Executive chef Phoebe Stevens was on the verge of opening her dream restaurant in New York City with her
boyfriend of five years when he suddenly announced that he was leaving her
for their investor's daughter, who would also be taking over
Phoebe's stake in the restaurant. To make matters worse, a video of
Phoebe's reaction to the break-up went viral, leaving her single,
unemployed, and the butt of thousands of jokes on social media. Fortunately, Phoebe's friend from culinary school, Audrey, reached out to offer a
lifeline: the chance to help launch a new gastropub in
Vermont, the Speakeasy Taproom. Phoebe accepted the job and headed to Vermont, where she
quickly became friends (and more) with her new landlord/neighbor, crystal shop owner Sam Tremblay. The problem was that Phoebe's stay in Vermont was only supposed to be temporary, plus she and Sam both had unresolved issues from past relationships that led them to avoid commitment. How would they handle it when they started to develop real feelings for each other?
Phoebe
and Sam were magic together from the moment they met. I absolutely adored their flirty, witty banter and steamy chemistry, as well as the way that they seemed so comfortable
together almost immediately. New Age spirituality was an important part of their connection, and while that isn't usually my thing, the way it was incorporated into this story made me want to learn more. Food and cooking was another important aspect of Phoebe and Sam's relationship, and the descriptions of everything they prepared and ate made me so hungry! If there was a companion cookbook to go along with this story, I'd be first in line to buy it.
Overall, I loved "Touchstone" and highly recommend it for all fans of contemporary romance and romantic comedy. I will definitely be checking out more books by this author and in this series.
*Review copy provided by HeartEyes Press. All opinions expressed are my own.
About "Touchstone"
Sam doesn't think love is in the cards. The cards disagree.
When Phoebe Stevens' life implodes in a spectacularly public fashion, she's desperate to escape Manhattan. So the offer of a job setting up a new Vermont gastropub couldn’t come at a better time. Driving a U-Haul on winding mountain roads is Phoebe's personal version of hell. But when the caretaker of her guesthouse answers the door tousled, shirtless, and baking cinnamon rolls, her first impression of Vermont dramatically improves.
Sam Trembley believes everyone gets one true love, but he’s already blown his chance. He's spent five years avoiding relationships. Now he’s back in Colebury where sunrise tarot draws and moonlit hikes soothe his soul. But why do the tarot cards keep showing him this nonsense about soulmates? Could it have anything to do with the jaded city girl on his doorstep?
Playing tour guide is fun, but taste-testing her culinary creations as she shimmies her luscious hips around his kitchen is downright irresistible. Soon their chemistry burns hotter than the pub's wood-fired oven.
Has fate brought them together for a summer of love...or a lifetime of happiness?
Touchstone contains craving-inducing menu planning, a sassy white witch grandma, seismic sexy times, and tarot cards on a mission to prove soulmates are real.
Read an Excerpt from "Touchstone"
Sam
Phoebe gathered her long chestnut hair and quickly braided it, before twisting it into a bun that somehow stayed in place all on its own.
“Nice,” I said. “Might have to have you show me that trick.”
She raised one dark eyebrow and tilted her head, squinting at me. “Not sure I see you as a man-bun dude.”
“Oh, I rock the man-bun.”
She giggled, and the sound warmed me even more than the midday sun. “You want a tour first or straight to unloading?”
“How about we carry in a few things, then you give me the tour?”
“Deal.”
She opened the large creaky back door of the U-Haul. Inside was a mix of boxes, wooden crates, a few bookcases, and some enormous trash bags. Clothes? Bedding? Phoebe grabbed two of the large black bags. “Just warning you, some of the boxes are full of books so they’re crazy heavy.”
“I unpack shipments of rocks on a regular basis. I’m prepared.”
“That sounds like such a cool job. Sorting through boxes of beautiful things.”
I hefted one of the larger boxes and followed her to the tiny front porch. She reached into her pocket and withdrew the keys, then inserted one into the brass lock. The blue door gave a tiny squeak as it swung open—I need to oil that—and she stepped inside.
“It’s like something out of a fairy tale.” Her eyes widened as she gazed around the room, taking in the arched doorways and the stone floor-to-ceiling fireplace.
“Funny you should say that. When I was a little kid this was kind of like my playhouse, and I used to pretend all sorts of things in here.”
Phoebe grinned, clearly amused. “Were you the knight in shining armor?”
“Sometimes. Other times I was solving a mystery, or preparing for battle, or waiting for my Hogwarts letter.”
Her shoulders shook with laughter. “Sounds like a magical childhood.”
“It was. Like I said, I was lucky.” I got the impression Phoebe’s childhood was anything but magical, and that she didn’t want to talk about it.
