Release Day Blitz: The Matchmaker Bride

Today we have the release day blitz for The Matchmaker Bride by Ginny Baird! Check it out and be sure to get your copy of this sexy new romcom today!

The Matchmaker Bride by Ginny Baird

Genre: Romcom

About The Matchmaker Bride

A delightful romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Ginny Baird...   Successful Boston matchmaker and television personality Meredith Galanes’s reputation is on the line. During a guest appearance on a morning talk show, she’s broadsided by questions about her own romantic attachments, just as she’s trying to secure a syndication deal. Afraid to admit her love life is a total disaster, Meredith blurts out that she’s seriously involved with a very special man—a boatbuilder in Maine. She never expects that small slip to get spun into a story about her supposed engagement.   Or that the paparazzi will track the guy down…   Derrick Albright is laid-back about many things. Being hounded by the press about some imaginary engagement to a woman he’s only met once—and couldn’t stand—isn’t one of them. Then Meredith actually shows up at his cabin in Blue Hill, Maine, with an apology, a pot roast, and a proposal—play along until she secures her TV deal, and she’ll help him win back his ex.   It’s a simple plan, but if they have any chance of pulling it off, they’ll have to survive each other first...   Each book in the Blue Hill Brides series is STANDALONE: * The Duplicate Bride * The Matchmaker Bride  

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Exclusive Excerpt:

Derrick had just finished making coffee when he heard a car door pop open. He set his mug down on the counter and scowled. Another reporter? Really? It had only been a couple hours since the last round had come through, though he’d been smart enough not to answer the door and eventually they left. Instead of fielding questions he had no answers to, he’d been busy googling Meredith, trying to track down her phone number. As soon as he got rid of whoever the straggler was, he’d give in and call Brent. Maybe his wife, Hope, would be able to get him Meredith’s number. He intended to call and demand some answers. What had the infuriating woman said? Or maybe it hadn’t been her at all? Maybe one of her unhinged fans had started this rumor. But how did he get roped into it? He yanked open his front door, prepared to do battle with the paparazzi. Then he froze at the sight of that cobalt blue convertible. Meredith Galanes stepped out onto his gravel drive and his heart lurched. He’d had to put up with the woman for an entire week during Brent’s wedding last summer, and had hoped to never see her again. Yet, here she was, up close and personal, teetering in his direction in towering sandals and a flouncy dress, with her long dark curls bouncing behind her. She held a large Crock-Pot in her hands, which she grasped with oven mitts. For an instant, it was hard to believe he was really seeing her and this wasn’t some kind of weird dream. About Meredith? Not a chance. “I can explain!” she said, traipsing toward his cabin. This he had to hear. “Can’t wait.” She approached his covered stoop, her spindly heels clack-clack-clacking against the flagstones hedged by flowering bushes. This was no dream. It was her, all right. In the flesh. And smelling like honeysuckle at the height of summer. Despite himself, he’d never forgotten her perfume, or, well... pretty much anything about her. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” She stared up at him with big, dark brown eyes and Derrick’s heart slammed against his chest. “It was a simple mistake.” “Simple? Your publicity posse was here not more than an hour ago.” “Ah, um...yeah. About that.” She peered over his shoulder and into his empty living room. “Can we talk inside?” “What are you even doing in Blue Hill?” he asked, not budging. She smiled and shot him a flirty grin. “I came here to surprise you.” Consider him surprised. And more than a little ticked off. What kind of nerve the woman had. “You’re not the first one today.” She winced. “I heard.” “And?” She shoved her Crock-Pot under his nose in a peace offering. A delectable aroma wafted toward him. For the love of all things edible, it smelled just like a pot roast. A very delicious pot roast. Derrick hadn’t enjoyed a homecooked meal in months. She pressed forward into his cabin and he inched back. “Hungry?” “No.” Derrick’s stomach betrayed him with a rumble. “Uh-huh. I brought this for dinner.” Dinner? What? “No, no, no...” he said. “You are no way—no how—staying—” But, before he could finish, she used one of her shoes as a lever and kicked the door shut.  

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About Ginny Baird:

 

NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Ginny Baird writes sweet contemporary romance with a dash of humor and a whole lot of heart. She is the author of the Blue Hill Brides Series: The Duplicate Bride (2020) and The Matchmaker Bride (2021) from Entangled Publishing and current and upcoming works from Hallmark Publishing: An Unforgettable Christmas (2019) and On Christmas Avenue (2021), as well as several independent titles including her newest multi-author novella collection: Beach Brides Message in a Bottle Boxed Set (2021). Visit Ginny's website to learn more about her and her books: www.ginnybairdromance.com.  

