurance 2019 IRAE Award Winner, Reader's Choice Award 2019 Nominee, Top Female Authors, The AuthorShow.com When Olivia is not writing, she enjoys quilting, playing Scrabble online against other word lovers and spending time with her family. She is an avid world traveler who writes many of the locations into her stories. Most of the time she can be found sitting quietly with pen and paper plotting more adventures in love. Olivia lives in Hephzibah, Georgia with her husband, son, grandson and snotty evil cat, Katness Evermean. Learn more about her books, upcoming releases and join her bibliophile nation at www.ogaines.com Subscribe to her email list at http://eepurl.com/OulYf Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/olivia.gaines.31 Twitter: https://twitter.com/oliviagaines Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/gaines.olivia/

Book preview

Lobsters, Bisque & Berries

A Modern Mail Order Bride

OLIVIA GAINES

Davonshire House Publishing

PO Box 6761

Augusta, GA 30916

THIS BOOK IS A WORK of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.

© 2021 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

Copy Editor: Teri Thompson Blackwell

Cover: Dar Dixon, Wicked Smart Designs

Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography

ASIN: B08TVYFDZS

ISBN: 9798707223396

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever.  For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.

Printed in the United States of America

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  10  9  8

First Davonshire House Publishing February 2021

Lakota and Melody

Lakota Simjak, Lead Counsel, Wabanki Nation,

Owner, Man Up, Wilderness Outfitter

Beddington, Maine

Age 39, Attorney at Law, Yale University

Melody Willis, International Mega Singing Superstar

Age 38, Brooklyn, New York

Also by Olivia Gaines

The Blakemore Files

The Delgado Series

Killers

Yunior

Becoming the Czar

The Technicians Series

Blind Date  

Blind Hope  

Blind Luck

Blind Fate

Blind Copy

Blind Turn (Coming Spring 2021)  

Love Thy Neighbor Series

Walking the Dawg: A Novella 

Through the Woods: A Novella 

Life of the Party: A Novella

Modern Mail-Order Brides

North to Alaska

Montana

Oregon Trails

Wyoming Nights

On a Rainy Night in Georgia

Bleu, Grass, Bourbon

Buckeye and the Babe

The Tennessee Mountain Man

Stranded in Arizona

Maple Sundaes and Cider Donuts

Moonlight in Vermont

The Zelda Diaries

It Happened Last Wednesday 

A Frickin' Fantastic Friday 

A Tantalizing Tuesday 

A Marvelous Monday 

A Saucy Sunday 

A Sensual Saturday 

My Thursday Throwback 

Slivers of Love Series

The Deal Breaker  

Naima's Melody  

Santa's Big Helper  

The Christmas Quilts  

Friends with Benefits  

The Cost to Play  

A Menu for Loving  

Thursdays in Savannah  

DEDICATION

To Adam, my Apache Warrior, thank you for trusting me with your gentle soul.

I hope I made you proud.

"Easy reading is damn hard writing."

-  Nathaniel Hawthorne

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To all the fans, friends and supporters of the dream as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired and moving forward.

Write On!

A Note on the Modern Mail Order Brides ™

The Modern Mail Order Bride Series ™ is a fun series about sophisticated city women, tiring the rigamarole of a fast life, opting to slow it down and get back to nature. Most of the time, it is with hilarious results.

The men are doers, handy with their hands. They live off the land and most times off the grid, but can bring home dinner even if they have to catch it themselves.

One thing I love most about the series is naming each book.

Initially when I started out, I played around with a few things like North to Alaska, Wyoming Nights, Oregon Trails, using the play on words with historical references or local colloquialisms. As I get further into the series, I’m visiting more states or in some cases, revisiting a state to find the bread and butter of what goes on the dinner table. In this case, lobsters, bisques and wild blueberries are staples of the Maine diet.

I’m truly looking forward to our next journey as we heading back west to Kansas to catch up with Katie Mae.

Stay tuned for more fun. Moonlight in Vermont is Available, the other two, no set release dates as of yet.

