The Good Mistake: Hemsworth Brothers Book 3, #3

By Haleigh Lovell

From the New York Times & USA Today bestselling author, Haleigh Lovell, comes a sexy romantic comedy.

 

"Edric and Lucy are probably my favorite couple in the Hemsworth Brothers series. You will love them so much. I really couldn't put this one down. This is a need-to one-click book." ~ B.Wise, Zon Top 1K Reviewer 

"This book will give you a major case of the laugh out louds and a big dose of the feels." ~ Gladys, Goodreads Top 5 Reviewer 

 

THE GOOD MISTAKE

by Haleigh Lovell

 

She is a good time—trouble, but fun. And I'm here for a good time, not a long time.

So let the good times roll.

 

"You're a bad idea."

"But…" she ventured.

"But I like bad ideas."

 

We don't make mistakes, right? Just happy little accidents. At least that's what Bob Ross said. And my dad. Yep, he says that, too. Every year, on my birthday, he reminds me I'm a 'happy little accident' because the condom broke.

But, hey! Wasn't the creation of penicillin a happy accident that resulted from the discovery of mold growing in an agar dish?

And while that accidental discovery changed the course of medicine, Lucy changed the course of my life. Like a staph infection that somehow turns into an abscess that takes over your limbs, Lucy took over my heart—quickly, painfully, unexpectedly, but treatable with antibiotics.

Bold, brash and unapologetically herself, Lucy represents anarchy from women I typically dated.

She is my 'Beautiful Oops.'

Lucy Lawless is my good mistake.

 

Note: THE GOOD MISTAKE is a full-length novel packed with humor and heart. It's Book 3 in the Hemsworth Brothers series, but it can also be read as a standalone.

REVIEWS:

"This book is nothing short of laugh out loud moments of pure hilariousness! I was rolling. Like stomach hurting from laughing. Highly recommend you read this book! Five Stars!" ~ Book Momma

 

"While Lucy and Edric's meet cute isn't a new concept, the way their relationship played out was beyond amazing. Their banter, the effortless back and forth, had me laughing out loud, smiling like a loon in public, and getting a little steamed up at certain points." ~ Traci, Goodreads

 

"Edric and Lucy are one of the BEST couples ever! Best book that I have read in a long time and I read alot of books. This had everything I look for: funny, heartwarming, sexy, great characters, great second characters, good story line, and hot chemistry." ~ Sue, GR

 

"Do not start this book unless you have all day to read it, because once you start you will not be able to put it down. I have loved all the books in this series, but Eric and Lucy's is my favorite." ~ Jeanene, GR

 

"From start to finish expect non stop laughter! The back and forth banter between these two was amazing!" ~ Words We Love

 

"The Good Mistake is a tale of an unexpected duo who decide to fake a relationship and don't really realize when they stop faking it. Isn't that the usual story? But this one is a bit different." ~ Mells View

 

"The banter and one-liners were classic." ~ Sarah Green

 

"Lucy and Edric are an absolute riot." ~ Amy, Goodreads

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Haleigh Lovell
• Release date: May 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9798201842949

Book preview

Prologue

Lucy

THERE ARE TWO KINDS of people in this world: those who think first dates are amazing and electrifying experiences. They hope to lock eyes with their date across the room and see sparks exploding in front of their very eyes.

Then there are those who dread the whole ordeal, ranking the experience fourth after death, famine, and pestilence.

That’s me.

This was the stuff of my nightmares.

More often than not, I found myself wanting to go back to when my date didn’t speak any words and just sat there looking hot.

And Dylan was hot. I’d taken one look at his online bio and clicked ‘Add to Cart.’

Hell, I’d even paid for two-day shipping.

Haha, if only.

All in all, I’d say this first date with Dylan was going okay. He was bearable. At the very least, I could tell he was attracted to me. Right now, he was looking at me like I was a gluten-free, sugar-free snack and today was his cheat day.

Thanks for meeting me on such short notice, Dylan said briskly. With my job, it’s nearly impossible to find the time to date.

Naturally, my follow-up question was, Oh, what do you do for a living?

