Love, Laughter & Happily Ever After: A sweet romantic comedy collection Read online

  Love, Laughter & Happily Ever After

  Ellie Hall

  Summer Dowell

  Liwen Y. Ho

  Meg Easton

  Rachael Eliker

  Sophie-Leigh Robbins

  Rachel John

  Jennifer Griffith

  Cami Checketts

  Sarah Gay

  Jennifer Youngblood

  Kimberly Krey

  Ellen Jacobson

  Cindy Roland Anderson

  Taylor Hart

  Carina Taylor

  Gigi Blume

  Amy Sparling

  Johanna Evelyn

  Melanie Jacobson

  Copyright © 2021 Sweet & Swoony Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the authors and publishers, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Introduction

  If you’re looking for...

  ✔ Flirty & swoony heartthrobs

  ✔ Funny & sassy heroines

  ✔ Off-the-charts chemistry & charm

  ✔ Sweet kisses & happily ever afters

  ...then you’ve come to the right place. This sweet romcom box set contains 20 original humorous novellas from best-selling authors that are heartwarming, feel-good, and laugh-out-loud funny.

  Between the pages, you’ll find tropes such as enemies to lovers, second chance romance, high school sweethearts, opposites attract, friends to lovers, fake dating, and more.

  We hope that this reading escape will have you reeling with laughter and turning the pages for “just one more chapter.”

  Early reader reviews say:

  “Adorably funny!”

  “Fun, humorous, and entertaining!”

  “Hooked from the first page, I couldn't put it down!”

  Get ready to love, laugh, and find happily ever after!

  Contents

  An Unwanted Love Story

  Ellie Hall

  Her Plus-One

  Summer Dowell

  Head Over Stilettos

  Liwen Y. Ho

  Looking for Love (Sort Of)

  Meg Easton

  Lassoed into Love

  Rachael Eliker

  Take a Hike

  Sophie-Leigh Robbins

  Worst Neighbor Ever

  Rachel John

  Elevator Pitch

  Jennifer Griffith

  The Sassy One

  Cami Checketts

  Once Upon A Midnight Swim

  Sarah Gay

  Cold Feet

  Jennifer Youngblood

  Five Days With My (Super Hot) Ex

  Kimberly Krey

  Smitten with Candy Canes

  Ellen Jacobson

  Breaking All the Rules

  Cindy Roland Anderson

  Secret Wedding Date

  Taylor Hart

  Jude and the Matchmaking Llama

  Carina Taylor

  Baby You Can Drive My Car

  Gigi Blume

  Julie and the Fixer-Upper

  Amy Sparling

  I Think Maybe I Lied

  Johanna Evelyn

  The Backup Plan

  Melanie Jacobson

  A final note…

  An Unwanted Love Story

  Ellie Hall

  It’s enemies at first sight.

  It’s not my fault he doesn’t like ice cream, but I blame him for the fact that our lake is in trouble. The only problem is, I’m afraid he’s melting my heart. Can I do the same for him?

  1

  Oh, (Hot) Fudge // Rose

  Today’s forecast? Sunny with a chance of sprinkles. Excited for the first day of summer, I bounce out of bed to check the actual weather.

  My nosy neighbor closes her curtains quickly. Rarely does a day pass that she doesn’t ask when I’m getting married. She’ll comment that my yard would be great for kids or that I could really use a man to clean out my gutters.

  I’d like to clean out her gutters.

  I have no idea what that means, but it’s early and I haven’t had coffee.

  If my friends were to name an ice cream creation after me, they’d call it Sweet with a Scoop of Sass. I’m as sweet as can be, but I didn’t get to where I am by keeping my mouth shut.

  I consider flavor combos as I glance out the window of my cottage overlooking Liberty Lake. The surface looks flat, and I’m not entirely sure it has anything to do with the clouds in the east.

  “Don’t worry. Nothing is going to rain on our parade today.”

  Living here for the last five years and building my ice cream empire, I’ve learned the many moods of the lake. Lately, she lacks her usual sparkle and gleam. Maybe she has pre-show jitters.

  “Lib, you’ve been doing this for years. You know the gig. Show up looking all glittery and fresh. Wow everyone with your natural beauty. Before you know it, lake residents and visitors will be splashing and boating, lounging on your shores, having a grand time.”

  Yes, I’m talking to the lake. Why? It’s a long story, but we’re kindred spirits.

  Today is the official start of the season with the “Hello, Summer Soiree.” It’s a party, a festival, and a homecoming all wrapped in one, complete with a parade, picnic, and all kinds of activities on the town green and beach.

  My business, Queen’s Cones, gives out free soft serve from two to three p.m.

  Everyone loves free ice cream.

  I open the door to Butterscotch’s pen. She wiggles her nose and then bunny hops toward her little pad attached to the windowsill. After brewing my coffee, I sit next to her, scratching gently by her ears—I may be the queen of ice cream in this town, but Butterscotch rules this castle.

