Welcome to the book blitz for AIN’T SHE SWEET, the second book in the adult contemporary romantic comedy series, Seven Brides for Seven Mothers, by Whitney Dineen. See below for information on the book and series, buy links, an exclusive excerpt, and details on her giveaway.
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Title: AIN’T SHE SWEET
Series: Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Series #2
Author: Whitney Dineen
Release Date: December 15, 2020
Genre: Adult Contemporary Romantic Comedy
Links: Goodreads | Amazon | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU | Amazon DE | Amazon IT
Tara Heinz began her modeling career at the tender age of twelve. After spending fifteen years drooling over forbidden foods, she does the unthinkable. She enrolls in culinary school and becomes a pastry chef.
After a nasty breakup with her rock star boyfriend that leads to tabloid war, Tara takes a job at a rural lodge in Oregon to escape the spotlight she no longer desires.
James Cavanaugh is a farmer in Oregon. His days are spent building his business and his nights are spent sleeping, so he can get up at four in the morning.
Ruby Cavanaugh has plans for her son that involve her new pastry chef. Of course, neither James nor Tara know what’s going on until it’s too late.
James is dawdling behind me on the way back to the lodge from the garden site. He’s moving as quickly as if he were on his way to have his legs amputated. “Hurry up, I have tons of stuff to do today,” I snap at him.
“I think I’ll just head home,” he says, veering his trajectory toward the parking lot.
“Get back here,” I order. “For some reason, your mom wants me involved in this garden. Being that she’s my boss, I’m going to do what she’s asked. Unless you want me to tell her you can’t be bothered consulting me, that is.”
“Are you seven years old? You’re going to tell my mom on me?”
He’s got a point. James definitely brings out the child in me, and not in a good way.
“The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can part ways,” I tell him. I don’t think I’ve ever annoyed a man as much as I do this one. Okay, there was that makeup artist who told me his makeup brush wasn’t a wand when I complained about how he applied my blush, but other than him, I usually get on pretty well with men.
“What kind of flowers do you want in the garden?” James asks like it’s causing him physical pain to do so.
“Obviously nasturtiums and roses, but I’d like dahlias, pansies, and violets, too.”
“Obviously …” he mumbles under his breath before asking louder, “What about hops?”
“I make a mean, stout brownie. I could use hops in it to add a sort of sedative effect.” Desserts tend to use a lot of things that are meant to soothe the palate after a big meal. Mint and lavender are two of the more common herbs, but hops would be a nice addition.
James interrupts my thoughts by asking, “Why did you come to Oregon?” He sounds perturbed again, or should I say, still.
“Clearly, because I somehow knew it would irritate you and I couldn’t help myself,” I fire back.
“Seriously,” his tone evens out to an almost conversational level. “You don’t seem the type to live someplace outside of the fast lane.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know plenty. For instance, I know you were on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition four times by the time you were twenty-five, I know you were engaged to Romaine Choate, and I know you can swear in French.”
“Caught that episode of Jimmy Fallon, did you?”
“I think the whole world watched that one.” His eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Part of the fun of being interviewed on late night television is the ability to be a bit salty. I simply took advantage of the situation.” Not to mention, Jimmy Fallon has a decent sense of humor about himself and he likes when people don’t fawn all over him. Although, I’m sure he would have forgiven me almost anything thanks to the dress I was wearing. Men seem to have a hard time concentrating when an attractive woman is practically painted into her clothes.
A whisper of a smile crosses James’s face before he says, “It takes talent to call someone an effing gasbag and have them laugh at it.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a fan.”
He rears up and stops moving as soon as the words are out of my mouth. “Fan? No. I may have appreciated your physical attributes from time to time, but I was never a fan. Please disabuse yourself of that notion immediately.”
“Yet I recall your mom telling me that you hung my posters on your wall when you were in high school.” I can’t help myself; I have to tease him about that.
“Just because I liked the way you look on the outside doesn’t mean I like you.”
“That’s very superficial,” I tell him.
“Seems to me the whole modeling business is superficial. You’d think you’d know that being part of it for so long.”
There is no getting along with this guy, so I stop trying. We make the rest of the trek back to the lodge in total silence, which is far preferable to the conversation we had been having.
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About the Author
Whitney loves to laugh, play with her kids, bake, and eat french fries — not always in that order. Whitney is a multi-award-winning author of romcoms, non-fiction humor, and middle reader fiction. Basically, she writes whatever the voices in her head tell her to. She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, Jimmy, where they raise children, chickens, and organic vegetables.
Gold Medal winner at the International Readers’ Favorite Awards, 2017.
Silver medal winner at the International Readers’ Favorite Awards, 2015, 2016.
Finalist RONE Awards, 2016.
Finalist at the IRFA 2016, 2017.
Finalist at the Book Excellence Awards, 2017
Finalist Top Shelf Indie Book Awards, 2017
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