I’m a global business analysis director for Akobe, he said self-importantly. And three years ago, I was an international business analyst for Gaggle.

Nice, I said amiably. I’m a local basket weaver.

For?

My own Etsy shop. And I farm my own willow, too. He sent me a blank stare and I explained, I use willow sticks and branches to make my baskets. It allows me to link an agrarian way of life with my artisanal handicraft.

I see. Dylan offered me a stiff smile.

Hmm. He didn’t seem to get my offbeat humor. Slightly tragic but not a lost cause.

I was about to inform him that I was, in fact, not an artisanal basket weaver, but our waiter chose that moment to return with our appetizers.

Would you like some freshly grated Parmesan in your soup? he inquired.

Oh, yes, please, I responded in heartfelt tones.

Say when. The waiter began grating cheese over my minestrone.

That’s dangerous, I thought. I never know when to say ‘when,’

Seconds passed.

Minutes passed.

And the waiter kept on grating the block of cheese.

How much freshly grated Parmesan can I get in my soup? I wondered. Is it endless?

Is that enough? Irritation crept into his voice.

I responded with a polite, No.

With a closed-mouth grin, he kept on grating and grating until he finally ran out of cheese.

When, I said clearly and succinctly, my staccato voice renting the air.

As our waiter loped off, Dylan sat staring at me from across the table. He looked low-key appalled. You really like cheese.

You’re very astute. I spooned some soup into my mouth. Instantly, I felt red splotches rising on my neck and cheeks. Hof hof hof hof hof hof, I spluttered as the piping hot liquid scalded my tongue.

You okay? Dylan asked urgently.

"Hasafashhhh hsssshha fashhhhhh." I huffed and huffed, swishing soup around in my mouth while exhaling flames like a dragon.

Are you all right? he persisted.

I went on swishing the hot liquid until I could actually swallow without dying. Yeah, I managed at last. I’m fine.

Good. Dylan gave a crisp nod and dug into his arugula salad. So tell me, he said, chomping away at the leafy greens. Do you have any other hobbies and passions besides basket-weaving?

I do.

He watched me raptly, lips slightly parted as I ladled up some soup. Are you going to tell me what they are?

My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth. If I tell you, I’m sure you won’t go out with me again.

Who said I’d go out with you again?

Touché.

Just kidding. He gave a flash of a smile before gulping down some water, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a comical fashion. Try me.

Okay. I looked him dead in the eye. I’m what you’d call a horse gal. I’m all about horses. My horse, Gouda, means the world to me and when I’m not working or sleeping, I spend almost all my time with him.

Looking somewhat unhinged, Dylan flagged down a passing waiter. Check, please.

You’re leaving already? I blew on my soup before bringing it to my mouth.

Hope you don’t mind, he said sheepishly. I’ve just realized I’ve got a mountain of paperwork that I need to attend to.

Of course not. I plastered a smile on my face. All the best with your, um... global analytics.

Good luck with your horses and hampers. He cast a furtive glance around the bistro. Where the hell is that waiter?

I’ll split the bill with you, I offered.

That’s quite all right. His words were perfunctory. I’ll take care of it at the front of the house. Goodbye, Lucy. He stood quickly, scraping the chair back and tossing his napkin on the table.

Fare thee well, Dylan. Live long and prosper.

Err... right, you as well. He nodded once before taking his leave.

And Dylan was gone, felled by his own hubris and his inability to see greatness.

A weary sigh broke free from my chest as I slumped in my chair, staring at my bowl of minestrone. I felt as if I’d been doused with cold water.

My dating life is soup. And I’m a fork.

Another Prologue

Adelaide

YOU’LL NEVER GUESS what I just witnessed. Miguel’s eyebrows were drawn together in an imitation of concern.

What? I asked, snapping the lid to my laptop shut.

When I walked past the hallway I caught Edric just as he was coming out of the bathroom. I think he might’ve been in pain. His eyes were red and rimmed with tears.

That’s odd. I pursed my lips, considering. I always buy Charmin Ultra Soft. That toilet paper feels like a cloud on your butt.

