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  PRAISE FOR HELENA HUNTING’S NOVELS

  “Nothing hits me in the feels like a Helena Hunting romance!”

  —USA Today bestselling author Melanie Harlow on A Lie for a Lie

  “Helena Hunting delivers a smart, funny, emotional story that grabs you from page one.”

  —Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills on A Lie for a Lie

  “A sexy, heartwarming read!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Elle Kennedy on A Lie for a Lie

  “A Favor for a Favor is now my favorite hockey book of Helena’s! I loved how real the characters were. I loved the build of their friendship. It’s my favorite trope, and Helena did it superbly! A huge recommend from me. Also, it was really funny too. *wink wink*”

  —New York Times bestselling author Tijan

  “Stevie and Bishop are just as funny and hot as you’ve come to expect from Helena Hunting! Grab a pizza and crack it open because you will not want to miss the steamy shenanigans.”

  —USA Today bestselling author Sarina Bowen on A Favor for a Favor

  “A thoroughly delicious read.”

  —USA Today bestselling author L. J. Shen on Kiss My Cupcake

  “An absolute delight from start to finish, this delicious enemies-to-lovers romance sees an independent and driven heroine and an equally ambitious hero take a journey to love that is unpredictable and filled with hilarity, a dash of sweetness, and a touch of steam.”

  —Library Journal, starred review, on Kiss My Cupcake

  “Perfect for fans of Helen Hoang’s The Kiss Quotient. A fun and steamy love story with high stakes and plenty of emotion.”

  —Kirkus Reviews on Meet Cute

  “Bestselling Hunting’s latest humorous and heartfelt love story . . . is another smartly plotted and perfectly executed rom-com with a spot-on sense of snarky wit and a generous helping of smoldering sexual chemistry.”

  —Booklist on Meet Cute

  “Entertaining, funny, and emotional.”

  —Harlequin Junkie on Meet Cute

  “Hunting is quickly making her way as one of the top voices in romance!”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Sexy. Funny. Emotional. Steamy and tender and so much more than just a book. Hooking Up reminds me why I love reading romance.”

  —USA Today bestselling author L. J. Shen

  “A unique, deliciously hot, endearingly sweet, laugh-out-loud, fantastically good-time romance!! . . . I loved every single page!!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Emma Chase on Pucked

  “Sigh-inducing swoony and fanning-myself sexy. All the stars!”

  —USA Today bestselling author Daisy Prescott on the Pucked series

  “A hot roller coaster of a ride!”

  —New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent on Pucked Over

  “Pucked Over is Helena Hunting’s funniest and sexiest book yet. SCORCHING HOT with PEE-INDUCING LAUGHS. All hail the Beaver Queen.”

  —USA Today bestselling author T. M. Frazier

  OTHER TITLES BY HELENA HUNTING

  ALL IN SERIES

  A Lie for a Lie

  A Favor for a Favor

  A Secret for a Secret

  A Kiss for a Kiss

  PUCKED SERIES

  Pucked (Pucked #1)

  Pucked Up (Pucked #2)

  Pucked Over (Pucked #3)

  Forever Pucked (Pucked #4)

  Pucked Under (Pucked #5)

  Pucked Off (Pucked #6)

  Pucked Love (Pucked #7)

  Area 51: Deleted Scenes & Outtakes

  Get Inked (crossover novella)

  Pucks & Penalties: Pucked Series Deleted Scenes & Outtakes

  CLIPPED WINGS SERIES

  Cupcakes and Ink

  Clipped Wings

  Between the Cracks

  Inked Armor

  Cracks in the Armor

  Fractures in Ink

  SHACKING UP SERIES

  Shacking Up

  Getting Down (novella)

  Hooking Up

  I Flipping Love You

  Making Up

  Handle with Care

  STAND-ALONE NOVELS

  The Librarian Principle

  The Good Luck Charm

  Meet Cute

  Felony Ever After

  Little Lies (written as H. Hunting)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2021 by Helena Hunting

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542029308

  ISBN-10: 1542029309

  Cover design by Eileen Carey

  This one’s for you, Grandma Nell

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1 THEM’S THE BREAKS

  CHAPTER 2 SMALL-TOWN WOES

  CHAPTER 3 HOME SWEET HOME

  CHAPTER 4 NOT QUITE WHAT I EXPECTED

  CHAPTER 5 FAMILY BIZ

  CHAPTER 6 ANOTHER BLAST FROM THE PAST

  CHAPTER 7 WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO PRETTY?

