Hammered by Love: A Sweet Southern Romantic Comedy, Paperback

I just agreed to a business proposition by my best friend that will determine the direction of my adult life.

Jonah and I have had each other’s backs since kindergarten. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and we know each other better than we do our own siblings. That’s why I’m shocked to learn he doesn’t want to take over his family’s successful hardware store.

He wants to flip a foreclosed mansion in Apple Cart to establish himself as a homebuilder and remodeler, mainly to prove to his parents why he doesn’t need the store. Oh, and he wants to bring me on board as the designer.

In true Jonah fashion, he takes it a step further by making me “heart swear” (our thing since fourth grade) if we double our money I’ll move back to Apple Cart and start my own interior design business.

Until now, I’d planned on staying in Auburn and getting a design job. However, I’ve dreamed of helping make people’s personal dreams come true ever since I designed the lodge for Gamer’s Paradise.

And, more than anything, I want to help Jonah succeed.

We’re together all the time but never like this. Something about working side by side and sharing our dreams have me viewing him differently.

It only complicates things further when I accidentally hit him in the head with a hammer, and he unconsciously kisses me. Of course, the best kiss of my life would come from my best friend while he has a concussion.

Maybe it’s the kiss, or Jack and Bianca’s wedding. Or maybe it’s because I’m about to graduate college and start adulting full time. But my mind starts to drift toward thoughts of a future with Jonah.

A future where he’s more than my best friend.

Chapter One

Jonah

Junior year of high school, we went cow tipping at Mason Magill’s place. That was the first and last time I’ve trespassed.

Until now.

I duck under the yellow caution tape surrounding the front porch like a crime scene in a John Grisham novel. After almost tumbling off the front steps, I reach for my flashlight.

The large wooden doors are enough to make me drool. They’re no doubt original, and so detailed that a quick coat of lacquer will bring them right back to pristine condition. But I’ll totally update the clear doorknob. I jiggle the tiny crystal ball, and the door creaks open.

Awesome. No need to break out my tools.

I cross the threshold and shine my light around the room. The ceilings have high wooden beams, and there’s a step down into the living area. Full on eighties vibe, including floral wallpaper and shag carpet. But the bones are good. No, great. All of this can be fixed with more labor than money, which works in my favor.

Somewhere between building things with my daddy and listening to Carolina go on and on about designs and remodels, I got the bug to renovate houses. And possibly build them in the future.

So when the one of the largest homes in Apple Cart went into foreclosure, I made it my mission to buy it. I’ve got plenty of money saved up, thanks to living frugally and working at my family’s hardware store since I was old enough to organize nails. I just pray I’m the only one wanting this old place.

Growing up, we’d ride four-wheelers by here and imagine what it looked like inside. The original owner was a local pharmacist who passed away about a decade ago. He left it to his granddaughter, who got in some financial trouble and lost it. She ran off to California with a guy she met on TikTok, and it’s sat vacant for almost a year.

I step down and tiptoe across the stained carpet. Aside from a few creaks in the floor, it’s eerily quiet here. Too quiet. My senses are heightened like a hound dog, which alerts me to the faint sound of a vehicle pulling up outside.

I shine my flashlight through the window and get a blue light in response. The cop car blinks, and I duck under the window. With my reflexes in overdrive, I make it into the hallway and cut my light before Bradley’s voice belts out, “Police! Stay where you are!”

Oh, I’m staying where I am. That is, until I can manage to make a run for my truck parked down the road.
I’m not a bit scared of Bradley or worried he’ll try and arrest me. Well, maybe a little worried. He likes to toss around his authority now and again. And he’s always happy to remind me he has a few years and a few pounds on me whenever we’re competing at something, be it poker or target shooting.

My breath catches in my throat as his footsteps grow louder. I should be scanning the kitchen by now, then heading home to change. Not playing hide and seek with Barney Fife.

I inch farther down the hallway as he passes the opening, shining a Maglite back and forth. He’s headed toward the back of the house, away from me.

Before I can make a run for it, I see the light shine toward the front. I backpedal toward a doorway at the end of the hallway. Slinking against the wall, I inch my way toward an open door. I’m almost completely in the shadows when my back pocket buzzes. My fingers fumble to grab my phone before . . .

Crap. Too late. Carolina’s ringtone blasts through the empty house.

Bradley’s light shines my direction as I squat into the opening. I expected a room, not a wooden staircase. I roll down like a tumbleweed, my lanky limbs landing in a jumbled mess.

Somehow, I manage to uncurl myself and stagger toward the edge of the room. I hide in the corner and listen to Bradley descending the steps. His light shines above my head, but I’m hidden behind some boxes.

Apparently, so are a family of rats. I snarl my nose at the varmints. I’m not a fan of rodents, but at least they don’t scare me. I shift my weight so I can back away from them. Judging from their size, they’ve been here a while.

The light shines my way again, and Bradley is close enough for me to smell his overpowering cologne. I hold my breath and pray I don’t sneeze.

The good Lord answers my prayer, just not in the way I expected.

Between the dust and cologne swirling around, I let out the granddaddy of all sneezes. The noise scares the rat family into running from behind the boxes. They trample toward Bradley like a bucking horse out of the shoot.

I swallow back a laugh as Bradley screams like a little girl. The light shakes as he hobbles toward the staircase.

I peek around the box and watch him stumble toward the top of the stairs. The largest rat stares back at me, his yellow eyes glaring. If I could, I’d high five him.

Instead, I stand and dust off my jeans and wait for the sound of Bradley’s cop car peeling off before I turn on my own flashlight. Without Bradley to worry about, I shine the light over my body to check for any cuts. A normal scratch for anyone else can lead to a puddle of blood for me thanks to hemophilia. No blood, I’m good. But if my throbbing leg is any indicator, I’ll have a big bruise tomorrow.

The rat stares my way once more, then I swear he nods before scurrying off into the darkness. I guess it’s a he. I didn’t get close enough to find out.

My phone dings with a text message from Carol.

CALL ME. NOW!!