Miguel fixed me with an unblinking stare.

Hmm. I narrowed my gaze. Maybe Edric just needs to eat some prunes?

Gah! He huffed a puff of exasperation. Maybe he’s upset because Valencia just broke up with him.

She did? I said with some surprise. How come you know this and I don’t?

If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell a soul.

I promise.

He flashed a manic grin. Cross every appendage on your body and hope to die.

Sighing, I crossed every appendage on my body and hoped to die.

Ahem. Miguel coughed lightly. I, err... might have been listening outside the door.

You were spying on him, I hissed.

Technically, no, he said, looking all squirrely. I wasn’t spying and I resent that implication. Edric was on the phone with Valencia and he had her on speaker. And they weren’t exactly talking quietly, he said a tad defensively. So I just happened to overhear their entire convo.

What are you waiting for? I cried impatiently. Spill the tea.

"Gurrrrrrrl, he said, drawing the word out with deliberate intent. Y’know I’m ready to spill the whole damn pot. Basically, Valencia accused Edric of being a Splenda daddy. She said she was looking for a sugar daddy, not a Splenda daddy. And no, he snapped before I could say a word. It’s not an issue of natural versus artificial sweeteners."

Well, d’oh. I rolled my eyes. I knew that.

And, Miguel went on, Valencia said she was looking for a man who would fight for her.

Fight for her? I blinked, hella confused. Is she bound to the service of a feudal lord? Are there warlords roaming the streets of northern California? Has she been cyber-attacked by Anonymous? You know they are legion. They never forgive and they never forget, so good luck with that.

Now it was Miguel’s turn to roll his eyes. Gurl, you slipping. I think Valencia meant it figuratively. Anyway, their relationship never made any sense to me.

How so?

I’ve seen a better love connection between my dog and my throw pillows. He folded his arms across his chest. Honestly, I’ve just never understood the appeal with Valencia. She sounds miserable to be in a relationship with. Everything is about communicating and speaking her mind. That’s all great, but at a certain point you want to live rather than talk about living. Not to mention, she’s a bottomless pit of need.

So how did Valencia break things off with Edric?

Well, she kept spewing vitriol, going on and on about how she wasn’t fulfilled in the relationship and then right before she ended the call, she said, ‘Every cloud, Edric. Every cloud.’ Blergh! Miguel made a gagging noise. Barfola. She’s so fake.

Every cloud has a chance of being a lightning strike.

Silver lining! Miguel yelled. SILVER LINING! Ugh! If only Edric could see past her fake lining.

I shrugged. They say love is blind.

Miguel barely suppressed a snort. In Edric’s case, it’s the love child of Helen Keller and Ray Charles. Look, I don’t want to profile Valencia psychologically but really, she might be a psychopath. And she’s not even fun! She has all the excitement of boil-in-a-bag rice. If you ask me, Edric is totally hopeless when it comes to finding the right woman.

True. I found myself agreeing. He does have spectacularly bad judgment when it comes to his women.

A beat passed. Then another.

Miguel lowered his voice and said salaciously, Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

Well, objectively that all depends on what you’re thinking.

I’m thinking Edric is in dire need of our help.

Huh, I murmured. You mean like a Yente?

A Yente? He looked at me, puzzled and mildly irritated. The hell is that?

"It’s the name of the village matchmaker in Fiddler on the Roof."

Meh. He scrunched up his face, looking like he’d just sniffed a fart. Yente sounds like a Persian rug merchant. I was thinking more along the lines of a pussy broker.

That sounds terribly crass. Besides, I know we all want more for Edric than that.

Yes. He sighed. I think we can both agree on that. After a pregnant pause, he said, How about we play Cupid?

Mmmmm. I weighed my response.

I’m in, he announced. Now are you in or are you out?

In, I said at last.

Yesssss! Miguel let out a loud whoop and drummed his fingers on my desk. The tribe has spoken. We have an alliance!

Chapter One

Edric

TWO YEARS LATER...

Alexa! Miguel shouted into the ether. Play relaxing music.

