Exhausted single mom Daisy Garner is shocked when her blog about life with Darling Husband and Baby Delight in their charming Victorian home brings a national talk show to her door.

Amazing! Except she made the whole thing up.

Panic! Now she needs to borrow a Victorian house and find a man to play her fake husband on TV.

Travis O'Hare steps up for the role, as long as she'll marry him for real. He wants their son to have the stable home life Travis never had.

But before the wedding can happen, Travis and Daisy have to get through the interview with a ratings hungry host and a slick producer with ties to Daisy's troubled past. When a winter storm traps them all, it begs the question: can two people pretending at love finally discover the real thing?

Chapter One

The blog post that went viral…

Daisy Does It All

Mom, wife, domestic diva

Valentine’s Day with Baby

I know what you’re thinking, Valentine’s Day with a baby in tow? Not romantic. But I’m here to tell you it can be. Here’s what Darling Husband and I have planned for our very special first Valentine’s Day with Baby Delight. Let me set the scene at our charming Victorian home: fresh red roses in a crystal vase on the foyer table, a pink paper heart chain hanging from the fireplace mantel, and the scent of cinnamon in the air. (No-bake solution: simply boil some hot water and drop cinnamon sticks in for the scent that’s a proven aphrodisiac for men.) I’m wearing a little red dress—cue dramatic music—that I picked up on sale at Target. Ladies, I’m telling you, you don’t have to spend a lot to look good. The flowing A-line covers any pregnancy weight that might be lingering, but Darling Husband never notices my waistline because his eyes are fixed up top, thanks to a red lace push-up bra and peek-a-boo draping neckline. Now you see them, now you don’t.

Okay, back to baby. Yes, your adorable baby can get into the spirit of the day. For Baby Delight, I knitted him these darling heart booties. I also found an adorable red long-sleeve onesie with an embroidered heart, added matching red leggings, and voila! Baby Delight is our chubby-cheeked Cupid. Because isn’t the beautiful child you have together—with all your love, hopes, and dreams attached—the best thing about marriage? I say yes.

Now on to the big day. This year it’s on a Sunday, so we can celebrate all day. First, we’ll visit a nearby horse farm for a family sleigh ride. (If you don’t have a horse farm nearby, take a drive through a beautiful area. Baby might even fall asleep, leaving time for intimate conversation.) Then on to my parents’ restaurant for a Valentine’s Day brunch with heart-shaped waffles, eggs, and bacon. Bring along baby’s homemade organic pureed food. Or let baby try some scrambled eggs if he/she is old enough. Of course, you can make a delicious brunch at home too. Cooking for your family is another way to say I love you.

Back home, I’ll light some candles, put on soft jazz (or whatever silky, slow tunes make you feel loose), and Darling Husband and I will slow dance with our little Cupid until he falls asleep for his afternoon nap (the baby, not the husband, LOL). Tuck baby into his crib, then it’s just me and Darling Husband, holding each other in the living room by very flattering candlelight, surrounded by roses, hearts, and the scent of cinnamon. Now this is important: just as your sweetie starts to get ideas about taking this upstairs, make him hold that thought. Anticipation is the best part.

No afternoon delight here, folks.

To distract him, tell him you have a surprise for him. He must sit, eyes closed, waiting for your gift. Which is…lacy, racy, black lingerie.

For you, of course.

But also for him. And his pleasure.

Hopefully, Darling Husband will take the hint and give you his gift. I’ll keep you posted on that, though I did find a Bermuda travel brochure tucked away in the computer desk!

When Baby Delight wakes from his afternoon nap, we’ll bundle him up and visit the relatives. Have I mentioned the positively frigid winter we’ve had in Connecticut this year? Anyway, our little Cupid will give each of them a fresh-baked heart cookie wrapped with pink ribbon. Then it’s time for a family dinner back home, just the three of us with Chinese takeout. Darling Husband won’t let me cook on Valentine’s Day. He wants me well rested for…other activities. And, ladies, this is the best part, please do share this with your Darling Husbands—he takes over baby duty for the night. I’m talking bath, pajamas, lullaby, tucked in for the night. Is there anything that melts your heart more than seeing your husband lovingly care for your child?

Finally, Baby Delight is asleep. And I’m in my bed. Waiting in black lace. It’s not quite our bedtime, and that’s okay, ’cuz this could take a while. Fade to black, Darlings. Some things are private.

XOXO!

Daisy

Daisy Garner hit Post on her blog and stood, stretching her sore back, still aching from serving customers during her long dinner shift at Garner’s Sports Bar & Grill. She shuffled to the kitchen in her thick wool socks, sweatpants, and ancient NYU sweatshirt, and surveyed the mess. The tiny one-bedroom apartment had once been her sister Liz’s place. Back then, the kitchen, hell, the whole place, was neat and sparkling clean. Now—sink full of dishes, bottle sterilizer that needed to be refilled, garbage can overflowing with takeout containers and an old pizza box.
Tomorrow I’ll tackle the kitchen,
she promised herself for the zillionth time.

She poured a glass of water as quietly as she could, tilting the glass so the flow of water was silent, desperate not to wake her fussy six-month-old son. Bryce of the power lungs was blessedly sleeping. She just hoped he slept long enough for her to stretch out on the sofa and watch at least one rerun of
Law & Order: SVU
. She turned for the sofa.

