Cover

Praise

Praise for the novels of Jo McNally

Barefoot on a Starlit Night

“A fun read.”

—Harlequin Junkie

“Filled with tension and raw emotion, Barefoot on a Starlit Night is sure to please readers of contemporary romance.”

—New York Journal of Books

“If you are looking for a feel-good book with romance, laughs, and a guaranteed HEA with an author who writes with a practiced hand, then look no further than this book!”

—The Lit Bitch

Stealing Kisses in the Snow

“Readers will be charmed by this sweet, no-nonsense Christmas romance full of genuine emotion.”

—Publishers Weekly

Slow Dancing at Sunrise

“With witty characters and only a small amount of drama, Slow Dancing at Sunrise is an entertaining and charming story that will appeal to readers of small-town romances.”

—Harlequin Junkie

Booklist

Also available from
Jo McNally
and HQN

Slow Dancing at Sunrise

Stealing Kisses in the Snow

Sweet Nothings by Moonlight (ebook novella)

Barefoot on a Starlit Night

Love Blooms

For a complete list of titles available from Jo McNally, please visit jomcnallyromance.com.

When Sparks Fly

When Sparks Fly

Dedication

This book about friendship—truly ALL of my books to date—exists because of one person: my coach, my cheerleader, my agent, and, more importantly, my friend.

To Veronica, with so many thanks and much love.

CHAPTER ONE

ZOEY HARTFORD HAD been called to the principal’s office. Been a while since that happened. But here she was, sitting in a hard wooden armchair next to the thoroughly unrepentant reason for the call—her thirteen-year-old daughter, Hazel.

“Thanks for dressing up there, Mom.” Hazel eyed Zoey’s gray coveralls and the Hartford Fix-It cap that hid most of her dark hair. She’d had no intention of doing anything more than repairing Mrs. Franklin’s central vacuum cleaner—located in a crawl space—when she’d left the house that morning.

“Excuse me for rushing straight here from a house call.” She brushed her hands down the drab gray fabric. “That’s what a good mom does when they get a call that their child has been involved in an—” she raised her fingers to form air quotes “—altercation at school. Besides, I can’t take them off. I wore my It’s Wine O’Clock Somewhere T-shirt this morning, and I don’t think that would impress your principal.”

Hazel snorted. “He’d probably like it. Rumor has it Mr. Sheffield keeps booze in his desk.”

Zoey didn’t answer. If she was in charge of several hundred middle schoolers, she’d probably keep booze in her desk, too.

Her coveralls were quite a contrast with her daughter’s colorful outfit. A fan of so-called influencers Zoey had never heard of, Hazel had belted a long purple shirt over a black top and leggings. Her bright green ankle boots were tied with lengths of sparkly purple lace. Hazel’s dark hair was loose, with sleek waves that looked natural, but Zoey knew the girl spent a half hour creating that effect.

She had no idea how she’d ever produced this little fashionista with the wisecracking mouth. Well...to be fair, there was no doubt the smart mouth came straight from Zoey. She glanced at her watch.

“Where is this guy, anyway?”

Before Hazel could respond, Principal Ted Sheffield entered, nodding a greeting before taking his seat in the oversize chair behind his oversize desk. He’d clearly read one of those executive books that claimed large furniture made him seem more powerful. That was wasted on her and Hazel. Hartford women weren’t easily intimidated.

“Okay...” Sheffield cleared his throat loudly, speaking to Zoey. “I assume Miss Carson in the front office filled you in on what transpired here this morning?”

Zoey gave him a thin smile. Game on. “Yes, she did. So did my daughter, by the way. I’m assuming she’ll be getting an apology at some point?”

“I’m sorry?” He coughed, his face turning red. “I mean... I’m not sorry...um...who am I apologizing to? And for what?” Mr. Sheffield managed to regroup after a little huffing and puffing. “Mrs. Bennett, your daughter punched another student. We have a zero tolerance policy on violence here...”

“First, I am no longer Mrs. Bennett. I’m Miss Hartford.” She’d dropped her ex’s last name, with Hazel’s blessing. “And secondly, Hazel only punched Micah after he snapped the back of her bra—my daughter’s underwear—repeatedly.”

Hazel groaned. “Please don’t ever say the word underwear out loud again, I beg you.”

“Well...yes.” Sheffield nodded, still looking pained. “But your daughter should know that violence is never the answer.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s violence to harass a female student. Isn’t there a zero tolerance against that, too?” She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. She wasn’t helping Hazel by escalating this. “Mr. Sheffield...oh, hell... Ted...” He’d only been two years ahead of her in high school. “I’ve taught Hazel to never accept nonconsensual touching from anyone. Ever. And I’ve taught her how to respond to it.” She turned to Hazel, counting questions off on her fingers. “Did you use your words?”

