Showing results by author "Penelope Ward" in All Categories

I’d never forgotten him - a man I’d yet to meet. Griffin Quinn was my childhood pen pal, the British boy who couldn’t have been more different from me. Over the years, through hundreds of letters, we became best friends, sharing our deepest, darkest secrets and forming a connection I never thought could break. Until one day, it did. Then, out of the blue, a new letter arrived. A scathing one - one with eight years of pent-up anger. I had no choice but to finally come clean as to why I stopped writing. Griffin forgave me, and we were able to rekindle our childhood connection.

How to screw up a great summer in the Hamptons: Sleep with your boss. Check. Blow all your money on a rental you can’t afford. Check. How to walk away from a man you fall in love with at the end of a summer: I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

It was the summer of my life. I’d met the guy of my dreams. Unfortunately, he was the son of my uppity employer - and very much off-limits. But Gavin was a rebel. He knew his mother would disown him if she found out about us; in his eyes, we just had to be careful. He never treated me as his mother did - like hired help. Instead, Gavin put me on a pedestal and loved me harder than I’d ever been loved in my life. 

It’s natural to want the one you can’t have. And for as long as I could remember, I’d secretly wanted my brother’s best friend, Jace. He was six years older and always treated me like the sister he never had. Fast forward a decade. We were all in our 20s now. Jace had moved in with my brother, Nathan, and me to help us make ends meet after our parents died. It was just the three of us - an odd family dynamic. Living under our roof, Jace was as bossy and protective as ever. But he certainly didn’t look at me like a sister anymore. That was what made things so complicated.

My love story all started with a letter. Only it wasn’t from the man I’d eventually fall in love with. It was from his daughter. A sweet little girl named Birdie Maxwell who’d written to the magazine that I worked for. You see, once a year my employer fulfilled a few wishes for readers. Only that column didn’t start up again for months. So I fulfilled some of her wishes myself. It was harmless…so I thought. Until one day I took things too far. While anonymously granting yet another of Birdie’s wishes, I got a look at her father.

I'm writing this letter because it's highly doubtful I'll ever garner the courage to say this to your face. So, here goes. We're totally wrong for each other. You're the proper single mum with a good head on your shoulders. I'm just the carefree British doctor passing through town and temporarily living in your converted garage until I head back to England. But here's the thing... for some bloody reason, I can't stop thinking about you in very inappropriate ways.

The beginning of my sophomore year in college was off to a rough start. On the first day of orientation, I had an altercation with an infuriating British dude in a campus bathroom. (The ladies’ room was out of order. So, I used the men’s room. Don’t judge.) I got home later that night and realized that the foreign student we were expecting to rent a room in my parents’ house was allergic to our cat. So, the spare room went to someone else: Caleb - the British guy from the men’s room. And so it began...my love-hate story with Caleb Yates. Or was it hate-love in that order?

Sharing a summer house with a hot-as-hell roommate should be a dream come true, right? Not when it's Justin...the only person I'd ever loved...who now hates me. When my grandmother died and left me half of the house on Aquidneck Island, there was a catch: the other half would go to the boy she helped raise.

How to kick off a great summer in the Hamptons: Snag a gorgeous rental on the beach. Check. Get a job at a trendy summer haunt. Check. How to screw up a great summer in the Hamptons: Fall for the one guy with a dark leather jacket, scruff on his face, and intense eyes that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the tony-looking crowd. A guy you can’t have when you’ll be leaving at the end of the season. Check. Check. Check. 

Deacon was rough on the exterior, but apparently on the inside? Mr. Single-and-Ready-to-Mingle was a baby whisperer. After that night, we became friends. He’d go for coffee runs. Come over to chat. Normal friend stuff. But over time, our conversations ran deeper. We got closer. Until one night we crossed the line.  

