With. You wield great power, not only in an author’s imagination, but with a publisher’s decision to buy a book. Cole and Penelope thank you for your enthusiasm!
Onward: Everyone, please bow to the amazing Sue Grimshaw, my fab editor. And I know some of you might be, like, “Dude, Lauren, you thank her in every book,” and to that I say, “Um, yeah, because she is a driving force behind every book!” This one in particular, she helped whip into shape, providing some delightful “What if…” questions that helped turn Cole and Penelope’s love story into something rather epic.
Next up, we need to talk about this cover, don’t we? Fabulous, right? I gasped the moment I saw it, because it was as though Lynn Andreozzi had jumped inside my imagination and pulled out my exact vision of Cole Sharpe. There really aren’t words to describe how much I love this cover.
I’m also going to need a dramatic slow clap for the rest of the unsung heroes on my publishing team. Gina, for being the bubbly cheerleader in the background, whose enthusiasm always makes me want to write better, faster, more! For the amazing publicist-guru, Ashleigh Heaton, because, lady, you are killing it, and I am so, so grateful for you. And for marketing whiz Erika Seyfried, for all the magic you cook up behind the scenes.
To my amazing assistant, Lisa…I don’t even know what to say other than sometimes it feels like you’ve saved my life! I really don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you for taking care of All the Things so that I have more time to write.
For my family, especially my husband, for the love and support that just never quit.
And last, for my darling friends who helped keep my head above water as I was writing this book, especially Rachel Van Dyken, Jessica Lemmon, and Kristi Yanta. You get me.
Chapter 1
Cole had been watching the brunette for the better part of three innings.
Which was just wrong on a couple of levels.
For starters, it was a rare woman who could come between Cole Sharpe and baseball. Or between Cole and any sport, for that matter.
And at Yankee Stadium in particular, the game came first. Especially a game in which the Yankees were trying to establish early dominance over the Blue Jays in the American League East division.
Cole’s eyes should have been glued to the field. Not only because the Yankees were his team—he’d been a die-hard fan since his Little League days—but because Cole was a sportswriter. Come tomorrow morning, Cole would be expected to know the details of every single at bat.
And yet…
His eyes shifted once more to the narrow figure of the brunette as he took another sip of beer.
There was something about her that demanded a second look and at the same time, there was nothing about her. She was utterly, completely unremarkable.
And that was the other reason why Cole’s fascination with the woman made no sense.
Cole loved women almost as much as he loved sports, but this woman?
Cole liked women curvy, but this one was slim to the point of being skinny. There was no noticeable definition of her waist through her Jeter jersey. No womanly flare of her hips.
Plus, Cole preferred blondes, and this one’s messy ponytail was just a couple shades lighter than black.
As for her face? Well, he hadn’t seen it yet. Not fully. But she’d turned her head once in the third inning, giving Cole a quick glance at her profile. The upturned nose was cute enough, but the rest of her features were hardly so arresting as to explain why he continued to stare at her.
It took Cole another half inning to realize what it was that had captivated him.
For the first time in his life, he was seeing a woman who was more absorbed with a baseball game than he was.
Tiny Brunette, as he’d started thinking of her, hadn’t lost interest in the game once. Even between innings, when the rest of the stadium was refilling on beer and peanuts, she merely scribbled like crazy in a little notebook she kept in her lap.
It was like clockwork. The third out would signal the swap of the players on the field, and Tiny Brunette’s attention would dip toward the damn notebook.
Her left hand would sneak around to twirl her ponytail around a finger while her right hand busily wrote…
What?
What did she write in that notebook? And exactly why did he want to know so badly?
Normally Cole