“Uh...yeah.” Hazel rolled her honey-colored eyes dramatically. “I told him to knock it off, but he kept doing it.”

“Did you go to someone in authority so they could step in?”

Hazel tossed her hands in the air. “I tried to. I told the study hall monitor, Mrs. Bailey, but she told me to sit back down.”

“So you defended yourself?”

“You bet your... I mean...yes, Mother, I did.”

Zoey bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at her daughter’s sarcasm. She had to be the adult here. She turned back to Ted, with his giant desk and his giant chair.

“Are you suggesting my daughter shouldn’t have defended herself?”

There was a beat of silence, and Zoey knew the tide had turned. Ted Sheffield knew it, too. They negotiated a one-day suspension for both Zoey and Micah Wilkins, the kid who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. There was only a month left in the school year, but rules were rules. Suspension wasn’t great, but the school’s zero tolerance policies were well-known to students and parents. Ted called Micah’s mother on the speakerphone and they all approved the plan. Tammy Wilkins laughed, saying her son’s pride had been injured by Hazel’s punch more than his nose had been.

She and Hazel rode home in silence. It had been an exhausting few months since moving into Dad’s house in January, with its peeling paint and rusted folk art “sculptures” in the front lawn. She’d inherited the place when her father died unexpectedly last fall. Behind the house was the barn that housed the business she’d also inherited—Hartford Fix-It Shop. It wasn’t until she’d parked Dad’s small white pickup behind the house that Zoey spoke.

“I had your back in there, Hazel. I always will.” She turned off the ignition. “But you and I both know that you had other options besides hauling off and punching Micah in the face. Just because the room monitor didn’t listen didn’t mean you couldn’t have gone right to the principal’s office. Or to another teacher.”

Hazel rolled her eyes. One of these days those teenage eyes were going to roll right out of her daughter’s head. “You’re always telling me to fight if someone tries to mess with me.”

“Yes, but fight doesn’t mean literally using your fists.” She unzipped her coveralls and sighed as the cool air swept over her. Springtime was in full swing in Rendezvous Falls, with Upstate New York temperatures bouncing between freezing cold one day to hot and humid like today. “I know it’s been a bumpy year, but let’s not make it worse by getting yourself expelled from school, m’kay?”

She understood why Hazel’s reactions had been...edgier than normal lately. The divorce. Chris getting engaged to someone new in a hot minute once it was finalized. Losing Hazel’s grandfather—Zoey’s dad. Selling the only home Hazel had known and moving into Zoey’s dad’s place—a solid old house, but in desperate need of updating. Add in the hormonal roller-coaster ride of Hazel’s “tweenhood,” and it had been a wild ride for both of them.

Zoey knew there was a limit to how far they could take this Thelma and Louise act of theirs before they reached a mountain of trouble. Zoey appreciated the honest relationship she’d developed with her daughter, but sometimes she forgot Hazel was still barely a teenager. She’d had to grow up much too fast since the divorce. As great as it was to feel like friends, Zoey was still the mom.

Hazel just shrugged. “Pop-pop taught me not to let boys get away with sh...” She caught herself. “With anything. He said you should have learned that, too.”

Zoey winced. Dad had definitely been right about Chris. But she didn’t want Hazel thinking every male member of the human species was the enemy.

“Look, boys can be jerks. But not all boys.”

“Yeah, well...if I have the same luck finding jerks that you did...”

Zoey let out a sharp laugh, clutching her chest. “Ouch—direct hit! But your dad wasn’t always a jerk... I mean, he isn’t a jerk.” Be the responsible adult here. “Your father is a good man.”

He was just a lousy husband.

Hazel blinked away, staring through the window to the tired old place that was now their home. Rendezvous Falls was famous for its colorful Victorian houses, but this particular house hadn’t been painted in over twenty years. Zoey reached over and took her daughter’s hand.

“I know you’re still mad at your dad because we had to sell the house. But I couldn’t afford to buy him out, and what’s-her-name didn’t want to live there...”

“Genna. With a G.” Hazel’s flat tone mirrored her mother’s thoughts perfectly.

“Right. Genna-with-a-G wanted them to have their own house. And that’s...fair. We’ll make this into our home, I promise. I told you that when we moved in, and I meant it. And this is your year, remember?”