WAAAAHHHH!!!!!

Her milk released, soaking the front of her sweatshirt.
Dammit
.

“I’m coming,” she muttered.

Too bad there wasn’t any Darling Husband in the picture to take baby duty.
Just me, myself, and my imagination.
Though she actually did have Valentine’s plans. She was going to the first annual Jorge Chavez Valentine’s Day Dance at his dance studio. Jorge was practically family. He’d recently married Travis O’Hare’s grandmother, Maggie. Trav was Bryce’s father. And Trav’s brother, Ryan, was engaged to Daisy’s younger sister, Liz. So, family, in a tangled web of relationships.

Daisy was happy for Liz and Maggie in their giddy, slightly nauseating lovey-dovey states, but for herself, she didn’t have the energy for a relationship on top of being a mom. She couldn’t even make this little man happy; she certainly didn’t want to work on making a full-grown man happy. She scooped up her red-faced son, settled into the cushioned glider with a few sweaters thrown over the back, and began to nurse. He sucked vigorously as if he hadn’t just nursed two hours ago.

She sighed. At thirty-three, she really should have her life in order. The fact that she was still deep, deep in debt was never far from her thoughts. That’s what she was working on. The late nights of interrupted sleep combined with long shifts waitressing at her parents’ restaurant were exhausting. Working for her parents wasn’t all ice-cream-with-a-cherry-on-top either. On the plus side, they bent over backwards to be flexible with her schedule. Her mom even took care of Bryce a few days a week while Daisy worked. (She had a babysitter for the other days.) On the minus side, they treated her like a screwed-up flake that needed to be taken care of. She couldn’t blame them. Classic example of her many screw-ups: Fifteen-year-old Daisy standing on the doorstep with Police Chief Bailey at her side.

Her dad had answered the door. He took one look at Daisy in her usual outfit—oversized sweater, ripped jeans, and combat boots—and shook his head. “Again?”

Her mom appeared behind him and asked tiredly, “What’d she do this time?”

Daisy had stared at the officer’s handcuffs. She knew she’d really screwed up this time. She’d probably be grounded forever. Never allowed out of her room. Put on bread and water.

Chief Bailey had said she could’ve been put in
jail
. A girl named Daisy would surely be someone’s bitch within minutes. She shuddered.

The police officer hitched his thumb in the direction of her parents’ empty driveway. “She took your car out for a spin.” He enumerated her offenses on each finger. “Driving without a license, speeding, reckless endangerment.” He put his hands on his hips and gave her a hard look. She winced under his harsh scrutiny. “Tell you the truth, she was easy to spot. She had the hazards going, the left blinker on, wipers on, trunk popped open, and a flat tire.”

The flat tire had happened when she’d swerved to miss a squirrel and ended up on the sidewalk running over a broken beer bottle instead. She’d immediately swerved back to the road and pressed what she thought was the hazard lights and somehow popped the trunk open. The rest of the stuff had turned on while she looked for the button to close the trunk.

“Dorothy Marie Garner, what were you thinking?” her mom demanded.

Daisy groaned at the full-name treatment. She
hated
her real name, a tribute to a great-grandmother she’d never met. Her dad had nicknamed her Daisy as a kid because he’d said she was always bright and sunny like a daisy.

Her mom continued. “You could’ve been killed or hurt someone. You don’t even know how to drive! I can’t even wrap my head around this. It’s just wrong in so many ways. Have I taught you nothing about right or wrong?”

Daisy remained silent at the officer’s side. It was almost better to stand with the chief than to go inside and face her parents.

“The car was towed to the impound lot,” Chief Bailey said. “You need a lift to pick it up?”

“No, my car is still in the garage,” her dad said. “Thanks.”

Chief Bailey rocked on his heels. “Look, this is her first offense with the car, so I’m leaving her punishment up to you, but if it happens again, there will be penalties.”

“Oh, she will be punished,” her mom said. “I’m sorry you had to deal with her. It’ll never happen again.”

Her dad looked at her and shook his head in disappointment. He was forever shaking his head at her. “Go inside, Daisy.”

She’d bolted to her room, avoiding her parents, but they’d come in to talk a few minutes later.

“Turn off that music,” her dad said. “Now.”

She turned off Eminem and sat on the edge of her bed, playing with the frayed edges of her jeans, making the hole in the knee bigger.

Her parents looked at her, disappointment clear in their eyes.

“First of all, you’re grounded,” her dad said.

“For three months,” her mom put in.

“Three months!” Daisy cried. “That’s insane! I can’t stay home for three months. I’ll die!”

“We’ve been very patient with you over the years,” her mom said. “But it’s always something with you. If you show up here with a police officer at your side one more time, I’m just going to let them throw the book at you.”

“You’d let them put me in jail?” she asked, horrified.

“You’d go to juvenile detention,” her dad said.

Daisy pounded a fist on the mattress. “I can’t believe you’d sell me out like that!”

“We’re afraid it’s the only way you’ll learn,” her mom said solemnly.

In the three months she’d been grounded, she managed to sneak out and drive their car five more times. She craved speed, the thrill of danger, the freedom of the open road. She’d been caught speeding twice, but no juvie. When push came to shove, her parents just couldn’t throw her to the wolves, though they grew weary of dealing with her. She felt the weight of their mistrust and their resigned expectation of her failures.

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