“Bedroom this way?” Her eyes twinkled in a way that gave me thoughts I shouldn’t be having about my new...tenant? Was that what she was?
“Yes, follow me.” The room was small, mostly taken up by the king-sized bed and single nightstand. “It’s not spacious, but there’s a walk-in closet and there are drawers under the bed.”
She lifted the quilt. “Oh cool. Excellent use of space.”
“Thanks. I built the bed.”
“You built it?”
I nodded. “I’m pretty good with my hands.”
Was that a blush creeping into her cheeks? Yes. Yes, it was. Nice.
“Good to know.” Her gaze met mine and held for a moment.
And then I was the one blushing. How could three words and a second of eye contact have me flushed with my dick chubbing? I opened the closet door and lifted out the antique standing mirror. “Didn’t want to risk breaking this while I was painting the room.”
I set it down in the corner by the window.
Phoebe ran her hands along the dark wooden frame. “Is it a magic mirror? A portal?”
“Very magical. It’ll tell you if you’ve accidentally put your shirt on inside out.”
Her laughter was deep and hearty. “That’s exactly what I need a magic mirror to do. Sometimes I’m moving so fast I’m afraid I’m going to leave the house without pants.”
My brain provided an accompanying visual that hit me so hard I flinched and needed to clear my throat. “Well, you know, it’s Vermont. Weird is the way of the locals, so pants are debatably optional.”
“Also good to know.”
I might have been losing my mind, but something about the way she looked at me told me I wasn’t the only one having pantsless visions at the moment. Maybe that mirror was magical...
“The bathroom’s right across the hall.” I held the door open and she walked inside. “No tub, but the shower’s pretty cool. Dual rainforest showerheads with adjustable sprays and a handheld, and there’s a steam setting and a little bench.”
Phoebe smoothed her fingers over the tiles of the shower—her tactile nature had me thinking endless inappropriate thoughts. “These are beautiful. I looked at so many tile samples at…” Her voice trailed off in the saddest way.
“You okay?”
She nodded her head so fast that her bun unraveled, the braid slipping loose and sending waves of hair dancing across her back. “Yeah. Yes. Just still a bit thrown by the fact that the project that was my life for the past few years is now nothing to me. But that’s a story for another time. Seriously, though, the tile is gorgeous.”
“Thanks. I got it from a buddy of mine. We did the shower ourselves.”
“Damn. You really are good with your hands.”
“I don’t lie.”
She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Everyone lies.”
“Okay, I try to never lie.”
She considered that statement for a moment. “I wish more people were like that.”
Hmmm…. No statement about whether or not she lied, or any indication of who had lied to her in the past. Interesting. “I’m afraid you’re going to hate the kitchen. It’s functional, but tiny.”
“I’m used to New York apartments—where your under-the-bed drawers would be a huge hit, I might add—and tiny kitchens are what I grew up with. I still managed to learn to cook.”
“Well, if you ever need more cooking space, you’re welcome to the kitchen in the main house whenever you need it.”
“Seriously? Don’t offer if you don’t mean it, because I’ll be in there making all sorts of stuff all hours of the night. I insomnia cook.”
“I insomnia eat. Sounds like a match made in heaven.” My heart pinged a bit with that thought. It was something my grandmother might say. Something I grew up believing in. Lately…not so much.
“Ready to grab some more boxes?”
“Yep. Oh, and I have to warn you, the internet access from the guesthouse isn’t always great. I’m getting a new router this week though, and that should help a lot.”
Did she just shudder? We headed back outside.
“No rush. I’m on an internet hiatus at the moment.” That sad, serious look clouded her features again.
“Too much Candy Crush?”
“I wish.”
I heaved another big box out of the U-Haul. “Porn habit?”
She snorted. “That would be much more fun and much less stress-inducing.”
As if on cue, the box I was carrying began to vibrate. “Uh…”
Giggles poured out of her and there wasn’t even a hint of embarrassment. My mind, in the meantime, had done a deep dive into the gutter. Was I holding a box of her sex toys? Because it was a damn heavy box. “Should I put this in your bedroom?”
She gave me the naughtiest grin, her eyes dancing. “No, living room. That’s my vibrating foot massager.”
I set the box down in the living room, and she pried the top open, producing a purple, plush, pillow-looking thing with slots for both feet. It was vibrating like a jackhammer.
“Ah, nice.”
She hugged it. “It’s a lifesaver. Standing on concrete industrial kitchen floors is a bitch.”
“I’ll bet.” I followed her back outside.
“Besides, I’d never throw my good toys into a box. They’re all nice and safe inside my suitcase.” She threw me a wink that nearly killed me on the spot.
At this rate I wasn’t sure I’d survive unpacking the rest of her U-Haul, let alone a summer of her living fifty yards from my back door.