Hey, come on inside. The fire is going, the kettle is hot and there is a nice cup of tea waiting for you. Welcome to the home of Lakota and Melody.

We’re mighty glad to see you.

Contents

Also by Olivia Gaines

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A Note on the Modern Mail Order Brides ™

Chapter One – Typecast

Chapter Two – Pigeonhole

Chapter Three – Conventionalization

Chapter Four – Conventionalize

Chapter Five – Standardize

Chapter Six – Formulaic

Chapter Seven – Categorize

Chapter Eight – Stock

Chapter Nine – Compartmentalize

Chapter Ten – Old Hat

Chapter Eleven – Cliché-Ridden

Chapter Twelve – Stale

Chapter Thirteen – Platitudinous

Chapter Fourteen – Predictable

Chapter Fifteen – Well-Worn

Chapter Sixteen – Derivative

Chapter Seventeen – Tired

Chapter Eighteen – The Wagon Burner

Chapter Nineteen – Unoriginal

Chapter Twenty – Overused

Chapter Twenty-One – Overworked

Chapter Twenty-Two – Hacky

Meet Olivia Gaines

Book Club Questions:

Lobsters, Bisques & Berries

A Modern Mail-Order Bride

OLIVIA GAINES

Chapter One – Typecast

The back seat of the ride for hire seemed to close in around Lakota as he took a breather with his armload of goodies. A black leather overnight bag filled with extra socks, undies, and a change of clothing rested on the seat beside him. He found himself questioning the rationale behind this trip over and over again for even thinking this would work out, but he was in the middle of it all and hell-bent on seeing it through. Again, he found himself back in New York.

Three years ago, he’d traveled to New York in search of the matchmaker that his friend Elijah Herring had hired to find himself a pretty young bride. Lorelei Herring was a looker, and she, along with other things, understood Elijah. Lakota had been friends with the man for most of his life and could barely understand what made the man tick or how he managed to put on matching socks each day, but Lorelei loved the crotchety, wiry, hairy-faced bastard. In Lakota’s estimation, if there was a woman on this planet for Elijah, there had to be one for him as well. This, along with season after season of loneliness in the cold wilderness of Maine, made him want to try.

This was his fourth attempt. The first three possible ideal matches were not to his liking at all and sure as hell weren’t perfect by any standard. Months of correspondence with each led him to not taking the leap of faith, but opting instead for meeting them in person first and then going on an actual date. Once the date went well, he offered to fly each one to Maine to see his home and business. He was grateful that he’d had the foresight to do such a small thing, since it had worked out in his favor.

The first prospect, Mary Ellen, a tight-lipped woman with luxurious red hair and sparkling green eyes, captivated his attention. However, she was buttoned up so tight that he was afraid that if she farted, her eyeballs would pop out. The conversation was also stilted even after she came for a visit to his home and was unable to see the beauty in the landscape and appreciate the deafening of the silence of nature. That one, he told Coraline Newair, the matchmaker, was a definitive hard no for his desires in a life partner.

A second attempt with a math teacher, Anna something or other, was also a bust. She was an anxious woman who could not hide her fascination with him being a Native American, and she rushed to his home, disappointed that he didn’t reside on a reservation or have a wigwam in his backyard to smoke a peace pipe filled with a mind-altering weed. An ignorant woman, with large breasts that he hated would never know the feel of his hands, had led him to this day and meeting person number four. Oftentimes he skipped over number three, since he had trouble remembering her name, but she too was nothing outside of the norm. Stereotypes irritated him to no end, and he was sorry that Anna was also a typecast of a big-boobed woman with a rambling mouth.

He sat in the backseat, questioning many of his life choices, which also led him to this moment.

What are you doing? he chastised himself. His long legs were folded in the tiny backseat of the economy vehicle driven by a man whose name he couldn’t pronounce phonetically due to the sheer volume of vowels in his first name, who grinned at him through the rear-view mirror.

I am taking you to the destination you entered in Brooklyn, the driver answered.

