Blitz – Accepting Aerin by Tinsley Sellers

On August 16, 2019 by Jaye

Former Chicago Cubs third baseman Chet Coakley needs a quiet place to write the last novel in his best-selling series.

When a freak accident ends his baseball career, Chet finds his second chance writing a series of retro-detective novels. He’s on a deadline and can’t afford a distraction—especially not in the form of a vivacious blonde innkeeper who challenges everything he believes about himself.

Professional chef Aerin Buckholtz owns a vintage lodge and fifteen cabins on a secluded lake in the Michigan woods.

Betrayed by her best friend and self-conscious about her appearance, Aerin believes that romance isn’t meant for her. She’s building her business—and working to earn good reviews seems safer than admitting her attraction to a handsome former athlete who feels far out of her league.

Can Aerin and Chet learn to see themselves through each other’s eyes and accept a love neither one saw coming?

Welcome back to Beckley, Michigan! Autumn is in the air and as the days get shorter, the air gets cooler and the trees begin to turn every shade of gold and red. The people are just as warm, friendly, smart, funny, and real as you remember. When you need a place to call home, Beckley welcomes you—and sometimes the family you choose is as strong as the bonds you’re born with.

If you like small-town romance, you’ll like Beckley. If you like smart heroines who balance demanding professional careers with a commitment to family, friends, and finding love, then you’ll definitely like it here. If you like strong, sexy, hard-working heroes who have not-so-secret soft spots for kids, kittens, and classic cars, you may find that you never want to leave!

Accepting Aerin is the second in the Beckley’s Daughters Romance series. This series is recommended for adult readers and contains explicit language and intimate situations.

Links

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42184734-accepting-aerin
Purchase:99¢ for a limited time only!Amazon: https://books2read.com/u/49QQkd?store=amazon

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/accepting-aerin-tinsley-sellers/1129686383

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/accepting-aerin/id1438040446?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/accepting-aerin

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=xA2jDwAAQBAJ

Excerpt

Aerin. Nichelle had given me that much information, at least. Well, that and the part about owning the lodge and being the cousin of the best man, an enormous mountain of beard and muscle ridiculously named ‘Buck.’ However, the best way to gather information is always from the primary source. Unfortunately, the midnight-dressed, violet-eyed primary source was nowhere to be seen.

The music started, and the bridal couple took to the floor, dancing romantically close and whispering in each other’s ears. Nichelle left me and returned to the head table, where she leaned into a close conversation with the ginger-bearded best man. I strolled to the bar, scanning the room in vain. Optimistically, I asked the bartender for two glasses of champagne. I wanted a second chance to make a first impression.

Strolling the perimeter of the room, I scanned the crowd and failed to find her. Finally back to my original table, I noticed the lights. Along the lakeshore, one by one, lanterns flickered to life. I quickly found the door and followed my hunch. She was there on the beach and even more beautiful, barefoot and bathed in candle glow.

Smiling, I offered her the champagne flute. Three or four wise-guy one-liners flitted through my thoughts before I opted to go with the simple truth. “I was looking for you.”

Even in the diminished light, I could see her cheeks flush. She looked away, sipped nervously.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For the wine.”

“No, thank you. For letting me crash your perfectly planned and expertly executed wedding dinner. That was a spectacular meal.”

Her eyes lit up with the compliment, so I gave her another. “You know, you’re very beautiful.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Her sapphire eyes flashed then narrowed slightly, and her lips pressed together.

“Excuse me,” she said, a slight edge in her voice. “I need to finish lighting these.”

She struck another match with a scratch-hiss-flare and a whiff of sulfur. Walking away, she carefully lit the remaining lanterns. What had I done? I wasn’t sure, but her guard was up. When you tell a woman she’s gorgeous and she runs the other way…I hurried to catch up and apologize.

“I said the wrong thing, didn’t I? Aerin, I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

“Not to be blunt, but who are you?” She waved the long match and the flame died, a thin stream of smoke wafting skyward. She pointed the burnt end at me. “You know my name, and I have no idea who you are or why you’re even here!”

I raised my hands slowly, taking a step backwards. There was an undercurrent of genuine fear in her voice, and I definitely didn’t want to frighten her.

