Head Over Heels: Love at First Sight: Book Three Read online

  Praise for Poppy Parkes

  “Great characters. Lots of steamy chemistry. This was one amazing read. Loved it."

  “This is a great short story that had me engaged from the beginning to the end. The characters are wonderfully written, not just [the main characters] but also the supporting and diverse cast on both sides, and they had depth, emotion and were very believable. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this story and was left with a big smile on my face by the end.”

  “Can’t wait for more.”

  “This is a feel-good story for a person who can’t have children…”

  “This was a fantastic short romance! It's well written, no drama and super hot… I loved it.”

  “This is my first book from this author. I love the storyline and the chemistry in the book. It easy to read and well written.”

  “I've read several books written by Poppy Parkes; she has done a great job at writing a good short story; she is becoming one of my favorite authors. I can’t wait to read more of books her books.”

  “The story is steamy and cute but the internal and shared quips put it over the top in the awesomeness category!”

  “The writing is great, the characters are likable [in] this quick, fun read…”

  “The story line is well-developed, emotionally deep, well written, funny, engaging, and steamy. The characters are amazing and likeable; their chemistry is instant and off the charts! Definitely recommended!”

  Thank you for downloading Head Over Heels

  Outdoor adventure leader Hattie MacLean never wanted love — she was happy flitting from partner to partner, not tied down by commitment, thank you very much. Then single dad Ben Larsen asks her to pretend to be his girlfriend for a night and suddenly she’s seeing him in a whole new light. But is she ready to risk it all to fall head over heels for someone? And even if she is, will he want her back?

  Head Over Heels is a super hot friends-to-romance story about a younger woman falling in love with an older man. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and only consensual shenanigans await. This contemporary instalove romance is the third installment in the Love at First Sight series (find book one here and book two here), and will make you squirm with delight. Steamy happily ever after guaranteed. Happy reading! ;)

  Love, Poppy

  Head Over Heels

  Love at First Sight: Book Three

  Poppy Parkes

  Copyright © 2020 by Poppy Parkes.

  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 author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities between elements of this book and real places, people, or things is coincidental.

  This book is intended for adult audiences 18 years and older only. All characters are consenting adults 18 years and older only.

  Contents

  The Oops Club

  Hattie

  Ben

  Hattie

  Ben

  Hattie

  Ben

  Hattie

  Ben

  Hattie

  Epilogue

  Love at First Sight

  A Love Note For You

  Also by Poppy Parkes

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Oops Club

  Find a typo or grammar error? Let me reward you for your skills!

  Email a screenshot with the circled or otherwise highlighted error and your mailing address to [email protected]. If you’re the first one to find the error, I’ll send you one of my Kindle books of your choice — for free!

  Thanks so much for supporting indie authors!

  With love and gratitude,

  Poppy

  Hattie

  “Great job, Rory,” I call, adjusting the tension of the line for the nine year old girl I’m belaying up the climbing wall. She’s one of the youngest kids in Outdoor Adventure’s afterschool program to attempt the advanced adult wall, and she’s hit a particularly tricky section. I know she’s got this, but she’s not quite sure. “Take your time. No need to rush.”

  “I know,” she calls down, face scrunching with annoyance beneath her helmet. “I’m just thinking.”

  “Okay, okay,” I chuckle, exchanging a knowing look with my fellow staff member belaying a grumpy six year old up the beginner’s side of the wall. “Think all you like.”

  Rory rests most of her weight in her harness — a.k.a. on me — and I readjust my stance. The outdoor wall curves straight outwards from where she sits, so she’ll have to climb while upside down to get over it.

  I’ve been working with her most afternoons after school for a couple of years now and I know that she’s got the strength and the skills to handle this. The question is whether she wants it enough. The kid hates going head over heels, and I have no way of guessing whether she’ll attempt this challenge or not.

  I feel her decision before I see it. She lifts her weight out of the harness, relying once again on the strength of her legs and arms. The muscles of her right forearm twitch like she’s psyching herself up to make a move with it.

  “Start from the bottom,” I say. “Your power’s in your legs.”

  The muscles in her forearm still, then flex in synchrony with her left arm as she reaches for a new grip with first that leg, then the other. Her body’s bunched up like a swimmer crouched in a dive, ready to launch.

  “Good.” I nod even though Rory’s not watching me. “Now you can find your handholds.”

  I don’t miss that her hands shake when she releases one handhold to stretch for another. She’s got her bottom lip caught between her teeth, eyes steely with concentration, cheeks pale with fear.

  Her first try for a new handgrip is a swing and a miss. The failed attempt puts her out of balance, and she swings from just three touchpoints for a wild moment that makes my stomach swoop.

  But then she winds up and reaches again, and this time finds good purchase with her hand.