  CHAPTER 8 SPITFIRE

  CHAPTER 9 EVERYWHERE I GO, THERE YOU ARE

  CHAPTER 10 NOT WINNING ANY POINTS HERE

  CHAPTER 11 BEACH PARTY

  CHAPTER 12 CONNECTED DOTS

  CHAPTER 13 THE HUNTING CABIN

  CHAPTER 14 KISSES AND CHEMISTRY

  CHAPTER 15 THE SECRETS OF BEE

  CHAPTER 16 BLEEDING HEART

  CHAPTER 17 ECHOES

  CHAPTER 18 THE NEW NOT QUITE NORMAL

  CHAPTER 19 SIBLING RIVALRY

  CHAPTER 20 BROTHERLY NO LOVE

  CHAPTER 21 THE RUSE

  CHAPTER 22 EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

  CHAPTER 23 PARANOID

  CHAPTER 24 BAD TO WORSE

  CHAPTER 25 OH, BROTHER

  CHAPTER 26 DOWN WE GO

  CHAPTER 27 SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO?

  CHAPTER 28 STAY FOR ME

  CHAPTER 29 I MISS YOU ALREADY

  EPILOGUE MATCHMAKER IN HEAVEN

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  LINKS

  CHAPTER 1

  THEM’S THE BREAKS

  Dillion

  I toss another empty can in the garbage bag. There has to be an entire case’s worth under my freaking bed. My ex-boyfriend used to drink diet soda in the middle of the night because he didn’t like the taste of water but couldn’t afford any more fillings in his teeth—as if diet soda is any better than the regular stuff.

  It was a weird habit I no longer have to worry about since he doesn’t live here anymore. And in two days, neither will I. We didn’t part on bad terms—it was an amicable breakup. In fact, I’m less upset about the breakup than I am about the fact that the company I was working for over the last few years closed, and I’m now out of a job. Which is probably a pretty strong indicator that the relationship wasn’t meant to last. Still, it sucks to be down a job, a boyfriend, and, in two days, an apartment.

  What I’m trying to get to, and failing at, is the suitcase that’s been stored under the bed for more than two years. At this point, with the sheer number of random cans I’ve come across, I’m certain of two things—the woman who used to clean our apartment every other week never cleaned under the bed, and I most likely will no
t want my suitcase once I’m able to get to it.

  I put mission get-the-suitcase-while-cleaning-under-the-bed on hold when my phone rings. I debate ignoring the call. I’m not entirely sure I want to speak with anyone, especially since I’ve been procrastinating and left cleaning and packing until the eleventh hour.

  I sigh when it reaches the third ring and finally pick up. It’s just my dad. I wait for some kind of latent disappointment or sadness that it isn’t my ex, Jason, to follow, but there isn’t any. Jason made a choice when he took the job back in his hometown in Connecticut, and I made mine when I decided not to follow.

  “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

  “Hey, kiddo. You doing okay?”

  He knows about the recent bumps in the road of my life. I left out the part about needing to find a new apartment because I felt like the breakup and losing my job were enough for him to worry about. He still thinks I’m coming for a visit in a couple of days, which honestly was the plan until the apartment I’d hoped to move into turned out to be infested with bedbugs. “Doing great. Is everything okay? You don’t usually call me at”—I check the clock on the nightstand—“ten on a Thursday morning.”

  “Uh, well, Billy had an accident.”

