Welcome to Rose Bend for the first book in USA TODAY bestselling author Naima Simone’s irresistible new series.
If it was only about her, she might never have come back to Rose Bend. But it’s not only about her anymore.
Read on for a sneak peek of The Road to Rose Bend
The Road to Rose Bend
by Naima Simone
“STOP.” COLE GENTLY tugged on her hand, drawing her to a halt. “Look around you. What do you see?”
Sydney tossed him a look that he clearly interpreted as what the hell, but she still glanced around the busy downtown area, packed a little more than usual with shoppers, tourists and traffic because of summer and the upcoming motorcycle rally. But the places that marked Rose Bend as a small, close-knit community still stood, impressive in age yet humble in simplicity.
“What am I supposed to see?” she retorted. “I feel like this is a trick question.”
“Do they teach suspicion in the South along with genteel manners?” He surrendered to his desire and allowed himself a gentle tug on a brown curl.
“Yes. It’s free, along with the master class on the War of Northern Aggression.”
“Smart-ass,” he growled.
“Not the worst thing that I’ve been called.”
Delicious. Perfect. Worship-worthy. All things he would—and had—said himself. Goddamn, stop. “Not touching your ass,” he said, then pinched the bridge of his nose, inwardly groaning at his words.
Sydney grinned. “You don’t sound at all happy about that fact,” she drawled.
“Focus,” he grunted.
“I was.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth that completely ruined the innocence she was obviously striving for. “Then you started in about manners and asses, and it all went left quick.”
He couldn’t help it; he threw back his head, laughing. Long and hard. And damn if it didn’t feel good. Warm and...cleansing. He brought her hand, still clasped in his, to his mouth and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles in gratitude.
Her soft gasp reached his ears. Without his permission, his gaze dropped to her mouth. How would that puff of breath feel across his lips if he bent his head over hers?
“What do you see, Sydney?” he asked again, choosing not to acknowledge the question in those liquid brown eyes.
She jerked her head away, obeying his request. For several moments, she studied their surroundings, and when she returned her attention to him, she shook her head. “The same place I left eight years ago.”
“No,” he objected. He held the ice cream cone out to her, and when she shook her head, he tossed it into a nearby garbage can. Then, stepping behind her, he settled his hands on her slim shoulders. “You’re looking out the eyes of that hurt, misunderstood teenage girl. What does the mature, successful woman see now?” When she remained quiet, he offered, “Let me help. See the pharmacy?” he asked, slightly turning her to the left where the store had stood since his parents had been born. “Mr. Price used to run it with an iron fist and pretty much bark at every kid who came in there. Talk about crotchety.” The corner of his mouth quirked at her “hell yeah.”
“But now, he has grandkids, twin girls, and you wouldn’t recognize the old man. He actually—wait for it—smiles. And his daughter helps run the pharmacy. She’s enlarged the cosmetics and toy sections, and even added audiobooks.”
Again, he turned her, so they both surveyed the sprawl of the town and the breathtaking view of Monument Mountain and Mount Everett soaring above it.
“We have a new nondenominational church and a synagogue. The resource center hosts several advocacy programs for our LGBTQ community, to provide support for their mental and physical health, and helping them lead successful lives in an often intolerant world. We have a Puerto Rican mayor.” He nodded. “What I want you to see, Sydney, is that yes, we’re still the same in the way that you’re still the same person who left here. But just like you’ve grown and changed, so have we. Just give us a chance to show you. To welcome you.”
Several beats of silence passed between them, and he was about to release her and continue on their walk when her quiet voice halted him.
“What if the woman is still hurt?”
He barely caught that low whisper. It throbbed with old wounds. But he