  “Great,” I cheer, “way to not give up, Rory.”

  When she moves her other hand to a new grip, she’ll be fully upside down. I hold my breath, simultaneously certain that she can do it while praying that I’m not wrong.

  It takes her a full minute to screw up her courage to let go of that last handhold in a try for a new one. But, with a tiny growl of determination, she does, and this time she reaches it solidly on the first go.

  “Yes!” I have to rein my enthusiasm in. But damn, I am proud of this girl. When she first started coming to the program a couple of years ago, she was too scared to try even the most tame ground elements of our ropes course. And now look at her — one of the most advanced kids that’s ever come through Outdoor Adventure’s afterschool program.

  Once Rory is upside down, she makes quick work of getting up and over this element of the wall. I suspect it’s because she hates being in that position, but hey, whatever works, right?

  There’s not much that I have to coach her through for the last stretch of the wall. Before long she’s at the top, fists thrust in the air in a victory worth celebrating.

  “I did it!” she crows.

  “You did!” I call back. “I knew you could. I’m so proud of you.”

  Rory performs a tiny jig of a happy dance that is heavily influenced by flossing, then sticks her tongue out at me with a wink. I tongue-wink her back — yes, that is what we call the expression, and yes, it sounds totally gross and lewd. But what can I say, I’m wrapped around th
is kid’s finger so I go with it.

  And then she’s out of my care, onto the first element of the high ropes course that begins at the top of the climbing wall.

  I coil up the now-slack line that had just been holding Rory’s weight, unclipping myself from my harness. Turning and heading through the back door of the climbing wall into the little storage room within, I stash my belaying equipment.

  A wave of sadness looms out of nowhere, sweeping over me as I stand inside the dim cubby. I shove a hand against the wall as I stagger against its onslaught, gasping.

  Fuck. It’s been a week since the doctor gave me the news, but it hasn’t gotten any easier. Infertile. The word sounds so antiseptic. Nothing like the storm of emotion my new reality has brought with it.

  I’d gone in for my regular exam of my lady bits, expecting it to be like every other uncomfortable but routine gynecological appointment. But when I’d shared, wholly unconcerned, that my periods were irregular and sometimes didn’t happen at all, everything changed.

  The doctor ordered a bunch of tests.

  The results? Something I don’t understand about my hormones being so out of whack that I’ll likely never be able to bear children of my own.

  A thing that I hadn’t realized I wanted until it got taken away.

  It doesn’t help that one of my best friends is unexpectedly pregnant. And while my mind is so happy for Amelia and Tatum, my heart hasn’t quite gotten on the same page yet.

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I draw it out, and a group text from none other than Amelia, sent to myself and our other two friends, Kate and Emmy, gleams back at me.

  How’re you all holding up? she says.

  Great!!! I type back.

  Which is a straight-up lie.

  But I’m not ready to talk with my friends about this. Not yet, at least. And even if I was, revealing info of this much gravity over text seems like the wrong way to go.

  With everything, we haven’t gotten to see each other nearly enough, Amelia writes. Who wants to go see that new rom-com that’s coming out this weekend? Tatum and I are dying to.

  I groan. A friend hangout with one of said friend’s significant other? I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

  Kate enters the conversation. I’m so in for a night at the movies! Can I bring somebody too?

  Def, Amelia replies.

  Now it’s a friend hangout with two dates. Great.

  I wish I could, but I have a seminar all weekend. Next time! Emmy writes.

  Amelia sends a massive text of poop emojis.

  Hattie, you in? Kate asks.

  I stare at the phone, not sure what to say. While a night with my friends might be just what I need, I’m not sure I’m ready to spend it with them and their guys. Not now.

  I stand for a long moment, watching the cursor in the text box blink, awaiting my instruction. Then I set the phone’s screen to black and shove it back in my pocket. I stomp out of the storage nook, sadness turning to irritation at my friends.

  Which, I’m very aware, is ridiculous and unfair. My friends haven’t done anything wrong. Hell, I haven’t even told them my news.

  Heading toward the few school children left waiting to take their turns on the climbing wall, I force my lips into what I hope is a genuine smile and try to shake off my cloudy mood.

  Ben

  I take my time strolling from my parked car to the high ropes course area at Outdoor Adventure. I’m fully aware that I’m early to pickup — again — but I can’t resist trying to get a glimpse of the bold new things my daughter is trying and learning here.

  The staff are used to me arriving early and have stopped trying to wrangle Rory into readiness before it’s quite time. One of them — Rory’s favorite, Hattie — even told me that she appreciates my habit, and that most other parents are either too frazzled or too disinterested to be as engaged as I am.

