Midsummer Fling

By Abby Knox

Penny dreams of a peaceful solo vacation, but she arrives at the lakeside cabin of her childhood to find out the owners have doubled booked, leaving her rudderless at the height of tourist season. When she discovers who snatched her single-bed cabin, it seems that fate has stepped in and booked her a one-way trip to a happily-ever-after.

 

Josh wants nothing more than to spend two weeks fishing, ship watching and gazing at campfires. To his chagrin, the resort owners double booked his reservation with that of an oddly familiar woman he refuses to leave out in the rough waters without a raft. When destiny -- and the age-old problem of two people/one bed -- takes the wheel, Josh quickly realizes it's time to reach for his dreams with his fated-forever shipmate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Abby Knox, LLC
• Release date: Mar 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224475285

Abby Knox

Abby Knox writes feel-good, high-heat romance that she herself would want to read. Readers have described her stories as quirky, sexy, adorable, and hilarious. All of that adds up to Abby’s overall goal in life: to be kind and to have fun! Abby’s favorite tropes include: Forced proximity, opposites attract, grumpy/sunshine, age gap, boss/employee, fated mates/insta-love, and more. Abby is heavily influenced by Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gilmore Girls, and LOST. But don't worry, she won’t ever make you suffer like Luke & Lorelai. If any or all of that connects with you, then you came to the right place.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Penny

Distractions and daydreams about spreading my beach towel on the white sands of a tropical beach somewhere are going to get me fired, but this work meeting is boring. It’s summertime; I have to get out of here.

Alas, my marketing paycheck contains hardly enough disposable cash for a palm-tree vacation, at least not on my own.

I could have joined my housemates, who at the moment are soaking up the Costa Rican sun by sharing one bland hotel room among the three of them, as I sit here listening to a presentation about market saturation. The costs of that trip, plus airfare, would have been manageable for my wallet. However, yet more time spent with housemates does not appeal to me at the moment; I’m aching for solitude alongside the sounds of crashing waves. Sun, sand, water, peace, and quiet. A grown-up vacation. I need to get away from the people I live with. I love them, but we all need a breather sometimes.

Besides, what if I met a nice fellow on the beach and wanted to bring him back to the room? Having vacation roommates would be inconvenient for hookups, to say the least.

My low-key search online for affordable rentals within a reasonable driving distance surprises me with a photo that floods me with a familiar ache. I am not prepared for what I see. The rustic cabin of my childhood summers on Paradise Lane jumps out at me. Scrolling under the conference table while my colleagues drone on about marketplace disrupters, I am looking at photos of the lakefront hideaway my parents rented every summer from when I was five years old until well into my teens.

As I swipe through, I start to believe in fate as well as time having the ability to stand still. The same dock where whatshisname gave me my first kiss, if that even counts as a first kiss. Jackie Sneedle said it didn’t count when I told her the story, but I hardly think the opinions of my fifth-grade frenemy ever matter when it comes to romance.

Biting my lip to hide a goofy smile, I keep scrolling through the listing photos on the sly. There was the raft anchored just off the lakeshore where I learned to dive. The fire pit where we made s’mores. The sidewalk where my sister and I drew butterflies with chalk.

My heart catches in my throat for a second because this further brings up an embarrassing memory of the boy who kissed me. I could not remember his name at first, but now I do. More clearly, I remember the color of his swim trunks. They had surfboards on them and I thought he was so mature even though he was a gangly 13-year-old and I was 10. I had written with chalk on that sidewalk something to the effect of Penny hearts Joshua, and my sister teased me relentlessly for the rest of our vacation. Penny and Joshua, sitting in a tree. She avoided a punch to the popsicle hole by the sheer luck of being two years my junior.

Teasing notwithstanding, the chalk scrawling got that boy’s attention, and he and I briefly became swimming buddies. He taught me how to do headstands in the water and later on, after vacation, we were pen pals for a few months until both of us became busy with school.

Penelope, do you have anything to add?

I’m slammed back into the fluorescent lighting of the boardroom where I’m supposed to be paying attention to the presentation. Oh, yes, I say, placing my phone facedown on the table.

I perform my best impression of a model employee until I can sneak off an email to the owner of the rustic lakeside resort. The website says it’s booked up all summer, but you never know what could happen.

The email reply comes within minutes: You’re in luck. We just had a cancellation for a two-week reservation. It’s yours if you want it.

I jump on it, and now I’m way more excited than I ever thought I would be over a vacation right here in the upper Midwest.

And there’s another reason to be excited and sentimental about it. Since my sweet mom passed away last year, this trip also could be a fitting tribute to her. From the cabin resort along Lake Superior, I could take a day trip to that place where Dad never wanted to take my mom. I wonder if I’m allowed to do what I’m thinking of doing. Will I get in trouble with the fish and wildlife service? I could be overthinking it.

Mom would probably scoff at the idea; it’s so cheesy. But the more I think about it, the more I completely fall in love with the possibility of bringing her with me for one last trip.

When I go home that day to pack my bags, I stop at the fireplace mantel, which houses a collection of knickknacks and artifacts from all of us housemates, including one or two pet memorials and an art project or three—and rub my hand over the scrolled wooden box that has a tiny brass plaque on it with her name, date of birth and date of death. Beloved mother, friend, and wife.

She was so much more than those things, but she was most proud of those labels.

Guess what, Jean? I say to the box. You’re coming with me on vacation to Paradise Lane.

CHAPTER 2

Josh

This must be what an injured pelican flopping in the water feels like, with nowhere to go as two ships barrel toward it, one from each direction.

The two ships are the owners of the cabin