Lightning in a Bottle
by Gina Ardito
Genre: Contemporary Romance
After suffering through a humiliating divorce in New York, Bo McKenzie is out of luck, money, and patience. Arriving in Silverton, Texas, she’s bet her last dime on the launch of her craft brewery to get her life back on track. Despite her vow to stay focused solely on the beer business, one man manages to capture her heart. Can she trust him?
Drew Garwood’s one true love has always been serving the legal needs of his neighbors. His greatest trouble is keeping his brother on the right side of the law. When Bo McKenzie sweeps into town, she rouses his passion and provides the spark his life has been missing. Whatever happened before she came to Silverton has left her guarded and suspicious. Can he break down her defenses?
As the two struggle to rein in their wild attraction, secrets and greed could destroy the brewery and force Bo out of town for good – unless Drew can find a way to convince her to stay.
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Outside, on the brewery floor, Bo fell off the hoverboard again.
Drew sighed. “I better go get her before she hurts herself.”
“I’ll come with you. You might need backup,” Mitch said with a snicker.
“Wait.” He strode to the desk and pulled out a round, aluminum foil dish with a clear plastic cover. “I bet I can lure her upstairs faster with this.”
“Is that a deluxe burger from that diner over in Claude?”
They left the office and headed downstairs to join the chaos on the brewery floor. Once again, Bo balanced precariously on the hoverboard in the center of the room while a young man, barely out of his teens, stared at his watch to time her progress.
“One minute, fifteen seconds,” the young man shouted.
Everyone cheered, except Bo, who ordered above the din, “Don’t keep calling out the time, Ryan! It distracts me.” The aroma of the burger must have reached her nostrils because she turned in his direction and smiled. Leaping off the precarious contraption with more grace than she displayed while riding it, she announced, “Time out. My dinner’s here. To be continued tomorrow.” She followed the scent straight to him. “Please tell me that’s meat, I smell.”
“And hello to you, too,” he replied.
“Sorry. Hi, Drew. Thanks for coming back. How was your day? Is that meat I smell?” She spoke the words as if reciting a list, and he grinned.
“My smart phone shows more emotion than that.”
“What can I say? It’s been a long day. I need recharging.” She looked at the dish he held and gave a fist pump. “It is meat! Oh, thank God. It occurred to me after you were gone you might think I was one of those scrawny, salad-munching women.”
“You could’ve called to tell me what you wanted. My phone number’s on every email you’ve received over the last eight months.”
“True.” She shrugged. “But I haven’t had time. Been busy since I got here.”
He nodded toward the crowd of men surrounding the next victim mounting the hoverboard. “Yes, I noticed.”
She laughed. “Running a brewery isn’t like running a law office. We blow off steam in more…diverse…ways.”
I kill houseplants. There. Now you know one of my greatest shames. I'm not boasting. I just figure that if you're reading this, you're looking for more than how wonderful life is as a writer. You get enough of that elsewhere. Ditto for political rants, how to lose thirty pounds in a week, and creating gorgeous crafts with nothing more than twine and soup cans. My goal is to connect with you, dear reader, even if you're not a writer, not a New Yorker, not a mother, not a female. We're human (unless one of us is a spambot), and what we have in common is flaws. So here are a few more of mine:
I sing all the time. I sing songs most people don't know--jingles from television, crazy stuff I used to listen to on Dr. Demento, Broadway and movie soundtracks, and I can even bum-bum-bum through instrumental music. I sing in the car. In the shower. While I'm grocery shopping. And I headbop while I sing. When I'm not singing, I talk to myself. Just ignore me and move on. You get used to it after a while.
I don't eat my vegetables. Seriously. I only started eating salad about ten years ago, but I'd still rather have a cookie.
Given the option, I would live in a mall where I would never have to worry about freezing temperatures or too much sun. I'm extremely fair-skinned and could burn under a 60-watt light bulb.
I can't sleep without background noise so the television's on all night. If it's too dark and too quiet, all I have are my thoughts. And even *I* don't want to be alone with my thoughts.
Don't ask me to Zumba, line dance, or march in the parade. I have absolutely no rhythm.
I color outside the lines. Not because I'm a rebel, but because I suck as an artist. My artistic ability is limited to being able to draw Snoopy sleeping on his doghouse. And I don't even draw that well.
Regrets. I have more than a few.
My favorite activity is sleep, and I'm pretty good at it. I don't clock a lot of hours, but I can powernap like a Persian cat and rejuvenate within ten minutes.
I consider shopping and dining out excellent therapy for anything wrong in my life.
My feet are always cold. Always. My husband of more than a quarter century claims it's because I'm an alien sent to Earth to destroy him. (He might be right about that.)
Coming to my house for a visit? Unless you've given me plenty of advance notice, be prepared. My floor will not be vacuumed, there will be dishes in my sink, and I only make my bed when I change the sheets once a week (I'm climbing back into it ASAP. Why make it?) Housecleaning is not high on my priority list. Okay, to be totally honest, it's not on the list at all.
I can resist anything...except ice cream.
Since this is our first date, I figure I've revealed enough secrets for now. But if you've read this bio and think I might be the author for you, pick up one of my books or stalk my website
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