She’s a baker and blogger who has a nightmarish fear of flying and she’s escorting her sister’s wedding dress through three different time zones. He’s the tall, dark and handsome stranger that gets in her way… Will either of them escape the experience unscathed?
What happens when Scarlett has to go home to be bridesmaid to her least favorite little sister - a sister who loves to remind everyone EVERY OTHER MINUTE that she’s a
former beauty Queen? Can Scarlett survive three weeks of tropical heat and mosquitos, and droves of busybody relatives all wanting to tell her WHY she’s still single as she endures the wedding from hell? (In case you’re wondering, it’s because she’s too fat, too lazy, too fiapoko and/or doesn’t pray enough.)
Six hundred guests, three wedding dresses, twenty-four cake tiers, fifteen bridesmaids, parents on a mission to makeover their daughter, lots of dysfunctional family drama - and ONE deliciously divine man who alternately renders her speechless then drives her to outraged desire - all add up to a recipe for disaster.
OR to a love story from Samoa that’s smart, sad and joyous all at once.
Coming Soon – something new from Lani Wendt Young, writing as: Lani Jade. And here’s a sneak peek piece of the next book…
How did I end up here? Strolling along a moonlit beach under a magnificent night sky, with him.
Nervous, so as per usual, I’m babbling. Saying stuff about solar systems and did he know that India just became the first non-Western country to reach Mars? I’m looking everywhere except at him so I don’t know if he’s even listening to me by this point. Does he even care about astronomy? Maybe he’s checking his phone right now, wishing he were somewhere else. Some other country. With some other woman. One who’s not droning on about India and Mars.
Then he speaks and his voice is so close that it makes me jump and I forget my resolve not to look at him. Because he’s standing right beside me. And looking directly at me with that intense gaze of his that I can’t read. The one where his eyes are a shade darker than caramel, more like the sugar syrup of gulab jamun. Yes that’s it, very good gulab jamun soaked in cardamom and rosewater with saffron and honey.
Stop it Scar, he’s saying something. Stop thinking about Indian donuts and pay attention to Jackson. Listen to the man with the saffron honey sauce eyes dammit.
“The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, iron in our blood, even the carbon in the apple pies you make in your bakery,” he says.
Huh? What’s he on about? I smile brightly, trying not to stutter. Because I always take moonlit walks with gloriously handsome men. All the time. So this is no big deal. Right? “What about them?”
“The astronomer Carl Sagan, he said they’re all made in the interiors of collapsing stars,” he explains.
Wow. I’m intrigued. Especially about apple pies having their origins in the stars. Always knew desserts were heavenly. I forget about being nervous and look back up at the expanse of spangled sky. “So everything’s made of stars? Even people too? That’s amazing.”
“Yes. We’re all made of star-stuff, hewn from stars.” There’s an odd edge to his voice that catches deep inside me and I turn. He’s not looking up at the sky. He’s staring at me and I am caught in the saffron honey sauce again. “When I look at you, I believe it.”
Now I’m not thinking about saffron honey sauce anymore because I’m drowning in it. Jackson brings one hand up to lightly caress the side of my face. He is murmuring words half under his breath and I am still, so still, completely entangled in this moment. This thing, whatever it is. I can’t move. I don’t want to move, in case I ruin it, shatter it. Jackson – his gaze, the husky timbre of his voice, the touch of his hand, his skin against mine, the scent of him – all of it, weaves filaments of caramel glaze on a croquembouche of epic decadence. Concentration is required in case one’s hand shakes and the pyramid of profiteroles is dislodged. In case the glazed trail of hardening sweetness isn’t uniformly applied and it soaks into the choux pastry…
“Stop it Scarlett,” he whispers against my hair. “Stop putting up profiterole barriers and let yourself just be. Here. In this moment. Right now. With me.”
My lips part to splutter some weak protest, some lie about profiteroles? Of course I’m not thinking of baked goods. How could I be?
But then he’s kissing me. Tasting me. I am kissing him back.
And it’s so much better than a croquembouche.
So. Much. Better.
So I’m sure your patience is wearing thin when it comes to my next book and I hope you all can hang on a little bit longer. This is officially my first foray outside Young Adult fiction and it’s been challenging, scary and heaps of fun writing in a new genre. I’ve shared a few pieces of this romance novel on the blog before and I’m finally seeing the writing conclusion for it. Will keep you updated over the next month as it goes through beta readers and edits. Hope you like this sneak peek!