At once, smooth jazz started playing in the background. Over the blare of a saxophone, I said, Why are you forcing me to listen to Kenny G do breathing exercises through a musical snorkel?

Because we need you to relax.

Why do I need to relax?

A nervous laugh escaped Miguel and Adelaide blurted out, We made a profile for you on FarmersOnly.

You what? I barked.

Miguel wore a sheepish grin. You’ve seen the commercials, haven’t you? he asked, before promptly breaking into song "You don’t have to be lonely at FarmersOnly dot com." His crooning was surprisingly on-key.

Who hasn’t? I began pacing back and forth, not bothering to hide my growing impatience. Why? I said tightly. Why? I’m not a farmer or a rancher and I’m certainly not looking to date one.

Edric. Miguel raised a stern gaze at me. You’ve gone on how many dates over the past two years?

Err... I cleared my throat twice. Um... I tried again.

See? He speared me with an accusing look. You don’t even know!

Hey! I said self-righteously. I haven’t known the touch of the woman in—I checked my watch—eight hours!

Adelaide cracked a smile and Miguel expelled a heavy sigh. C’mon, Edric. Be serious for once.

All right, bruh. I leveled my voice until it was as flat as the floor I stood on. I’m listening. So where are you going with this?

You still haven’t found your home slice. And we’ve been working hard to help you. I swear! The only people working harder than us are the Devil and Kris Jenner.

He’s right, Adelaide chimed in. We’ve been working very hard, Edric.

Mmm-hmm. Miguel did a zigzag finger snap.

Give me a break, guys. I’m taking my time, all right? Besides, I’ve just won a Grand Slam title and I’m having a blast right now. The time of my life, really.

No, you’re not, he deadpanned. You’re not a player, Edric. You’re a one-woman man.

I’m fine. I released a pent up breath. I’m in no rush. Slow and steady wins the race, right?

Actually, it doesn’t, Adelaide said succinctly. Maybe with a receding hairline it does, but otherwise I do believe that fast and steady wins the race.

That’s so fuckin’ brilliant, Miguel cried. I want that on a tote bag! As a matter of fact, I’m gonna throw that on some merch and start selling it on Instagram. Speaking of tote bags, Adelaide my love, will you kindly fetch the smudge stick and lighter from my tote bag?

Of course, she said brightly.

We need to get to work. Pronto! Miguel said fiercely. We can’t be wasting any more time. Not when Edric’s got to get ready for his date soon.

Date? I sent him a blank stare. What date? Who has a date?

You do, Adelaide returned with a bundle of sage sticks and handed it to Miguel.

With who?

Lucy, they said in unison.

Who’s Lucy?

They carried on as if they hadn’t even heard me. I watched incredulously as Adelaide grabbed a lighter, flicked it, and offered Miguel the flame. Seconds later, smoke tainted the air and Miguel was waving the burning sage stick vigorously across my body.

Jesus. I jumped back as orange embers crumbled and fell. The fuck you doing?

Hold still, Miguel hissed. I’m trying to sage your dick.

I froze. Sage my dick?

Air, fire, water, earth, he chanted, waving the smudge stick between my legs. Cleanse, dismiss, dispel.

Expelling a loud groan, I demanded, Can somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?

Turn around, Miguel ordered.

Why?

I need to sage your butt.

Nope. I coughed, angling my head away from the smoke. The smell was a blend of cigarettes and weed. I ain’t doing shit. Not until someone tells me the purpose to this foolishness.

This will help cleanse your aura, he said sagely.

My aura doesn’t need cleaning.

Hooo boy. He let out a low whistle. "It does."

No, it doesn’t.

Yes, it does.

Noooooo, I said, drawing the word out with deliberate intent. It doesn’t.

All right, Miguel quipped. Let’s meet in the middle and say it does.

I rolled my eyes.

Look, he said. You’ve got some bad juju surrounding you. And we need to get rid of it. All of it. Am I right, Adelaide?

He’s right, she concurred. Salvia, which is the Latin word for sage, stems from the word heal.

See? Miguel spoke serenely. I’m healing you. Now be a good boy and turn around.

