One summer. Three separate love stories. And summer doesn't last forever➱ The Montana Beach Series by D. Allen Kickstarter and Giveaway Tour
One summer. Three separate love stories. And summer doesn't last forever.
Summer Stay
Montana Beach Book 1
by D. Allen
Genre: Sweet Contemporary Romance
Jessie moved back to picturesque
Montana Beach after a heartbreaking split with her ex. She's since
thrown herself into her grandparent's inn, which has been struggling
financially thanks to the town having seen better days. With few
options available, Jessie considers accepting a developer's offer to
buy Montana Manor, seeing it as a way to save her family's legacy,
until she learns that he wants to tear it down.
Meanwhile,
Mason's tired of working at his father's advertising firm in New York
City, although his father wants him to become his replacement. Unsure
if that's the course he wants his life to take, Mason escapes to
Montana Beach and the only inn in town to consider the proposal. But
after he meets Jessie, he seems to gain only another reason not to
take up his father's offer.
When Mason offers to help
Jessie launch a campaign to save Montana Manor, the two quickly find
themselves relying more and more on each other. But summer doesn't
last forever, and Mason's stay is coming to an end.
Summer Job
Montana Beach Book 2
When Robyn was promoted to manager
of the Montana Beach Pier amusement park, she helped save it from
near extinction. But her employees are still having a hard time
adjusting to her new leadership role. With her father gone and only a
few friends in Montana Beach, the stress at work carries over to the
rest of her life. That is, until her newest employee steps through
the door.
Jaden’s just looking for a summer job until he
can find something more stable in the fall. Montana Beach might be a
slower pace than his hometown, but his new boss and the romance that
sparks between them makes the sleepy little town exciting.
When
a coworker discovers their relationship, he threatens to reveal their
secret, which could put their jobs and the future of the Pier at
risk.
Summer Nights
Montana Beach Book 3
On the surface Adrian has it all:
he’s the owner of the Nine—the only source of nightlife in
Montana Beach—and he has his boyfriend Malcolm. The only problem
is: Malcolm’s married. Although he promises to leave his wife,
Adrian still wonders if he’ll always be “the other lover,” and
whether that’s enough for him.
Tyler has watched his
best friend pursue his relationship with a married man knowing that
it won’t end well. He knows that he could treat Adrian better, but
he’s never expressed his feelings to anyone, let alone
Adrian.
After Adrian and Tyler share a special evening
together, Tyler sees a future for them, but Adrian is still loyal to
Malcolm.
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Summer Stay excerpt:
The
best part of waking up at five in the morning is getting out on the beach for
my run before the other joggers, walkers, or scavengers get out here and get in
my way. Often times I don’t even play music, preferring instead to listen to
the waves crash along the shore. It helps me relax and prepare for the day
ahead of me. The only thing on my mind is the sand under my feet and my
breathing as I run my usual two-mile stretch.
It’s not an easy run, that’s for
sure. The traction I get in the sand is quite different from what I used to get
on the treadmill when I lived in the city. But the extra exertion is what I
need to make this precious time count. There aren’t any gyms in Montana Beach.
There isn’t much of anything, really.
When I reach the end of the
beach where it starts to get marshy, I see that the sun is sitting just on the
horizon over the Atlantic Ocean. As I turn around to head back to Montana
Manor, my long shadow stretches inland, interrupted only when I pass under the
pier.
Grandma Ethel is sitting on the
back patio with a cup of coffee watching the sunrise as I come up. I’m sweaty
but energized.
“Enjoy your run, Jessie Girl?”
she asks.
I nod. “The sunrise is really
beautiful today.”
She smiles. “It always is.”
Knowing that I’m short on time,
I tell Grandma, “I’ll be back down soon to help you with breakfast. Just going
to run up and take a shower real quick.”
“Take your time, dear. I’m
content right here.”
Racing up the steps to the attic
apartment I share with her, I head straight for the bathroom and hop in the
shower.
This is the same routine I do
every day. Up with the sun, run on the beach, quick shower, and then start
breakfast for the guests. It’s the same routine I’ve had for most of my life.
My grandparents built Montana Manor when they first got married and have been
running the small inn ever since.
It’s the only place for
overnight accommodations in town since the Montana Motel closed down several
years ago. Well, it’s the only one if you don’t count the many rental houses
that sit throughout the small village now that a lot of the permanent residents
have moved away.
Like Montana Beach, the Manor
isn’t perfect. It could use a new roof, updated fixtures, and I’m sure the
wiring isn’t up to code. But it’s home.
Braiding my wet hair, I make my
way back down to the kitchen where Grandma is already frying up some eggs. I
grab a pan, throw some bacon on it, and fire up the burner next to her.
“How many do we have this
morning?” I ask.
“Only the Harmons. Janet said
they’re early-risers, so I expect them to come down anytime now.”
“How long are they staying?”
“Until tomorrow night, although
they still have to pay the rest of their bill. They mentioned something about
paying today, but I told them they can wait until they check out, too.”