Zoey had promised Hazel that this year was Hazel’s Year. The girl had lost enough the year before. Zoey was determined to create something stable here that Hazel could rely on.

After a pause, Hazel flashed her a quick, brittle smile. “Sure it is, Mom.”

Zoey sat back against the truck seat with a heavy sigh after Hazel went into the house. She didn’t have the emotional energy to follow her. Instead, she pulled out her phone and texted her best friend.

Z: How much trouble would I be in if I locked Hazel in her room permanently?

She decided she should clarify.

Z: Or at least until she safely reaches adulthood without giving me a heart attack.

It only took a moment for the answering bubbles to appear.

M: Do you plan on feeding her?

She chuckled. Her friend knew laughter was exactly what she needed right now.

Z: I suppose.

The bubbles floated longer this time.

M: Even so, as your attorney, I advise against it.

M: The authorities frown on that sort of thing.

There was a pause, but she could see her friend was typing something else.

M: Is this a red wine or whiskey night?

She could definitely use one of their cocktail hours in the repair shop later.

Z: Hazel punched a boy in the face at school today.

The answer came swiftly.

M: Damn! Did he deserve it?

She grinned at the instant assumption that it must have been justified.

Z: Yup

M: Go Hazel! Whiskey night.

Z: For sure.

*

ATTORNEY MIKE MCKINNON stared at his phone for a moment, knowing what he had to do. Zoey would expect no less.

M: What kind of music do chiropractors like?

Z: I’m seriously afraid to ask.

Mike grinned.

M: Hip pop.

“What are you grinning about over there?” His twin sister, Mary, made a playful grab for his phone. She’d picked him up from the car dealership where he’d left his SUV to get new brakes. “Do you have a secret admirer or something?”

He didn’t answer until after Zoey’s reply appeared.

Z: GROAN! CU later

“No admirer, sis. Just Zoey.”

“That was a pretty big smile for just Zoey.” She glanced over again, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, God, are you two...?”

“No! Hell, no!” He straightened in his seat and pretended to shudder. “Stop. She’s basically family. I’d never...” Sure, there’d been a time, back in high school, when he may have wondered what it would be like to kiss Zoey. A girl who took shop class and wore nothing but jeans, flannel shirts and Doc Martens. A girl with a quick laugh and a sharp wit, tall and lean, with coffee-colored hair. But even then, he’d known he couldn’t risk losing a friendship unlike any other he had.

The problem was, for the past few months he’d been thinking about it again. What would it be like to kiss Zoey Hartford, now that she was no longer a girl? And no longer married? Over the past few months, every time she’d bent over to pick something up in the shop, he’d paid more attention to the inviting curves of her backside than to whatever she was saying. It was a new sensation, and he had no idea what to do about it. One thing he did know is that he couldn’t tell his sister. Or Zoey. Their friendship was still too important to him. This attraction he was feeling was probably some odd phase—nothing more.

He turned in the seat to face Mary, knowing she’d use that weird twin connection to figure out if he was being honest or not. “Zoey got me through the worst year of my life by not tiptoeing around me like everyone else did after Becca died. She made me laugh when no one else was even trying.” He thought of the late-night texts she’d sent, often linking to obscure news stories about Bigfoot sightings, or a video of giant fish jumping out of a river and hitting some guy sitting in his boat. Random nonsense to take his mind off the sudden emptiness of his life. “Now she’s having a tough year, and I’m returning the favor.”

Mary wrinkled her nose, keeping her eyes on the road. “Great—now I feel guilty for not doing more for her myself since that asshat Chris made her sell the house. How is our unofficial triplet?”

That’s what their parents used to call Zoey when she was at their house as a child, which was often. When she was around, Mom said her kids went from twins to triplets.

“She’s having a rough day today. Hazel punched a boy at school.”

“Yikes.” Mary pulled to the curb in front of Mike’s house. “Did the boy deserve it?” He nodded and she chuckled. “Good for Hazel. I’ll have to give Zoey a call. You sure you don’t want to borrow our car instead of taking that hot rod of yours out before summer?”

“Nah.” He opened the passenger door. “Summer’s almost here, and it’s supposed to be dry for a few days.” He kept his dark green 1971 Mustang Mach 1 stored safely in his garage during the winter. Even in the summer, it only came out on sunny days.

Mike headed over to Zoey’s after dinner. Her dad’s old place was up on the hill above Rendezvous Falls. Rob Hartford had been an interesting guy. Blunt, but kind. Talented, but scattered in so many directions he’d never really capitalized on that talent. His tendency to get distracted left his property in a bit of a shambles.