  As I sip my coffee, I say a little prayer of gratitude and get my head ready for the day.

  This is our daily routine and to some, it might seem simple, but it was hard won and I’m grateful for it.

  “Okay, Your Royal Hop-ness, I have to get these buns in gear. Enjoy a rosehip treat, watch the boat parade, and I’ll be back tonight. Soon we’ll have company of our own. It’s summer.” I semi-squeal because I can’t wait to greet all the folks returning to the lake and privately celebrate the anniversary of my independence when I stumbled upon the Hello, Summer Soiree after saying goodbye to what would’ve been the biggest mistake of my life. Also, my besties are visiting early next month for our annual girls weekend.

  After getting ready, I walk to town. Emma’s bicycle leans against the back door of Queen’s Cones. She lives on the other side of the lake and I’m only five-minutes away.

  I open the French doors in the front of the small building, pleased by the fresh mint paint and white trim. The planters made to look like ice cream cones dripping with flowers bloom. I smile at the sign for Queen’s Cones with a crown made of waffle cone and topped with a cherry. The tables and umbrellas are ready to provide rest and shade, and thankfully the trashcan is raccoon-proof. We had a problem a few years back.

  After p
ouring everything I had into this place—sweat, tears, and my life’s savings—I can’t help but smile proudly. It grows as a bright yellow VW bug rumbles into the lot.

  Jeanie, my other employee, waves. “Good morning. Ready for the big day?”

  She gets out of her car and hugs me. For one happy moment, I sink into her embrace. Jeanie gives the best hugs. They’re strong and maternal and fortifying. She hugs like she means it.

  As I pull away, she says, “Not so fast. Two more seconds.”

  I laugh, indulge her, and then we go inside. She always has more to give—hugs, laughter, advice. Apart from the lake, it’s these two women, on opposite ends of the generation spectrum, with me right in the middle, who’ve been my saving grace.

  Not even my cousin Catherine and my besties Hazel, Lottie, Colette, and Minnie know the depths of my despair when I washed up on Liberty Lake. But Jeanie and Emma, each in their ways, helped me learn how to swim.

  “Okay, cone-artists, you know the drill. Smile, scoop, and summer!” I say as I flip the sign to read Open.

  Queen’s Cones remains open year-round, but it’s slow in the cooler months—mostly locals and those brave enough to get something frozen during hockey, ice skating, and fishing season.

  We also serve coffee, tea, lemonade, muffins, and other treats. What’s most special is how cheerful our customers are. Well, almost everyone. There are the grouches, the hard-to-please, and the picky. Speaking of...

  Harlen stumps to the door.

  “Grumpasuarus Rex, incoming,” Jeanie mutters under her breath and whisks to the back.

  We’re convinced he comes in solely to terrorize us with his wry smile and dry laugh.

  Emma has his black coffee ready. Best to get guys like him in and out as quickly as possible.

  “Good morning, Harlen,” I say, ringing him up.

  He shakes his head.

  “Not a good morning?” I ask before I realize that I took the bait.

  “Not at all. The traffic has already started. Best to get out on my boat while I can.”

  “Considering you own Oil Change King, I’d think you’d be happy to see an influx of cars since they require your services and all.”

  He harrumphs. “I don’t own the Oil Change King. It’s a franchise, meaning—”

  Before he can say more, the door jingles with a group of chattering kids followed by a couple of haggard parents—likely, from a long drive.

  “They’re already swarming,” Harlen gripes, passing me a couple of dollars.

  I give him exact change, down to the penny because no way would he leave the eleven cents for the tip jar. He doesn’t even offer a thank you.

  But I shouldn’t expect one.

  The order for the moms and kids kickstarts the flurry of the day—the parade passes by, games and activities begin, and summer shifts into full swing.

  In the afternoon, Emma goes outside dressed as an ice cream cone, alerting everyone that it’s time for free ice cream as well as to pass out napkins and discount coupons. I scoop. Jeanie operates the register. We’re a well-oiled machine—if oil were as good as chocolate sauce.

  When the line dwindles, I bring out the trash. A motorcycle revs and then brakes in the side lot.

  A well-built man straddles the seat and takes off his black helmet. I should know better than to notice his sky-blue eyes, the beard that gives him both a distinguished yet wild look, and his buff bod. Vroom. Vroom.

  Even though it’s cloudy, sweat pierces my brow, and I hurry back inside.

  I return to my scooping station. Jeanie greets another guest.

  A deep, gruff voice says, “Yes, that’ll be all.”

  Despite myself, I glance up. Those blue eyes work like tractor beams and our gazes meet. His flick away.

  “Are you sure we can’t give you a free scoop?” Jeanie asks.

  “Nothing is free,” he mutters.

  I shake loose from the unnatural hold his eyes had on me. I blame blue. It’s my favorite color and his are the exact shade of the lake on a sunny day. Although, lately, the water resembles a moss-covered rock.