“Sorry,” I apologized again, gently removing the charred stick from her fingers. “You could put somebody’s eye out with that, you know,” I chided in a humorous voice. There it was. A tentative smile.

“I’m Chet Coakley, and Nichelle and I have been friends forever. She’s been trying to get me up here for months, but she had no idea I was coming tonight, and I had no idea that I’d be crashing a wedding.”

“You’re…” she swallowed, her eyes uncertain. “Chet Coakley? As in Chet Coakley?”

I nodded.

“Chet Coakley,” she continued weakly, “As in Clubhouse Confidential? That Chet Coakley?”

“Christopher Ethan to my mother,” I nodded again with a grin, “but yeah, ‘Chet’ to my friends.”

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed. Then her brow furrowed and her plump lips pursed. She grabbed the 6-inch spent match from my grasp, poking me in the chest with it to punctuate her words. In her bare feet, the top of her head didn’t quite reach my shoulder.

“No.” Poke. “More.” Poke. “Sultry brunettes!” Poke! Poke!

I laughed out loud. So she did know who I was. Chet Coakley was my real name, but it was also my pen name and the name of my chief protagonist. The Clubhouse Confidential series of retro detective novels was my very small claim to fame. ‘Chet Coakley’ the character was a washed-out baseball-player-turned-clubhouse-manager for the Cubs who kept accidentally stumbling into mysteries while keeping his players in line. The series took place in 1950s Chicago, and ‘Chet’ was always falling for sultry brunettes who turned out to be bad news. He never learned.

Chet the author (me) was a washed-out baseball-player-turned-novelist who had turned a bad break (literally) into a fairly sustainable franchise. I wasn’t always falling for sultry brunettes, but there was definitely an aspect of art imitating life. My first sultry brunette was long gone from my life—and married to another man. I had tried to erase the bitter taste with a second, even sultrier brunette. She was smart enough not to want me on the rebound, and we had parted ways after only a few months.

The first Clubhouse Confidential novel had sold well enough to be optioned by a respectable film director, but in casting it had morphed into a vanity project for an aging Hollywood pretty-boy. When it bombed at the box office, the actor blamed the script. The screenwriter, in turn, blamed the source material. As a result, the last two books in the series hadn’t sold nearly as well as the first three.

And that’s why I was here, at the Starbrite Lodge in remote Beckley, Michigan crashing a stranger’s wedding on the evening of the autumn equinox. I needed a break from Chicago. I needed a break from my agent and my editor, and I flat-out fired my publicist (that she was my sister didn’t make it any easier). I had one book left on my contract, and I wanted ‘Clubhouse’ Chet’s sixth and last adventure to be his very best. But I was working with a deadline; the finished manuscript had to be on my editor’s desk by December first.

“So do you really have four older sisters? Or is that just ‘Clubhouse’ Chet?” Aerin derailed my train of thought.

“Oh yeah, absolutely. ‘Real’ Chet couldn’t possibly make that stuff up. ‘Clubhouse’ Chet’s sisters are about as real as I can make them without getting sued by my own family.”

She sighed wistfully. “It must be nice to have a big family. Is it fun to have a houseful of siblings?”

I shrugged, “It’s all I know. I was 18 and away at college before I was ever anybody other than so-and-so’s baby brother. Turns out I actually missed it.”

A cool breeze blew off the lake, and Aerin shivered in her sleeveless dress. I wasn’t wearing a suit because I hadn’t anticipated a wedding; I had no jacket to drape across her bare shoulders. I contemplated putting an arm around her but before I could make a move, she had already marched halfway back to the reception. Neither of us remembered the black satin heels in the sand.

Author Bio

Tinsley Sellers grew up in Chicago, spending her summers with her grandparents in a tiny town a lot like Beckley, Michigan. Life took her to Arizona, Washington, and Idaho before she finally found her home in Arkansas. She is married to an amazing, supportive (and handsome!) man, with whom she has rescued three dogs and two cats. When she’s not writing, she teaches physics and engineering at the local university. When she’s not writing or teaching, she’s probably trying new recipes. She enjoys fast cars, loud music, fine whisky, and big books. In no particular order.
Author links:

https://tinsleysellers.com/

https://www.instagram.com/tinsleysellers/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18212378.Tinsley_Sellers

https://www.facebook.com/TinsleySellers/

https://twitter.com/TinsleySellers