I refused to budge, and he simply walked around and waved the smudge stick across my ass. Air, fire, water, earth, he chanted like a shaman. Cleanse, dismiss, dispel.

Time out, I shouted. Time the fuck out!

That got his attention, which was saying something considering Miguel had the attention span of a cat with a laser wand.

Now. I folded my arms across my chest. You still haven’t answered my question.

Miguel extinguished the smudge stick in a bowl of water. What was the question?

Who’s Lucy?

A girl you matched with on FarmersOnly dot com.

I said nothing, waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I said, Care to elaborate how we matched?

Oh, you know... He kept his gaze averted. She must have seen your profile and liked what she saw.

I want to see it.

Err... He hesitated. "Do you have to?"

While he was blatantly stalling, I cut my gaze to his accomplice. Adelaide? I said quietly.

Okay, okay. I’ll show, I’ll show you, she said in a panic, fumbling for her phone.

It didn’t take her too long to pull up my FarmersOnly profile. Within seconds, a shirtless picture of myself was on the screen. The sun was hitting my face at just the right angle as I stared off into the distance, looking deep and reflective.

Gag me now. So pretentious.

And I appeared to be glowing as the sun blazed a path through my hair while I stood in the middle of a golden field with a blade of a wheat straw set between my teeth.

See, she said airily. You look so ruggedly handsome.

That’s the look we were going for, Miguel added proudly. Note the slightly relaxed mouth and hint of a smile. Very sexy. Look at that defined jawline and that face bronzed by an outdoor life splitting wood with an axe. Very Hemsworth-esque, I might add.

I am a Hemsworth.

Pssh! He waved my words aside. The other ones, Chris and Liam, the movie stars.

And I’ve never in my life set foot in a cornfield.

We know.

So you did this—how?

Photoshop, Adelaide supplied.

Ed-Ed-Edric... Miguel stammered as I began scrolling down. You really don’t need to read that.

A muscle flexed in my jaw as I read my bio out loud. ‘Hey, darlin’! I’m a good ole country boy who likes huntin’ and fishin’ and ridin’ four-wheelers. I’m also real good at fixin’ busted Chevy trucks. Most days, you’ll find me livin’ my best life out here on my ten-acre ranch. Yep, right now I’ve got horseshit on my boots and I don’t give two hoots. And I might not be wearing a shirt, but trust me, I look fine A.F. in a plaid shirt and puffer vest. Now I ain’t looking to horse around here. I’m lookin’ for a down-to-earth gal who keeps it real, yer know what I’m sayin’? If you like what you see, my name’s Edric Hemsworth and I’m lookin’ for my forever gal.’ This was followed by a winky face emoji.

Pretty good, eh? Miguel winked at me. What do you think?

Sounds like the insane ramblings of a syphilitic brain. And you lied about me.

Well, Miguel said a tad defensively. There’s no mention of you being a farmer.

Yeah, but you lied about everything else. You know damn well I don’t hunt or fish or fix trucks.

"In my defense, I was trying to create this persona, if you will, of a rustic rancher who might attract a girl looking to date a farmer. And I didn’t exactly lie about everything. You do live on ten acres, and look at this message right here, he pointed out. Lucy says you had her at ‘horseshit’ and ‘ten acres.’"

Okay, I said tonelessly. What else does her message say?

Here, I’ll read it out loud for you. Clearing his throat twice, he began, ‘Greetings, Edric. You had me at horseshit and ten acres.’

You already said that.

Patience, please! I’m getting to the best part. He expelled an annoyed groan and tried again. She says, ‘I just got pregnant from your smile, lol. Anyway, I think you’re cute and you look like you have a good credit score. Let’s banter.’ And then she signed off with a winky face emoji.

Is that it?

Oh, wait, he said suddenly. She also left a comment under one of your pictures.

I frowned. You uploaded more pictures of me?

Just a couple.

Well, I prompted. Her comment—what does it say?

It says: ‘Eyebrows carved by Jesus.’

Adelaide smiled, cocked her head and said, You do have perfect eyebrows, Edric, and I like her. I like her sense of humor.