  My heart is suddenly in my throat. My younger brother has never been particularly good at staying out of trouble’s way. “Is he okay?”

  My dad is quick to reassure me. “He’s a bit banged up, but he’ll be all right.”

  Just because Dad says Billy’s all right doesn’t necessarily mean it’s completely true. My dad has always been good at downplaying situations. Making it seem as though things aren’t as bad as they truly are. Like two years ago, when he and my uncle were struggling to make ends meet with the family construction business and hiding how close they were to being bankrupt. I didn’t find out about that until well after the fact, when they were back on track and no longer in the red.

  When I asked him why he hadn’t said anything, he told me he’d been afraid I’d think it meant I needed to come home and help out. At the time, Jason and I had just moved in together in a cute one bedroom in Wicker Park. I genuinely don’t know what I would’ve done if he had told me, and I’m grateful that I didn’t have to find out.

  “What kind of accident was it? Please tell me it wasn’t on-site. And what exactly does ‘a little banged up’ mean?” I put my phone on speaker, toss it on my unmade bed, and pick up a stack of folded clothes before riffling through them to make sure they’re not from my “frequent wear” pile. Those will go in my suitcase, if it’s deemed useable once I get it out from under the bed. I determine nothing in the pile is going to be worn in the next couple of days, so I toss them in a box labeled CLOTHES.

  I need to do something with my hands to keep me from entering stressed-out-pacing mode.

  “It wasn’t on-site; he was in a car accident. He was on his own, and no one else was involved, but he broke his ankle and totaled the truck.” My dad’s words are clipped, almost rehearsed.

  Billy works with my dad and my uncle. They own the only construction company in town and handle everything from snow removal in the winter, to lawn maintenance in the summer, to renovation projects and framing all year long. In the past few years they began subcontracting out some of the trades because the rich city dwellers on the north side of the lake have started hiring them to make their mansions even bigger than they already are.

  I drop down on my bed and fold and unfold a pair of socks repeatedly. “How severe is the break?”

  “The doctor says it’ll be about six to eight weeks in a cast.”

  Eight weeks seems like a long time. And it’s only mid-June. This is their busiest time of year. “Is it his right or his left ankle?”

  “It’s the left.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “So he can still drive.”

  “Well, not quite.” I can practically feel my dad pacing the room on the other end of the line. It’s a habit we have in common.

  “What do you mean ‘not quite’?”

  “His license has been suspended.” My dad sighs. “He, uh, wrapped the truck around the McAlisters’ mailbox because he was drunk, so he’s been charged with a DUI.”

  “Oh my gosh. What the hell was he thinking?” The question is rhetorical. I can already guess what must have happened. He went out with his friends, got carried away, and drove his drunk ass home but didn’t manage to make it to our driveway before he hit something. This isn’t the first time this has happened—although the last time, we never could prove he was drunk since it wasn’t until the next morning that we found his truck parked in the ditch, between two trees. Luckily he never injured anyone—not that it’s any better.

  “Apparently he wasn’t. I don’t think he realized how drunk he was. He tried to walk the rest of the way home after he hit the McAlisters’ mailbox but ended up sleeping in the ditch. The McAlisters found him in the morning when they went to take old Rufus for a walk.”

  I run a palm down my face. I can only imagine the gossip. The McAlisters live about fifteen houses down the road from us. We’ve known them our entire lives. Billy dated their youngest daughter back in high school for a very brief period, and my dad built their garage a couple of years ago.

  Everyone knows everyone else’s business back home. That’s what living in a small town is like, all the Nosy Nancys with ears to the ground, salivating like hungry dogs over the newest piece of gossip. And now my family is a prime target.

  “How long is his license suspended for?”

  “Looks to be about a year, but Bernie said he might be able to get it reduced to six months.” Bernie Sawyer is the town lawyer. Yes, it’s kind of hilarious that his last name rhymes with lawyer. He lives in a huge house that is basically the dividing line between the summer homes and the permanent homes on the lake. He and my dad have been friends since they were kids.