  “Are you sure we can’t offer you some ice cream? Everyone loves free ice cream,” I say, not one to back down from a challenge.

  He holds out a few bills for the bottle of water.

  “Are you here for the Hello, Summer Soiree?” I may routinely fail with Harlen, but I’m determined to get everyone that walks through the doors at Queen’s Cones to exit with a smile.

  “No, I’m looking for a job,” the Ice-King says coolly. And I don’t mean cool like ice cream. Rather, he’s frosty, unfriendly.

  Switch flipped. Goodbye sweet. My hand flies to my hip. “We’re not looking for help. You’d have to actually like ice cream to work here.” Instead of a scoop, he gets my sass.

  Jeanie flashes me a scolding look. “You must be new to town. I’m Jeanie. That’s Emma out there dressed like an ice cream cone, and this is Rose McQueen. The owner of this fine establishment. What’s your name?”

  “Doug.” Those frustratingly gorgeous blue eyes of his dart to something behind me and then back.

  I glance over my shoulder at the chalkboard menu.

  “Doug Slate.”

  “Nice to meet you, Doug,” Jeanie says. “The Oil Change King is always hiring. Not that you’d want to work there. The boss is a—”

  “Grumpasaurus Rex,” I say to keep Jeanie from using another names she has for him.

  We both stifle laughter. There I thought Jeanie was scolding me. Nope. She’s recommending Doug work for the enemy. Serves him right.

  “Sounds perfect,” Doug says and waltzes outside.

  Oh. Okay. I see how it is...and I see the rippling muscles of his back under his T-shirt.

  From the front patio, Emma signals the other trash can is full, so I go out to change the bag.

  Doug looks me over, sending a hot thrill from my head to my toes. I glance at the sky. Still cloudy.

  “Where is the Oil Change King?”

  “Seriously, you don’t want to work there.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I think they have something to do with the pollution in the lake. No sooner did they open their doors than something about the water changed. Trust me. It’s bad news.”

  Doug looks toward the water. “You’d see oil on the surface. Looks clear to me.” I sense a slight defensive timbre in his tone.

  I frown. “They offer full-service oil changes. Could be some other toxin.”

  “Are you a chemist, Rose?” Doug asks.

  The way he adds my name to the end of the sentence reminds me of the corporate big wigs I used to work for—torn from the pages of Power-moves 101. But Doug rode into town on a motorcycle. With his beard, he doesn’t scream three-piece suit, boardroom, and expense account. He leans casually against the fence off the patio in his jeans and fitted T-shirt. I swear, I’m not looking.

  In those blue eyes, I see depth.

  In his full lips, I see danger.

  My answer is a long time coming, but at last, I say, “No, I’m not a chemist. I care about the environment.”

  “So you’re a hippy.” He chortles.

  “The forefathers and mothers of our country fought hard for independence, and I believe that looking after this land and its water is part of our inheritance.” Have some snippy with your water, sir.

  Still wearing the costume, Emma bounces over and says, “Don’t miss our Hello, Summer free scoop special.”

  He gazes at the lake and grunts. “I don’t want ice cream.” Then he takes a long swig of water before crushing the empty bottle and passing it to me. “Recycle that, would you?”

  I huff. The nerve. My skin prickles with irritation. With a flash of his eyes, my mouth goes dry and I’m suddenly thirsty too. I fan myself. It sure is hot out today, or maybe it’s just the scenery.

  2

  Hubba Hubba // Doug

  Back on my bike, I rev out of the
lot and away from the ice cream queen. Living in the city for so long, I practically forgot how beautiful the countryside is.

  Being single for so long, I practically forgot how alluring women can be. Especially one with a perfect summer tan, dark wavy hair, and brown eyes that remind me of champagne or something equally bubbly and sparkly.

  Hubba. Hubba.

  Rose wasn’t wrong. Something about the lake’s water looks off, but that’s not my problem.

  Also, for the record, I don’t hate ice cream. Two scoops from Queen’s Cones wouldn’t be enough. I came to this town to save my company, not indulge myself.

  A paved road leads me around the eastern side of the lake. Several streets veer in various directions, but I continue to the mansion at the end.

  My mother’s brother, Uncle Allen, is away on business, but my aunt comes here at the first sign of spring. Her parents used to have a cottage on the lakefront land, but my uncle tore it down and built a massive three-story home. The bottom is rough-cut granite—fitting, considering New Hampshire is the granite state—and the top consists of gray shingles.

  Multi-million dollar homes dot the lake’s shore, and I’m no stranger to vast amounts of wealth, but for my purposes here, I probably would’ve been better off blending in, staying in one of the quaint cottage rentals closer to town.

  Aunt Christina exits the wide front doors with open arms and pulls me in with the strength of an ox, at odds with her small frame.

  “Do you realize you’re the first person on your mother’s side to visit in a decade? Can you believe that?”