Something More (The Blisswood Brothers #2) Read Online Evey Lyon

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Blisswood Brothers Series by Evey Lyon
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Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
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Bennett Blisswood isn’t searching for more, but fate has other plans…

The one-night stand with Kelsey was my comfort when I needed it and the escape she wanted. The friends-with-benefits arrangement that followed was our fun —barn trysts included. No strings, simple, and easy. That’s us. Except Kelsey just threw multiple sticks with two pink lines at me. Looks like our best-laid plans have hit a plot twist.
Now we’ve been thrown together on a deeper level as we are about to become parents.
With no hesitation, I’m stepping right up for her and our kid—even making a crib with my bare hands. Of course, the town gossip mill is in full swing as they attempt to figure out the relationship status of Kelsey and me, and they’re not the only ones confused. Kelsey is beautiful, stubborn, and makes me want things. Call me traditional, but I make my intentions about our future very clear. She thinks I’m blinded by her growing belly, but her hesitation about us only challenges me to prove her wrong. And if she takes a chance on me, I can’t let her down. That’s the last thing I can do. Because I’m beginning to feel that Kelsey and me… we may just be something more…

This friends (with benefits)-to-lovers, surprise-baby romance is the second standalone book in the small town Blisswood Brothers series that follows the brothers as they run their family winery and farm, Olive Owl.

FULL BOOK START HERE:

1

BENNETT

A casserole. A fucking casserole. Again.

I try to force a polite smile on my face and tear my eyes away from the foil-covered dish. But my eyes stall on a pair of soft delicate hands, nails tipped with some sort of dark reddish polish, and I’m reminded that this isn’t just a neighbor or random Bluetop citizen who has stopped by to offer condolences on this early spring evening.

It’s Kelsey.

We’ve known one another since we were teenagers. Not to sound like an ass, but in high school, I didn’t pay much attention to Kelsey Bridge. Not in that way. Now, it would be hard not to. It may be ten years later, but she has blossomed into something a man can’t help but double take when he catches a glimpse of her.

“Hey, Bennett,” she delicately greets me. Our eyes meet and she attempts a soft smile as she slants a shoulder up. “I know its cliché, but I didn’t really know what else to bring since you own a winery. You have your own endless supply of alcohol.”

Her twinkly brown eyes study me, waiting for a response. If it wasn’t for the fact that I still feel numb from my dad’s funeral the other day, then I would compliment her on her new hair color. Blonde with strands of a silky brown, full of volume too. Something tells me her hair would smell of expensive shampoo with some kind of exotic oil.

“Right, thanks,” I manage to say as I scratch the back of my neck. I realize she picked a good time to drop by, as I just showered and put on a fresh shirt and jeans, so I don’t look quite the part of grieving son who hasn’t shaved for days.

“It’s a corn casserole or something. I mean, the only thing I know how to make involves corn, so… here,” she offers again by holding it up.

Stepping to the side, I invite her to come farther in. The bed-and-breakfast at Olive Owl is currently closed. The place that I now own with my brothers, a family winery and farm, has grown over the years, to the point we added the inn in the modern country-style house.

How the fuck we ended up named as a romantic getaway spot for couples escaping Chicago is beyond me. But romance amongst Illinois’s finest cornfields and state parks is charming enough for some.

She follows me as I lead us to the kitchen where she places the dish down next to the twenty others that have been delivered in the last forty-eight hours.

Her face drops as she takes in the scene. “Clearly everyone got the memo of Bluetop tradition,” she quips.

“They’re being kind, I guess. Want a drink?” I ask as I grab two tumblers from the cupboard and a bottle of whiskey that is already near empty, despite being opened only three days ago, but my brothers and I needed something to take the edge off. I don’t give her the opportunity to answer as I pour us two generous servings.

“I’m sorry about your father, he was a good man.” She takes the glass from my hand and our fingers graze, and for some reason it’s the first time in days that my body jolts in any form of response.

I don’t acknowledge it for too long as we both lean against the counter.

Jack Blisswood was indeed a good man, gone too soon, but cancer is a bitch, and we knew it was coming.


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