“Okay.” I wish Grandma wouldn’t
tell people that. They’re our only guests and it’s the middle of June, which
should be the start of our busy season, but we haven’t seen an uptick in guests
yet. When I was a little girl the Manor used to be filled with guests from May
into October. Now we’re lucky if we can fill up in July.
Grandma reaches around me to
grab two plates and flips the eggs onto each of them with a spatula. “Now, if
they do pay today, I want you to run to the bank to deposit some of it. The
rest will have to go toward groceries.”
“Did we get another
reservation?” I toss the bacon onto a plate and dab away as much of the grease
as I can with a paper towel.
“One couple, yes. They’re
arriving tomorrow. I think they may be honeymooners.”
“What makes you say that?” I
ask.
Grandma picks the bacon from the
paper towel and arranges it on the plate while I pop some bread in the toaster.
“Their reservation came through
as the Newmans, but her credit card was under a different last name.”
“Then they probably are.”
There isn’t a lot to do in
Montana Beach, but we still get a lot of honeymooners. I guess the quiet beach
town is a lure to many newlyweds. Still, most of the guests we used to get are
now more interested in the many activities up on North Beach, which is
highly-commercialized nowadays.
The toaster pops and we hear
footsteps on the stairs.
“I’ll get them started with
drinks,” Grandma tells me. She pulls a pitcher and a Tupperware of fruit out of
the fridge and sets it on a tray with two glasses. “Can you cut this up,
please?”
“I’m on it.”
“Thank you, dear.”
When she disappears into the
dining room to greet them, I pop open the Tupperware and start cutting the
fresh pineapple and cantaloupe into cubes.
“They want to eat out on the
patio,” Grandma tells me when she comes back in. She sets the plates on the
now-empty tray.
“I can’t blame them.”
“Neither can I. Now hurry up
with that fruit, dear, their food is getting cold.”
Summer Job excerpt:
My
alarm wakes me at six in the morning. It’s the first day of work this season at
the Montana Beach Pier amusement park. Or just the Pier, as everyone calls it.
I don’t have to be at work for another five hours, but I want to squeeze in
some painting time before the day gets started.
With my eyes slits from the
cruel bathroom light, I brush my teeth before hopping in the shower,
readjusting to my familiar routine from last summer.
I wish I could say I’m excited
about starting the season again. I mean, I guess I am, but that’s more to see
the families stroll through the gates again. The kids are always so excited and
they usually don’t know which ride to try first. And then, by the afternoon,
they’re so hyped up on sugar and their parents are so drained from the sun that
it makes for hilarious entertainment, even though I’m technically working.
But the door won’t open to
guests for another week. In the meantime, my employees and I have to get
everything up to snuff for opening day. Which means they’ll be cleaning up the
rides after the maintenance guys check to make sure they’re running okay and
I’ll be stuck in the office doing paperwork and getting our marketing materials
together.
I step out of the shower, wrap a
towel around myself, and walk into the second bedroom I use as part walk-in
closet, part art studio. I don’t have too many clothes, but I do have more than
the tiny closet in my bedroom would allow. Still, there’s enough space for my
art supplies too. And all the paintings that are waiting to be sold. The perks
of living alone, I guess. Anyway, I’m going to miss spending all day to paint
the landscapes from around town, but I’ll squeeze in time to keep painting when
I can.
As I pick out clothes to wear, I
try to remember everything I have to do when I go in today. I made a couple
trips to the Pier office last week to start getting some paperwork started. I
also hired two new people: a cleaner and a concession person, bringing our
total number of employees up to fifteen. Including me. Not a lot, but it works.
Actually, I have another
interview today. If he seems sane enough, I think I’ll make him a ride
operator. Out of the two other new employees, one is barely old enough to work,
meaning I don’t feel comfortable putting him in charge of a ride for kids under
ten, and the other doesn’t seem to even want
a job, so I stuck her as a cleaner.
It seems mean, but that position
is the easiest to make up for if we lose someone midseason. The guy I’m
interviewing today might even spend half his shifts cleaning. We don’t have the
budget to hire too many designated cleaners, so everyone has to chip in.
Once I’m showered and dressed, I
return to the spare bedroom and really look at my work in progress. It’s
starting to come together. I squeeze out some paint, dab in a brush, and get to
work.
Usually I like to paint in the
midst of my inspiration. Plein air,
as it’s called in the art world. It helps me really get in touch with my
surroundings, but since I don’t have a lot of time now that I’m working, I have
to make do with a photo hanging on the wall above the canvas.
I work for a couple hours,
filling out the canvas with more colors, bringing to life the sunrise scene
that fills me with so many happy memories. Before I know it, it’s just after
ten and I rush to clean up my paints in the bathroom sink that’s stained with
colors from previous paintings; a work in progress itself.
Once I’m all cleaned up, I grab
my bag and my keys and walk down to Atlantic Street, where there’s a tiny
little coffee shop on the corner with First Street.
“You’re here early,” Nancy says
from behind the counter. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please,” I respond. “It’s
my first day back at the Pier.”