Me, too! Miguel exclaimed. So listen up! Lucy has a horse and she’s looking to date someone with some land, which, as you well know, is pretty hard to come by in the Bay Area.

Adelaide nodded. Nearly impossible.

This went right over my head. And what has that got to do with me?

Turning toward the window, Miguel gestured expansively. Look outside! You’ve got land. Plenty of it. In case you’ve failed to notice, this estate sits on ten acres of lush, green, horse-grazing pasture.

So you think I should date Lucy because she’s looking for horse property? I threw my head back and laughed, obviously finding it a little more amusing than he did.

When my laughter had finally petered out, Adelaide said earnestly, I like Lucy. She seems lovely and she’s refreshingly straightforward. I appreciate how she’s upfront about what she’s looking for in a man. Granted, she’s not your usual type but at least she keeps it real.

I have a type? Tell me, I said. What exactly is my type?

Miguel coughed loudly. I’ll answer this one. With glinting-eyed relish, he said, Oh, you know, vapid, needy, pretentious, self-entitled. High-maintenance. Diva-like. Usually an Instagram model or some sort of social media influencer. Drinks green juice out of mason jars. Passionate about being gluten-free. Imposes her lifestyle on you and if you aren’t careful she’ll eat you alive and use your bones as toothpicks.

Yeah. I strove for a bored tone. And what’s wrong with that?

Everything. And they all have the same personality. It’s called ‘I Don’t Have One.’ It’s like a Lazy Susan of ‘no personalities.’ Besides, that hasn’t seemed to work out for you, so why not try dating outside your comfort zone?

And you want me to date a horse gal? I scoffed. No, no, no. Absolutely not.

Now it was Miguel’s turn to scoff. Why not?

"Why not? Why not? Let me count the ways. How about I start with the obvious? I began ticking off my fingers. One: Every girl with a horse on that dating site is only looking for a place to keep her horse. She’s not looking to date. Girls who have horses have zero time for dating. Horses require a ton of care and an enormous commitment, which leaves little to no time for anything else. Two: Horse girls never want to ride anything but their horse. Three: They often smell like the barn. And horseshit. Four: Their horses always come first. If you date a horse lover, your relationship will never ever be a priority."

You’re repeating yourself, Adelaide said quietly. Four and one are essentially the same.

And five, I went on, money. Owning a horse is costly. It’s a four-legged financial drain so these girls are either spending Daddy’s money or your money.

Oh, my stars. Miguel clutched his invisible pearls. You think Lucy is a gold-digger?

What? I retorted. You think I’m reaching?

You reached so far with that you dislocated your shoulder, sis. Miguel clucked his tongue like a disapproving aunt. Yes, Lucy is looking to date someone with horse property, but I believe in my heart of hearts that she’s also looking for love.

Well, you’re a relentless optimist. I’m not.

Adelaide let out a heavy sigh. We are all in the gutter, Edric. But some of us are looking at the stars.

Oscar Wilde?

Yes.

He’s dead, I quipped. Pessimists live longer, healthier lives than optimists.

I know he’s dead. She rolled her eyes. But he died of meningitis, not from being an optimist.

Look. I dragged a hand through my hair. I’m speaking from experience here. Once upon a time, I dated a horse chick and she was a spoiled princess. I had to spend all my time helping around the barn, driving her around, driving her horses around. And she was crazy. Horse people are crazy and that’s a fact. Tell me, what sane person would get on a thousand-pound beast that could easily kill you? A horse could kick out your brain with one blow.

Edric, Adelaide implored. You’re better than this. You’re judging Lucy simply because she has a horse. That’s terribly unfair. Why don’t you at least meet her first?

Yeah, Miguel said harshly. Meet the girl before you judge her.

I inhaled sharply. Exhaled. Fine, I said at last. Do you have a picture of her?

Adelaide shoved her phone in front of my face. That’s her. Isn’t she cute?

Well, damn, now this had me rethinking everything. Lucy was cute and sexy at the same time—the best combo. I found myself admiring her long, silky hair that cascaded all the way