Elizabeth Maddrey

She’s half in love. He’s never noticed.

Love might be a choice, but some choices are off limits.

They say opposites attract—and I’m not going to disagree. In fact, I’d be doing my best to see if the attraction was mutual if not for one little thing.

She’s my best friend’s little sister.

And since she and her brother are close, she’s become the honorary sister for all the guys in our group.

But I don’t see her as a sister.

At all.

She’s funny and smart.

And gorgeous.

But I don’t want to make it weird with the guys, so I figure I’m going to leave it be. And if enlisting her help to plan a fundraiser for my job is a convenient excuse to spend time alone with her? So what?

The only person I’m hurting is me.

She's out of options. He doesn't want to get involved.

Jenna and I have been friends since college.

Not besties or anything. Just the kind of friend you hit up when you want to go to a party but don’t want the pressure of a date.

She’s fun. Independent. And she gets me.

Which is probably why we made a pact and ended up dating casually.

The kiss was completely out of left field. And so was the ridiculous pact to get married if we were still single in our thirties.

Neither of us have ever mentioned that pact again.

But man, a lot of years have passed and I can sometimes still feel her lips on mine. Now that she’s going to be renovating my house, it could definitely be a problem.

The whole pact thing might have been dumb, but would it really be such a bad idea for us to get together?

A reformed playboy. A woman who trusts horses more than men. And a road trip gone wrong.

Billionaires get a lot of requests for money, but when my great-grandmother asked me to set up a scholarship at her alma mater, I was happy to oblige. Anything to make my GG smile.

But I made the mistake of mentioning that the Bible college where she met her one true love was gearing up for their annual Easter play. GG’s response? Stay in Kansas and lend a helping hand.

Such a terrible idea. Not only is it challenging to run a billion-dollar business remotely, it also means spending more time with Wendy Hall—the beautiful young widow who makes me want to help with more than just the play. So I’ll do my part at the concessions stand, and I’ll see what I can do about the secrets bringing Wendy down.

Easter is a time for new beginnings. A second chance at love might be the last thing Wendy wants, but I’m here to show her it’s exactly what she needs.

Inheriting her friend’s Bed and Breakfast in Idaho is a second chance to succeed, but falling for the farmer next door wasn’t in the plan.

She loves the spotlight, he prefers backstage. Can they still play love’s duet?

One of the things I’ve been looking forward to since opening my scuba shop is leading groups to dive in all the amazing spots around the globe. The Galapagos and Great Barrier Reef are calling.

First things first, though. I figure we’ll start off with the Caribbean.

Which is why I’m headed down to spend some time scouting resorts and dive spots on the various islands. I’ve chartered a yacht, complete with a captain who, I’m told, knows everything there is to know about diving down here.

Of course, when I booked the trip, I pictured a grizzled old pirate at the wheel. What else was I supposed to imagine when I was told their name was “Sonny”? Imagine my surprise when I get to the dock and the captain is definitely not a man.

Sunny—short for Sunshine—is the best there is. And she’s got at least ten years on me, so it’s not like there can be anything romantic. Older women have never been my vibe.

So I’ll spend the time with her, alone on the boat, and soak up all the things she has to teach me. And do everything in my power to ignore just how good she looks while she does it.

It’s only three weeks.

What can go wrong?

Past hurts and insecurity mean they both prefer the background, but a chance at love shines a light too bright to escape.

A vegan alpaca farmer, a ranch hand, and an accidental pregnancy.

I never questioned my decision to marry Faith the day she turned eighteen.

She needed to get out of her situation at home and, at nineteen, I already knew everything about everything, so in my mind it made perfect sense. We’d been pals for years.

I loved her.

She had no idea.

But she was desperate for somebody to rescue her, and a marriage of convenience with me was a better—safer—choice than anything else she could find.

Since I lived away at college, no one even had to know. It worked great until the end of the semester.

And then she walked out.

And I let her.

I occasionally do some digging, just to check that she’s okay. And every now and then I think about the divorce papers I drew up but never sent.

Now she’s here. Literally on my doorstep. Begging me, once again, for help.

And I hate that I still love her.

Even after fourteen years.