“Is it that time of year
already?” She fills a to-go cup with a dark roast blend.
“Sure is. Creeps up faster each
year.”
“And passes by just as quickly!”
She chuckles, passing me my order. “Here you go, dear.”
I take the cup from her and hand
her my card. “Maybe next year we’ll be able to expand the season a bit, but I
still need to whip my employees into shape. I’ve got a few new ones this year.”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to,
honey. I’ll have to bring my granddaughters down if I have time this year.”
“Oh yeah! That would be fun!” I
take my card back and slip it in my wallet. Slinging my bag back on my
shoulder, I head to the door. “Thanks, Nancy. Have a good day!”
“You too, dear!”
My assistant manager, Peggy, is
already in the office when I get to work. She’s never early, so I must be a few
minutes late. She has her feet up on the desk and is filing her nails while she
snaps her gum.
“Sorry I’m late,” I mutter. She
probably doesn’t care.
“Oh, you actually came back this
year.”
“I just knew it would make your
day.” I boot up the computer and take a sip of my coffee.
“I see you still haven’t found a
real job,” she says.
“And neither have you,” I say as
polite as I can.
This is our relationship each
summer. Verbally jabbing each other under the veil of a joke. I think she might
want me to quit, but it’s not like the owners would make her manager. They live
up in North Beach and own several attractions up there. This tiny little pier
all the way down in Montana Beach isn’t on their radar too much, but they’re
still funding our operations, so that’s good. I can imagine the attractions up
north are making a lot more money than we are, though.
If they’re forced to hire a new
manager for the Pier, it might be easier for them to just close it. That’s
where it was heading before I started. I trimmed the budget, beefed up
policies, and started advertising to the right audience. In the three years that
I’ve had the position, the annual number of visitors has gone up by thirty
percent.
Of course, in the process of
turning this place around, I had to lay a few people off, argue with the remaining employees about my new policies,
and took on the reputation of bitch.
Collateral damage for saving a small town business.
Summer Nights excerpt:
It’s
nearly four in the morning, but the digital clock on the nightstand has my full
attention. I watch as the blinking light counts each passing second, wondering
how long I’ll get to lay here with Malcolm before he gets the phone call.
I pray that it doesn’t come.
Every night I pray, but his phone inevitably rings. Even though I’m still
wrapped in his arms, I can’t help but think about him leaving.
I suck in a shuddering breath
and close my eyes. Maybe tonight my prayers will be answered and we’ll wake up
in the morning together. This is the latest he’s stayed in a while. Usually
he’s out the door shortly after we finish, which makes it nearly impossible to
get to sleep.
That’s the worst part about
loving him. The loneliness that follows his exit. He always tries to move
quietly, telling me to go back to sleep when I get up to walk him out, but it’s
no use. I’m always left feeling empty. Alone. Sad.
I focus on his steady breaths,
letting it soothe me so I can fall asleep, but the sudden burst of his ringtone
makes me jump. Malcolm stirs. He pulls away from me and reaches for his phone
on the opposite nightstand.
I know the drill. Stay silent
and still. He’s never come right out and told me to, but it’s kind of obvious
that he wants privacy since he leaves the room every time it’s a phone call.
“Hello?” He says once he’s at
the door.
I close my eyes and pretend that
the call never came. That he’s still lying beside me. But his voice carries
from the living room and I know this is really happening.
“I was tired, so I pulled over
to take a nap.”
I stare at the clock again,
watching more seconds pass by.
“I’m about forty minutes out,”
he says.
It’s quiet. My heart races in
fear that I was heard somehow.
“No, just tired,” he finally
says. “Like I just said. Go back to sleep. I’ll be home soon.”
I close my eyes and try to think
of something else to ease the heartache. I know what’s coming.
“Love you, too.”
It’s like a physical pain in my
chest.
Malcolm comes back in when he’s
off the phone and shakes me gently. “Hey, I have to get going.”
“Yeah, I heard,” I mutter. I
keep my eyes on the clock. 3:52. That has to be a record.
“I’m sorry, babe, but I have to
keep up appearances.” He rubs my arm. “At least for a little while longer.”
“I know.”
He pauses, then asks, “Remember
what I promised you?”
I don’t say anything. It almost
seems like it’ll never happen at this point.
“Hey.” He nudges me until I roll
over to look up at him. “Someday soon it’ll just be me and you. You’re the one I want to be with. I love
you.”
Hearing him say it helps make me
feel a little better. “I love you, too.”
He kisses my forehead and then
disappears into the bathroom.
Despite my best efforts, I
retreat to my negative thoughts. I love him and he says he loves me, but a part
of me also thinks that if he truly loved me that this would be an easy choice
for him.
I’m always wrestling with
myself, wondering if I’m a bad person or just a man in love. I’m not the one
deciding to betray a commitment. I’ve made my commitment. To him.
Malcolm’s the one who’s married.
D. Allen is the author of small town romance, including the Montana Beach series and the Small Town Christmas series.
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What are you grateful for today?
ReplyDeleteThe blurbs sound really good.
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