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by MK French
Alisha Blake creates amazing desserts for her grandfather's shop in rural Illinois, dreaming of opening her own in Chicago. A dinosaur bone in her grandparents' backyard brings paleontologist Quentin Harris, recovering from a painful breakup. The attraction is real, but Alisha is scared to fall in love and Quentin wants to make a name for himself in a competitive field.
Amazon affiliate links are used on this site. A free book was provided for an honest review.
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| January 2021; Montlake; 978-1542033909 audio, ebook, print (345 pages); romance |
I liked Alisha and Quentin immediately. Both are pushing themselves to rise above their pasts, but it hamstrings them at the same time. Alisha is afraid to leave her family the way her father had, and Quentin is afraid of loving someone who would abruptly leave him behind. Their mutual attraction is tempered by waiting through the spring to do the dig in summertime; their texts are adorable and it's clear to the reader as well as their friends the two are a fantastic match.
Their fears do get the best of them, much as it commonly happens in a romance novel without a clear external "bad guy," and it's only with internal work can they truly move beyond the past and create a future together.
Digging Up Love is a fun novel, with cute pokes at Midwest city vs. country culture. Overall, this novel is a great read by a new author.
Buy Digging Up Love at Amazon
Digging Up Love Excerpt
About forty yards behind the house, Mrs. S sat on her trusty motorized steed. Granny stood next to her, the top of her blonde bob a good foot shy of the reflective orange safety flag jutting up out of the back of the seat.
Opposite the women, a backhoe perched motionless on the edge of the crater like a mechanical gargoyle, motor silent. Granny was holding a whispered conference with Mrs. Snyder, doused in her trademark rose-scented perfume so strong it could penetrate a gas mask.
Alisha slinked up to the women like an uninvited guest at a funeral. She couldn’t help but address them in a hushed tone. “Hi, ladies.”
Mrs. Snyder let out an almighty yelp and revved her engine. The scooter lurched forward toward the edge of the hole. Alisha dove for the kill switch, and Granny wrapped both arms around her friend’s ample waist, the heels of her Wellington boots making furrows in the grass. The scooter skidded to a halt like a clown car dumping its occupants at center stage.
Alisha collapsed on her knees, panting. “So sorry, Mrs. S!”
“Janet.” Fanning her flushed face, she leveled a beady gaze at Alisha. “If I’ve told you once, I told you a thousand times. Call me Janet.” She adjusted one of her clip-on earrings, blue-veined hand trembling. “‘Mrs. S’ makes me feel about a thousand years old.”
Alisha nodded just to pacify her. The switch would be impossible. Mrs. Snyder was Hawksburg’s answer to Mr. Feeny: a seventh-grade math teacher, religious ed catechist, and after retirement, a high school substitute teacher. No sense in arguing, though.
She pushed off the freezing ground and turned to Granny. “What’s this I hear about a skeleton in our new swimming pool?”
Pulling the sides of her coat around herself, her grandma said, “I was gonna tell you when you got home, sweetie. But you never get much time to yourself. I didn’t want to interrupt your visit with Simone. And I doubt it’s anything. Janet just said we should be sure.”
Surprise, surprise. Mrs. Snyder had called in the professionals, not Granny.
“I’m sure we’ll have this whole thing resolved today.” Granny patted her arm in reassurance.
Alisha relaxed a bit at her grandma’s touch. The Blake women looked nothing alike. Her grandma was a fine-boned peroxide blonde and fair as winter moonlight. But temperament wise, they were a match. If Granny wasn’t fussed, everything would be fine. But still . . .
“So there is a bone?”
Granny nodded. “A big one. See for yourself.”
Obediently, Alisha took a step forward to peer down into the pit. The man—and it was a man, after all—crouched in the mud, squinting against a battered digital camera, wasn’t wearing the khaki uniform she’d expected.
Instead, a dark-gray zip-up hoodie showed the curve of strong biceps and wide shoulders. He sat on his haunches in worn-in jeans and brown work boots. A cobalt-blue beanie was pulled down over his ears, accentuating the line of a straight, clean-shaven jaw. Definitely not middle aged either.
This was fine. Totally fine. Well, he was fine, that much was certain.
Keep it together, Alisha.
No worries. She tugged at her cropped leather jacket. She was perfectly capable of sending a fit young scientist packing.
Just then, he rested the camera on his thigh and looked up at them through the snow, his gaze as dazzling as a burst of sunshine after a storm.
Alisha’s knees almost gave way. Up until this moment, she would’ve put weak knees right up there with Bigfoot in the realm of myth. But the man’s electric gray-green eyes short-circuited her nerve endings and left her legs wobbly as Bambi.
He pulled his full lips to the side, gaze unfocused, clearly deep in thought. Then he dropped those striking eyes to the ground and stood up, rubbing a hand absently along his chiseled jaw. Her stomach turned itself inside out. It wasn’t every day she encountered a man who looked like her fantasies incarnate. But the biting wind and snowflakes swirling through the air hit her like a bucket of ice water. Not a daydream, then. Which begged the question, What to do now?
The textbook definition of a sexy scientist stood a few feet away, smack-dab in the middle of her grandparents’ future swimming pool. Chills that had nothing to do with the freezing temps collided with the heated flush of a heart gone into hyperdrive. A magnetic tug drew her a step closer, vying with a hysterical urge to turn tail and run.
Heavens to Betsy, cool it, Blake.
Without another thought, Alisha took a breath and jumped into the deep end.
***
Born and raised in New York City, M.K. French started writing stories when very young, dreaming of different worlds and places to visit. She always had an interest in folklore, fairy tales, and the macabre, which has definitely influenced her work. She currently lives in the Midwest with her husband, three young children, and a golden retriever.
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