No Ordinary Hate by Melanie Summers and Whitney Dineen ~ Excerpt
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About No Ordinary Hate by Melanie Summers and Whitney Dineen
Title: No Ordinary Hate
Author: Melanie Summers and Whitney Dineen
Series: Gamble on Love Mom Com #2
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Life in Hollywood is easy to hate…
According to Hollywood insiders, Harper and Brett Kennedy have the perfect family life—an image that has been carefully cultivated by an army of PR experts at Galaxy Studios. The truth is, their relationship has been on the rocks since Brett cheated when Harper was pregnant with their youngest child. Four years later, he’s still cheating, but this time with the nanny.
When the tabloids find out, a media frenzy ensues, all but making Harper and her kids prisoners in their Pacific Palisades mansion. Needing time out of the spotlight to regroup, Harper rents a cabin in the last place the press or anyone else would ever think to look for her—Gamble, Alaska.
There, she finds peace, solitude, and Digger McKenzie. Will the gruff lodge owner, who goes out of his way to make Harper feel like she doesn’t belong, realize he’s about to miss out on his one chance at happiness? Will Harper’s kids adjust to small-town life and heal from the chaos of their parents’ separation? Will Harper learn how to shoot a bear?
Find out in the deliciously funny and dishy first installment of the Love is a Gamble Mom-Com Series.
Excerpt from No Ordinary Hate
© 2022
Whitney Dineen & Melanie Summers
Dear Readers,
As the old folks say, it’s on like Donkey Kong! My manicurist’s street-sweeper’s garbageman saw Brett Kennedy boarding a plane for—wait for it—Alaska.
Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that reunion. Will there be a reconciliation? Tears? Accusations? Someone on his knees begging for forgiveness? Whatever the scene, I’m sure it was epic.
A teensy bit of advice for Brett: If your angel wife decides to take you back, you might consider offering to have yourself chipped—via the animal shelter.
A little advice for Harper: Gurl, my mama always said, if you lie down with dogs, you’re gonna get fleas. She also said something about not eating where you poop, but I’m not sure that’s relevant here. All I know is that if you take him back, you’re gonna need to wear a flea collar.
I’m going to go lie down and meditate now. I’m going to visualize sweet Harper in a bubble of protective light. She’s surely going to need it in the days ahead.
Dishingly yours,
Ferris Biltmore
Harper
My old life feels like it’s a million miles away. Pulling in front of the diner, I turn the ignition off and sit quietly, trying to focus my thoughts. I take slow, deep breaths, endeavoring to feel myself in my body. But at this very moment in time, I can’t. My life seems unreal to me, like I’m playing a character in a movie.
I read somewhere that’s how grief makes you feel. It’s almost like your soul has been transported out of your skin. It just kind of hovers around you, not quite connecting. I naively thought I could outrun it by coming up here, but apparently, it’s not possible to leave your feelings at home when you board a plane, especially when your husband—aka your problem—follows you. This new phase, of actually having to hand the kids over to Brett, is almost too brutal to bear.
Grabbing my purse, I get out of the cab of the truck and head into the diner. The restaurant is empty, so I find a booth and sit down.
Moira waves from the table she’s bussing. Once she drops a load of dishes into a bussing tub, she comes over to me and sits down. “Honey, it sounds like you had some excitement this morning. It’s all the boys could talk about when they came in for lunch.”
“I’d almost forgotten about the bear,” I tell her. My mind has been fully on my idiot husband showing up.
As if reading my mind, she says, “They also mentioned Brett.” She reaches across the table and takes my hand. Giving it a squeeze, she says, “I’m sorry. That can’t be easy.”
If anyone knows how hard life can be, it’s Moira. Raising three kids on her own while working crazy hours at her diner, I can’t even imagine. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s not like I’m the first woman who’s gone through this.”
“You know the problem is with us strong gals?” she asks while leaning back. Before I can answer, she tells me, “We’re constantly telling ourselves that we shouldn’t complain. We shouldn’t feel bad. We shouldn’t be human. It’s all a load of horse poop, if you ask me.” She slaps her hands against the tabletop hard. “We have got to cut ourselves some slack occasionally.”
“Call me crazy,” I tell her, “but I get the feeling you don’t practice what you preach.”
She laughs bitterly. “No time. But I promise you, when the twins go off to college, I’m going to close the diner for a month and let myself have the biggest pity party that’s ever been.”
“That seems like a long time to wait. What do you say we have that girls’ night we were talking about and feel sorry for ourselves tonight?”
Nodding her head, she strolls over to the door and turns over the “Closed” sign. “Let’s do it.” She walks over to the kitchen window and tells her cook, “I closed up a few minutes early, Lloyd. Go home to your wife and I’ll see you in the morning.”
She comes back to me. “Let’s go over to my place. That way I can put some supper on the table for the kids and give them at least a sense that they have a parent left.” She takes off her apron and throws it on the counter.
“I can’t even imagine how hard it is to raise the boys on your own. You’re doing a great job though. They’re good kids.”
“It’s sure not the childhood I wanted for them,” she says, opening the front door for me.
I wonder again what co-parenting with Brett will look like. It’s my guess he’ll make the time he spends with our kids one big party while I’m left with the job of actually raising them to be decent human beings. “Should I follow you?” I ask.
“I usually walk to work, so I’ll ride with you, if you don’t mind,” Moira says while heading to the truck. Once we’re in the cab, she adds, “So, did that brother of mine drive you crazy?”
I’m not sure how exactly she means that, so I kind of stumble over my response. “Um … no? I mean … I don’t know. No, I mean no.” Good lord.
“So, no?” She laughs loudly.
“He really went above and beyond for us and I’m very grateful. He’s wonderful with the kids.” What else can I say without tipping my hand that I kissed the guy?