  “That’s still a long time. Even when he gets his cast off, someone is going to have to drive him around. I guess it’s good it’s not snow season, huh?” My hometown of Pearl Lake is on part of a snowbelt, which means winters are long and there’s an endless amount of white powder to contend with. It’s great for tobogganing, skating, and skiing and not so great for driving.

  “It’d be better if we weren’t in the middle of a huge renovation project.”

  “But you still have Aaron, right?” Billy might not be able to do the heavy on-site stuff, but they have Aaron Saunders, who is close in age to my brother. Aaron mostly handles the plumbing and electrical work, but he can also fill in for Billy.

  “Yes, but he’s already working overtime. It looks like I’m going to be back on-site for the next few months.”

  That puts me on alert. “Who’s taking over the paperwork if you’re back on-site? Please don’t say Mom.”

  “Not sure I have much of a choice.” He chuckles, but there isn’t any humor in it.

  “There has to be another option, Dad.” A couple of years ago, my dad had the great idea to hire on my mom to do some of the bookkeeping. Except it didn’t go well, and I had to come in and clean everything up over the Christmas holidays so it wouldn’t be a complete cluster come tax time. After that he had to hire someone else to come in and help out, since he couldn’t juggle every aspect of running the company.

  “There isn’t one, unless you’re looking to move back home for a few months instead of visiting for a few days.”

  I laugh, but it’s flat. I love my family, but I worked my butt off to get a scholarship to a college in Chicago. Away from Pearl Lake and all the things it doesn’t have to offer, like anonymity and opportunity.

  I spent four years earning my bachelor’s in business administration. I worked two jobs, aced all my exams, and walked out of college and straight into a job with a sweet paycheck. For a while, I felt like I had succeeded. Gotten out of Pearl Lake and fulfilled my dream of living the city life in Chicago, which everyone back home refers to as “the city,” as if it’s the only city there
is. To me, it was. Yet now I’m currently still jobless, and in two days I’ll be homeless as well.

  To me, moving home means I’ve failed. It means facing all the people I left behind and have basically avoided for the past decade. It means going back to where everyone knows everyone else’s business. But I honestly don’t have anywhere to stay in Chicago that isn’t an Airbnb, and I don’t have the kind of money to sustain that.

  I must take too long to answer because Dad fills the silence. “Did you manage to get another job out there in the city?”

  “No, I haven’t found anything yet.” I’ve applied for a bunch of positions, but none of them are what I really want to be doing—and to be honest, I don’t even know what that is. I have always been singularly focused on getting a job so I can continue to live the city life. Only I never stopped to ask myself what it was I wanted to do as a profession. And now that I’m in a position to find a new job doing something I love, I’m a bit lost.

  “What is it exactly you’d want me to be doing for you, if I agreed to stick around for a while?”

  “Same kind of thing you did last time. Help manage the books, field calls from customers, set up deliveries, make connections with the other companies in town. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I could really use your help, Darlin’. Just for a few months, until Billy is back on his feet.” My family and friends have this habit of saying my name in a way that sounds like Darlin’ instead of Dillion.

  I look around my half-packed bedroom and consider what’s left of my life here. I have no job and no boyfriend. All the people I’ve worked with have either had to take jobs elsewhere or were part of a couple, putting me on the outs. Sure, I’ll get the occasional text message or invitation to go out for drinks, but they are proximity friends, not the kind I would reach out to after Jason and I broke up.

  I have a couple of girlfriends from college I still talk to, but I spent most of my time studying and working, trying to get ahead. I’ve realized that as much as I love the city, I built a life in a bubble that consisted mostly of my boyfriend and my job, and with both of those gone, there’s not much left for me to hold on to.

  Besides, my dad asking for help is a big deal. We’ve always gotten along well, and I know how much work the project-management side of things can be, especially since it’s such a small business. I don’t want my dad to end up in the same position he did two years ago—not when I can actually do something to help. Even if it means leaving the city behind.