Sorry, I’m talking to myself, Lakota replied, shifting his six-foot-one frame in the back seat.

There is water in the side door if you are thirsty, my friend, the driver replied.

Thanks, Lakota responded, looking at the number of homeless people pushing buggies and pulling carts down unfriendly sidewalks. In his estimation, this was not living. Whatever these people were doing consisted of merely existing in a world that no longer had a use for fallible people. Sad people. Broken people. Unwanted people who found themselves unable to generate enough kinetic energy to matter in the grand cosmos of the universe. Instead, these broken souls had been left behind, groveling on sidewalks for their next meals. Block after block passed by, each holding a different scent from a separate nationality cooking and simmering meats in spices from their respective cultures. The smells, while making him hungry, also turned his stomach.

I wonder if she can cook, Lakota remarked, looking at the gifts he’d brought for her mother, father, and sister. He also had a bouquet of flowers for the woman as well, should she consent to be his bride.

Six months of correspondence and phone calls each week had changed his mind about giving it another try after the folly with the third woman. Elise...Elisa...Eliza, one of the three, he didn’t remember, but he did recall her hands, which were all over him. Sex, a necessary component in a relationship, wasn’t the wax which held a man and woman together. The aggressiveness of Elise’s, yes, that was her name, antagonistic sexual actions didn’t turn him on. In fact, she elicited a reaction which was quite the opposite. His soldier refused to stand up and salute.

However, the latest candidate’s voice made him, his soldier, and the three random hairs on his chest, all want to enlist for any job, role, or rank the lady needed him to take. Tonight, he was taking a major risk by having dinner with the new interest and the lady’s parents. Lakota checked his pocket for the ring he’d purchased in order to propose and make it official. In his heart, he knew she was the right one; he just hoped her parents agreed that he’d make a good match for their daughter.

In less than five minutes, he would find out. Lakota checked his phone to ensure that the driver wasn’t taking the long way around when he turned down Fiske Place in front of a row of brownstones. He’d arrived.

Thanks, he told the driver, handing him a twenty in cash as a tip. Inhaling deeply, he collected the flowers, the small box, and the overnight bag. As a backup, he had booked a hotel down on Nevins Street in case the nice parents objected to him being in their home, with their daughter, or to him in general. Either way, he was prepared for whatever the night would bring.

He walked up the well-maintained stairwell, taking note of the plastic summer flowers in cement planters, remarking how freely annuals grew on the side of his mountain without the constraints of cement holders to stunt their growth. If the lady on the other side of the door consented to becoming his wife, he had no doubts she would fare the same. A steady finger pressed the doorbell, waiting for the live version of the woman attached to the lovely voice.

Behave yourself, soldier, he commanded his crotch as he looked up to find her standing in the doorway with a smile opened as wide as her mouth. He found his words as he spoke to her, Hi, Melody.

Wow, double wow, and hey now, she said, opening the front door to allow him entrance. You’re much taller than I imagined.

Yes, I’m six feet one, he said, passing a bouquet of flowers to her. In the background, he could hear the sound of anxious feet making a beeline towards the sound of his voice.

You’re a solid, what, a hundred and seventy-five pounds? Melody asked, taking him all in from the bronze, reddish skin to the jet-black hair, which hung down his back, and five-o’clock shadow she was surprised to see him possess.

Is that a problem? he asked, giving her a smile, which curled the toes inside of her Jimmy Choo‎s.

None whatsoever, she offered, turning to address her parents, who entered the room with arched eyebrows at the tall Native American man who appeared to take over the space of the living room.

Lakota turned to take a good look at the people Melody called family. An older, conservatively dressed father, with greyed temples in his hair and a thick, porn star mustache, watched him suspiciously. A mother, elegant and wearing pearls and a fashionable shoe with low heels, raked him over with scrutiny. The younger sister squinted her eyes at him, acting suspicious of his presence and viewing him as a threat.

Honey, is this your surprise or our dinner guest? Lucinda Willis, Melody’s mother, asked.