Finding a good roommate through a classified ad isn’t as easy as it sounds. I was starting to lose hope. Until a knock at my door came, and God answered my prayers. Except...uh...wrong prayer, God. I’d definitely requested the big guy find me a drop-dead gorgeous man on more than one occasion...just not as my roommate. Declan Tate talked me into interviewing him anyway. While he was amusing and charismatic, I wouldn’t have been comfortable living with a man, so I regretfully declined. Then, cupcakes showed up at my door.

It started out like any normal day. Then the fender bender happened. The guy I collided with drove an expensive car and was drop-dead gorgeous. Too bad he was also a total jerk. We argued over whose fault it was and any other thing that came out of his condescending mouth. Eventually, the police came and we went our separate ways. The insurance companies would have to figure things out. I had a job interview to get to anyway - one I was excited about. Though that excitement changed to disappointment the moment the person interviewing me walked in. The guy from the accident. 

My planned trip for two unexpectedly turned into a trip for one. Rather than let my breakup get me down, I packed my bags and decided a week at a luxury resort was just what I needed. But one calamity after the next, and suddenly I was stuck without a hotel room, along with a few hundred other people. It looked like my fancy vacation was about to turn into me sleeping on the hotel lobby floor. Until I overheard a gorgeous man pretending to be someone he wasn’t in order to steal a reservation from a guest who hadn’t shown up yet. 

It all started with a mysterious blue note sewn into a wedding dress. Something blue. I’d gone to sell my own unworn bridal gown at a vintage clothing store. That’s when I found another bride’s “something old". Stitched into the lining of a fabulously feathered design was the loveliest message I’d ever read: Thank you for making all of my dreams come true.

Growing up, the three of us were friends. He was the nerd. I was the playboy. She was the beauty. Deep down, I only ever wanted her. I kept it inside because Rory and I made a pact that our friend, Amber, was off-limits. He lied. I went off to college, and he got the girl. Amber never knew how I felt. They were together for years - before he broke her heart. Through it all and across the miles, she and I casually stayed in touch. When my job sent me to Boston for a three-month contract position, Amber let me stay in her spare room.

I met Bianca in an elevator. She was on her way to interview me when we got stuck. The beautiful raven-haired reporter assumed I was a delivery guy because of the way I was dressed. She had no clue I was really Dex Truitt, the wealthy, successful businessman she'd dubbed "Mister Moneybags" - her afternoon appointment. Bianca told me how much she hated Dex's type - snobby, over-educated, silver-spooned men who didn't appreciate the simple things in life.

What do you do when a sexy older man moves into your family’s summer rental? Well, apparently, you make a fool of yourself - over and over. Things didn’t exactly get off on the right foot with Noah Cavallari. Our first encounter was embarrassing, to say the least. But despite that, I found myself waking up every day with a newfound energy. Nothing exciting ever happened on the lake - not until Noah moved into the small boathouse on our property. When my mother became ill, I inherited the responsibility of making sure our guests were well taken care of.

After getting dumped, the last thing I needed was to move next door to someone who reminded me of my ex-boyfriend, Elec. Damien was a hotter version of my ex. The neighbor I dubbed "Angry Artist" also had two massive dogs that kept me up with their barking. He wanted nothing to do with me. Or so I thought until one night I heard laughter coming through an apparent hole in my bedroom wall.

We met in the least likely of places. It started out innocently enough. I was “ScreenGod”, and she was “Montana”, but of course those weren’t our actual names, just the virtual cloaks we hid behind. Logging in at night and talking to her was my escape - my sanctuary. Her real name was Eden, I’d soon come to find out. From the first time we connected online, I found myself transfixed. She was an addiction. At first, we knew nothing about each other’s real identities...and she was adamant that we keep things that way.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. Look up Landon Roderick, that boy from childhood whom I'd never been able to forget - even though he so easily forgot about me - and call him. Then again, anything sounds like a good idea when you've had a little too much wine before bed, right? It was supposed to be just a quick, meaningless prank call. Instead I went off on him - unloading 13 years of pent-up emotions. I didn't think he'd call me back.