Instead of the bright color combinations of most of the Victorian homes in Rendezvous Falls, the solid gray-blue paint scheme had been an act of defiance on Rob’s part. Now it was faded to simply...gray. It made the whole place look sad. And then there were the works of so-called art in the front yard. Shovels and rakes and metal ductwork formed into shapes. “Sculpting” had been Rob’s weirdest hobby. It gave the place character, that was for sure.

The lights in the workshop were on, and when he got out of his car, Mike could see Zoey inside. Her dark hair was tugged into a high messy knot held with a big plastic clip—the type that held bags of potato chips closed. Sure enough, a bag of chips sat open on the workbench. She wore a T-shirt that said something about wine. Zoey was bent over the bench in deep concentration. The woman was a whiz at machines, just like her dad. Even as a kid, she’d loved puzzles. That’s how they’d started their friendship—with riddles. He pulled out his phone and started typing.

M: The more I take, the more I leave behind. What am I?

She glanced over at her phone, then smiled when she saw it was from him. Something pinched at his heart. Did she always smile like that when he texted her? Did her face always soften...tension easing in every line? He hoped so. But he didn’t want to examine why. His phone pinged.

Z: I give up. Who are you?

M: Footsteps. Outside. With whiskey.

Zoey looked up at the door and waved him in. She didn’t say anything, just turned to the cupboard and brought out a couple of red plastic cups. He pulled a barstool over to the bench, opposite where she sat.

This was the “shop night” routine. Drinks—alcoholic or otherwise—late in the evening while Zoey tinkered on repairs. Some nights they talked nonstop, solving all the problems of the world or laughing about the characters in Ted Lasso. Some nights he just sat in relative silence, watching her work. He wasn’t sure what Zoey got from their shop nights, but he knew he got a dose of peace from it. No pretense. No secrets. No games. Just his best friend and a splash of whiskey.

They’d started this routine after his wife, Becca, was killed by a drunk driver three years ago. He couldn’t stand being in his house alone, dealing with all the ghosts of dreams that would never come true. Zoey invited him to stop by one night. She was working for her dad then, tackling the smaller items like vacuum cleaners or sewing machines in the shop. And their shop nights became a habit.

Mike hadn’t been kidding when he told Mary that Zoey had gotten him through that awful first year. They’d continued to meet once or twice a week. It wasn’t anything formal—he’d just show up, and she’d pull out the plastic cups so they could enjoy a glass of the wine the Finger Lakes region was so famous for. Or something stronger. On hot summer nights, it might be an ice-cold soda from the antique vending machine she and her dad had refurbished together.

He opened the bottle of whiskey, holding it up for her approval.

“A bottle of Paddy’s, courtesy of my cousin at the Shamrock.” He grinned. “Bridget says hi.”

Bridget ran the McKinnon family pub, the Purple Shamrock. All the cousins owned a portion, but Bridget was the majority owner and manager.

Zoey snorted. “Liar. You stole that bottle without telling her, didn’t you?”

“Meh...” He shrugged. “I’ll tell her eventually.” He poured a splash in each cup, but she nudged hers.

“I think I need a double tonight.”

He obliged, pouring until she waved him off. She told him about Hazel’s adventures in school, and Zoey’s meeting with Ted Sheffield. Mike thought about it. “It sounds like you did everything right. You made sure the punishment fit the crime...for both kids. You talked to Hazel about not punching first and asking questions later. So...” He nodded toward her cup. “Why the double tonight?”

Zoey’s face fell. “She’s growing up so damn fast, Mike. I swear it was just yesterday she was running around the house dressed like Cinderella and begging us for a coach and six white horses for her birthday.” Zoey gave him a chagrined look. “I didn’t always understand her fascination with all things sparkly, but I loved that she believed in it so much, you know? That innocence...” Her voice trailed off. “Now she’s punching boys for grabbing her bra. When did she get old enough to wear a bra? And when did she grow up enough to have to deal with boys? My little princess has vanished. I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with a teenager.”

“Look, I can’t help with parenting advice.” Mike ignored the stab of pain the topic always brought. “But I can tell you that you can deal with anything. You’re the fiercest woman I know, and your daughter’s just like you. Except...frillier.”

Zoey had never been one to care about clothes, especially as a kid. Not that she didn’t ever dress up—he remembered the flowy blue dress she’d worn to Mary’s wedding. The way it swirled when she’d chased after a then-toddler-sized Hazel.

After a long pause, Zoey took a swig of her drink and scrunched her face.

“Whew! I mean...it’s good whiskey, but...whoa.”

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