Both, Melody replied with pride. This is Lakota Simjak, the man I’m going to marry.

Boring eyes scoured over every inch of his sinewy frame, and he attempted to ease the uncomfortable moment by handing her father a bottle of slow-aged Canadian whiskey, followed by a small box of wild blueberries for her mother and a pair of tourmaline earrings made by his own mother for the sister.

I brought gifts, Lakota said, feeling more awkward by the moment.

Her sister, Symphony, accepted the earrings, mumbling, Well, Daddy, at least he’s not a rapper or a wannabe actor.

Chapter Two – Pigeonhole

Melody Willis had a long-standing career in the music business. For three decades she’d sang, danced, and trotted across the stages of the world entertaining all those who had a dime or a remote control to tune in to listen to the golden vocals of the talented songstress. Time had been kind, but living a life of purpose and meaning had zoomed past her on hot train tracks bound for hell with her riding in the caboose. She wanted off the ride, and this was her stop.

At the impressionable age of eight, wearing a pair of mouse ears, she had entered an empty room, which held nothing more than a mic, and started to sing a Barbara Streisand song she’d heard playing one day in her father’s office. The mic was hot and soon, people ventured from their work pods to find the body attached to the angelic voice, which floated through the air into the studio offices. Her father was in a meeting with a record executive and Melody had tagged along. She had been instructed to wait in the empty room, but she found the microphone, pretending this was her first audition, and her big break.

That was how it all started.

The child prodigy with a seven-octave range was given a contract to be a part of the team of mouse ear-wearers, but her light shone brighter than the others. The clock ticked past the hours, and at ten years old, Lil Miss Melody was in the studio recording her first children’s album of popular kids’ songs. The popularity grew and Lil Miss Melody blossomed into a teen idol.

The term they used to describe her was Pop Princess. Lil Miss Melody was now just plain Melody in snug-fitted jeans and cool tee shirts. Her parents, staunch conservatives, did not give in or change their minds on her image.

My baby is not going to be dressed as an out-of-work tart trying to score funds for a fix, Jason Willis, her father, demanded. After all, he was in line for a judgeship and no daughter of his was going to parade around half naked.

Melody Willis was a lady. A woman who commanded and demanded respect and it was given. Not because of who she’d grown up to be but because she was, in fact, a good person, as much as the world of entertainment had tried to bend her otherwise.

Surviving in the world of glitz and glamour without succumbing to the dark forces that hung around recording booths late at night wasn’t an easy task. However, Melody learned quickly that money and recognition brought perks along with them, big advantages of having the best producers on her team and the removal of riff-raff, wannabes, and hangers-on who lay in wait for an opportunity to pounce. It also helped to have a personal assistant who closely resembled a linebacker from an Eastern Bloc country that spoke with a heavy accent and spit when she talked. No one wanted a piece of Helga, which in turn ensured no one took a piece of Miss Melody.

In the summer of her sixteenth birthday, Melody Willis received her first Grammy nomination, the first of the twenty in her career. In the spring of her eighteenth year, she earned an Emmy for a Christmas Special on ABC featuring many of her former mouse ear-wearing friends, who were also celebrities in their own right.

Fame brought stalkers who made her twentieth year of life miserable, but also brought about the rise of The Melodies, an online fan group who quickly shut down those who wished harm on their idol. Melody, moving up in the world, found herself on a movie set with a co-starring role in a Hollywood blockbuster. Unable to get comfortable in front of the camera, she made a deal with the producer to write and sing the title track for the movie instead of being on screen.

No one wanted to admit her acting was so terrible that she was going to be fired anyway, and she considered it a win-win for all, especially bearing in mind she scored herself an Oscar for the song. The song did well, as did the movie with a new lead actress, and five years later, the same movie made its way to the Broadway stage.

It’s perfect for you, Melody. You’re not touring now, it is in your home state, and you can spend each night in your own bed, her manager, Langdon Childs, encouraged. This will be your chance to earn yourself a Tony Award. You could be the youngest EGOT in history.

