About Kissing Lessons:
Welcome to Kissing Creek, where everything has a romance-themed pun for a name and love is lurking around every corner...
Audrey Miller doesn’t believe in happily-ever-after, so she is definitely living in the wrong town. But she’s never getting out of Kissing Creek, because playing pseudo-mom for her younger siblings doesn’t leave time for much else. She’ll do anything to make sure they don’t end up stuck like she is, working as a barista in a college town, serving Pink Passion mochas with Chocolate Smooch donuts.
Then Ronan Walsh, a new young professor and walking cliché, right down to the elbow patches on his blazer, steps in for a coffee and into her life. She knows his type—intelligent and charming, yet sweet as a cinnamon roll, the sort of man she’s inevitably attracted to but is always out of her league. So why does someone like him have any interest in a worker bee with no future?
Her bland-as-oatmeal existence has nothing to offer, but Ronan’s temporary teaching position is only a stepping stone on his way to somewhere else. He isn’t here to put down roots, Audrey’s roots are firmly planted—neither of them is looking for love. And maybe that’s just perfect.
But in a small town called Kissing Creek, sometimes love can be impossible to avoid…
“It’s the llama,” she whispered, her green eyes wide.
She said it with the same level of awe-struck, yet fear-filled reverence as if she’d announced that Satan himself had walked into the bookstore.
“A llama?” He raised a brow.
“The llama.” She sucked in a breath. “We only have one, our college baseball team’s mascot. She’s mean.”
“Aren’t llamas supposed to be all fuzzy and cute?”
Audrey made a scoffing noise. “No. You’re thinking about alpacas, which are sweet-natured little bundles of fleece and eyelashes. They wouldn’t hurt a fly. I love alpacas. But llamas…they’ll cut you.”
For some reason he had this vision of a llama wielding a butcher’s knife, Psycho style. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
He walked past the rows of books. There was a startled yelp from the front of the store and something that sounded like a stack of books being knocked over.
“Stay back, Lily!”
Ronan glanced back over his shoulder at Audrey, who shrugged as if to say: it’s your funeral. He’d seen llamas before…well, not in person. Only in memes that his colleagues liked to send around occasionally. Then there was his friend who’d gone to South America and posted a bunch of pictures with him and the furry creatures to Facebook. They didn’t look that scary.
“Lily…don’t you dare!”
Ronan exited the aisle in time to see Lily, whom he could only assume was the shaggy beast taking up most of the space in the front of the bookstore—thus blocking the exit—nudge a pile of books, sending them toppling over.
“You confounding animal!” Mr. Hart was definitely wide awake now and shakily getting to his feet. He was protected by a large, heavy banker’s desk, complete with hunter green leather insert and matching lamp. “Go on, shoo! Get out of here.”
But Lily merely looked at him with the disdain of someone who knew they were in the position of power. She stretched up to her full height and Ronan gulped. Okay, so maybe she did look a little mean. And damn if she didn’t weight over three hundred pounds. At her full height, he’d guess her to be a hair under six feet tall, meaning she could look him right in the eyes.
“Don’t get too close,” Audrey advised from behind her barricade. “She—”
Audrey’s advice was cut short by the llama drawing her head back and spitting right in Ronan’s face. The moisture hit the side of his cheek, as instinct had made him turn his head, and now it was sliding down to his jaw in a soggy, slow trail.
“She spat in his face!” Mr. Hart shoved his glasses back up his nose and made a sound that could only be classified as chortling. Unabashedly gleeful chortling.
Ronan dragged his hand across his left cheek, unsure whether that made it better or worse, because now his arm was sticky, too. “Score one, llama.”
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