  Hattie might be my favorite too. Even the memory of her compliment makes my chest inflate with pride.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. Frowning, I consider ignoring the damn thing. I know exactly who it is — my mother. Usually after hours calls are from the construction firm I’m an engineer for. But this time, I’m certain it’s not work.

  I let it ring a few more times, then give in and draw the phone from my pocket. If I ignore her now, I’ll only be making it worse for myself later.

  “Hey, Mama,” I answer. “What’s up?”

  I know full well what’s up — the annual family get-together. It happens too often to truly call it a reunion, I think, but for those of us who are local, it’s required.

  My mother doesn’t even say hello. “We’ll be seeing you and Aurora this weekend, right?” She uses the full name Rory’s mom insisted on for our daughter. My late wife had a studied passion for all things Disney, and Sleeping Beauty was her favorite princess.

  “Of course. You know Rory and I never miss it.”

  She makes a little huffing sound. I love my mother, but the woman has a penchant for drama. “Well, one never knows.”

  I roll my eyes. “We’re a sure thing, Mom. Do you need me to bring anything?”

  “A woman would be nice. When’s the last time you went on a date?”

  Wincing, I shake my head at myself. I walked right into that one. “I meant food. We could bring a salad maybe, or dessert —“

  Mom plows on unheeding. “It’s not right, you know, for poor Aurora to be motherless —“

  Now it’s my turn to cut her off. “Rory is not motherless. She has a mother who just happens to be dead. And we’re doing just fine.”

  “You’re doing wonderfully, darling. I just think that having a bit of help and companionship would be nice.” She sounds like a kicked puppy now, and I suppress a groan of frustration.

  I know exactly how this weekend’s family get-together is going to go. Mom aches to see me with a woman, and while she stops herself from expressing this desire all year long, she lets loose each year at the annual shindig. The rest of this week will be filled with calls like this one. And once Rory and I are actually in my parents’ shady backyard, Mom won’t be able to stop nagging me about it.

  I know she does it out of love. But it’s fucking annoying.

  “You know what?” I bark. “I am bringing someone.”

  Silence descends on the other side of the phone, giving my brain time to catch up with my mouth. What the hell did I just do?

  “You are?” Mom says in a hushed voice.

  “Um, yeah.” I don’t sound nearly as sure as I did a moment ago, even to my ears.

  “Well,” she says, “that will be a refreshing change.” She sounds like she doesn’t believe her own words either.

  I sigh, rubbing my hand over my face. I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into, but I’m ready for the call to be over. “We’ll see you this weekend, okay? Let me know if you need me to bring any food.”

  “Thank you, dear. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Mama.”

  I stare at the illuminated face of my phone for a long minute after I end the call. I don’t know what’s worse — that I straight-up lied to my own mother, or the fact that I’m going to let her down.

  What if you don’t? A tiny voice in my head chirps. What if you do bring someone to the party?

  I try to dismiss the idea, but something about it sticks, refusing to leave.

  It’s been seven years since Rory’s mother died, taken by a rare and vicious form of cancer. In that time I’ve gone on a handful of dates that all went nowhere. I wasn’t ready to leave the memory of my beloved Julie, and besides, I had a baby to raise.

  But the thought of having a partner in crime — an adult one, that is — for the family party? The more I turn the idea over in my head, the more it sounds really damn attractive.

  And I don’t have to be dating the person I bring. I could bring someone I’m friendly with, platonically. Someone that Rory won’t mind tagging along with us.

  Shaking my
head, I try to put the whole conundrum out of my mind. I’m here for my daughter and don’t want this ridiculous problem that I’ve created for myself to steal any of my attention from her.

  I follow the needle-strewn path through the evergreens, heading for the end of the ropes course. Rounding a bend, I’m rewarded with the sight of my daughter setting her jaw at the top of the zipline before throwing herself off the sixty foot tall platform into thin air.

  My stomach swoops as gravity takes hold and my baby plummets toward the earth. But then she reaches the limit of the zipline’s slack and she’s flying, not falling, face alight with an open-mouthed grin of joy.

  I can’t help but give a whoop, cheering her on. If I thought my chest filled with pride at the mere memory of Hattie’s compliment, now it feels like my ribs might burst with how fucking proud I am of my kid. Tears spring up in my eyes, simmering without falling. I don’t wipe them away.

  “It’s hard to believe that a couple of years ago we could barely get her to even look at our easiest elements, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind me.

  Turning, I see Hattie approaching. She’s wearing her usual bright smile, but I notice that her gray eyes have an unfamiliar sadness shadowing them. I frown, hating to see this young woman who’s become so important to my daughter hurting.

  “It really is,” I agree. My gaze lingers on her eyes, but I decide that it’s none of my business. “Rory’s very fond of you, you know.”