No, as opportunistic as the chance may be, the timing is not ideal, she had replied.

You and your five syllable words, Langdon scoffed. He would wait a few days and try again, but he’d learned when Melody said no or made up her mind on a thing, she’d made up her mind on a thing. What’s with you and the big words anyway?

A coping skill, she said, offering no more on the subject. Over the years, many had asked the same question and she had provided the same answer, never really digging any further into the matter.

Ten years of the same song and dance routine passed by, but now a woman of thirty-eight years on the planet, Melody no longer wanted to sing the popcorn and peanutty songs that had made her famous. The pigeonhole had become cramped, and she wanted out of the cage and to spread her wings. Melody had grown into a strong, sincere woman with a handful of life experiences and desired to sing songs of pain, sorrow, and regret by belting out ballads. Langdon said no.

Melody fought with him and took it above his head, using full advantage of the power of her name. Her label shot down her wishes and told the diva no. She was under contract and would do as the label commanded. It was at that moment the adults in the room realized that the artist formerly known as Lil Miss Melody was no longer a little miss but a fully grown, mature woman who addressed the powers that be as such.

Although I appreciate the validity of your argument and appreciate your stand on the subject of my contract, however, I think it would be fortuitous for all involved to come to the table with a clearer mind, she said with a small smile.

What are you getting at, Melody? Langdon asked before anyone else in the room could speak.

I’m saying, and please allow me to clear my throat to ensure the clarification of my next words, she said, making sounds in the back of her throat as if she were clearing away a year’s worth of mucus. As of midnight next Tuesday, my contract expires. I have no intention to renew it with this label.

The room grew silent. Since no one had anything further to add, she picked up her designer handbag and left the room. Six months later, no one would talk to her at all. In the snap of her fingers, she’d been blackballed from the industry and not a single producer, songwriter, or agent would take her call.

Melody Willis flew home to New York and, under the cover of night, arrived at her parent’s brownstone in Brooklyn and that was where she sat. Cameramen lurked outside of the home in Brooklyn as well as her place in Malibu wanting to get a sighting, but to no avail. One evening as the quiet of the night settled into the old home, Melody lay in bed staring at her phone, wishing she had someone to call. A snotty blogger who always seemed to be obsessed with everyone else’s business made a statement that forced Melody to sit up in the bed.

Where is Miss Melody? Inquiring minds want to know, the video blogger teased. At this point in her life, the best thing she could do for herself is go ahead and settle down and have a few kids. It would round out her life.

Melody despised the snot-nosed man with every ounce of her being, but just because she didn’t like him didn’t make the man wrong. Yet, her love life had been sorely lacking for many years, minus the one or two A-listers here and there who were more than naught, few and far between. Her body at night often woke up before she did to remind her to connect and find her a permanent partner.

Shush, girl, Momma is working on it, she whispered under the covers.

Melody once overheard about a matchmaking service located in New York. It wasn’t as if she were intentionally eavesdropping, but merely listening to the right people have conversations they didn’t know she was paying attention to; neither did she, until this moment. Playing an association game, she learned as a child to remember names and places, she began to piece the name together. Ideal. Perfect. Matchmaker.

Perfect Match, she said aloud, and the nosey robot eavesdropper in her cellular device pulled up the number. Well, why not?

She dialed and actually got a real live person who wanted to meet her, face to face, one real live person to another. She was hesitant at first, so three days passed and nothing in her life changed. Breakfast with her mother led to the same conversation of Melody needing a change.

Her sister, Symphony, reminded her daily of the need to change her clothing and bathe, a little something she’d stopped doing weeks prior. Her father, bless his doting soul, offered to take her to lunch if she would shower and put on fresh clothing, but the grunge was a testament to the state of her soul. In the

Reviews for Lobsters, Bisques & Berries

[fckoff · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Thoroughly enjoyed this book in the series. It was really funny! Their love grew as the book went on, and I found myself upset when it ended. Definitely recommend!