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Release Day Blitz: The Do- Over by Melissa McKinnon

THE DO-OVER by Melissa MacKinnon is out now! 

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The Do-Over by Melissa MacKinnon

Genre: Contemporary Romance

About The Do-Over:

After years in the grueling California dating scene, Maggie Kelley has finally agreed to marry her Mr. Right Now. But there’s just one teensy problem…the county clerk lets her know that she’s technically still married to her Vegas fling: the best three days she ever had...and can’t actually remember. The moment she sees her very hot husband after eight years, with his works-well-with-his-hands attitude, she’s sure their wedding night must have been explosive.   The absolute last person Finnegan Garrity expected at his door is Maggie—his ultimate “one who got away.” Yet here she is in his small-town boat shop, looking just as adorable as ever…and wanting a divorce. Yeah, he has no intention of letting that happen. Now he’s got one week to convince Maggie that they’re still perfect for each other.   But he’s going to need more than just a do-over: he’s going to need a miracle.  

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About Melissa MacKinnon:

Melissa spent her childhood exploring the coast of down east Maine without parental supervision and immersing herself in any book she could get her scrappy little hands on. Although she pursued a career in theater, the written word is her true calling. She leads a full life with her husband and six children traveling the country to wherever the Army sends them in her very large twelve passenger van, in what she lovingly deems “organized chaos”. She finds time to write in her “spare time”, somewhere in between soccer practices and nap time with coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. She loves creating unforgettable romance, and enjoys writing and reading everything from sexy, sword-toting heroes to spit-out-your-coffee funny romantic comedies… as long as she doesn’t get the book wet. She leaves that up to the characters.  

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Excerpt: Kill All Your Darlings by David Bell

 

Now that it’s out, I feel agitated, restless. My thoughts are a jumble. “Do you want a drink or something?” I ask. “I think I need bourbon.”

“Sure,” she says. “I always drank when you paid.”

I go back out to the kitchen, Grendel at my heels. It’s cold out, and I’d turned the heat down when I left the house. But I feel flushed, sweaty. Almost like I have a fever. I open the corner cabinet and take down a bottle of Rowan’s Creek and two glasses. When Jake was born, twenty years ago, Emily’s brother gave me a bottle of Rowan’s Creek, so whenever I drink it, I think of my son. My hand shakes as I pour.

Grendel starts eating. I hear his chomping in the corner. 

“You were drinking a lot when I last saw you.”

I turn toward Madeline. She’s standing in the doorway from the living room, leaning against the jamb.

“I was,” I say. “I’ve cut back. A lot. I had to.” I hand her the glass, trying to control the trembling. “But I think I could use one or maybe two tonight.”

"I guess it isn’t every day that a ghost shows up in your house.”

I swallow and lean back against the counter. “They looked for you, Madeline. Searches all over campus and town. It was on the news. Some people thought you just up and ran off on a whim. Some students do that. Impulse trips.”

“Some kids can afford to do that.”

“Right. But they looked in your apartment. You left all your books and clothes behind. You were an excellent student, an honors student, a few months away from getting a degree. And you stopped coming to class. The police questioned everybody who’d had any contact with you, including me. Especially me because we were all at the bar that night.”

“And I left Dubliners right after you did.”

“Right. Some of this is fuzzy. How I got home . . . how I even man- aged to get my key in the lock and get inside . . . I kind of think you came with me . . . but I don’t know how far . . .”

“Out in the living room you were talking about the book,” she says, arms crossed, glass in front of her. “After you read it and wanted to talk to me and I was gone.”

I finish my first glass and pour another. This is it, I tell myself. Just two drinks.

“You know I have to publish to get tenure,” I say. “That’s the way to survive in academia.”

“I’ve heard about that.” “Publish or perish, they call it.” “It sounds awfully bleak.”

“It can be,” I say. “And I hadn’t published anything in the seven years I’d been here. That book of stories Autumn Sunset came out when I was still in graduate school, so it didn’t count. If you don’t get tenure, you get fired. And if I didn’t get tenure here, I probably wouldn’t get hired anywhere else. They’d see I failed to produce, and no one would touch me. Why would they want a middle-aged guy with a huge blank spot in his publication record?”

“You could tell them about your family,” Madeline says.

“Sure. And the university here gave me an extra year for bereavement. I still couldn’t produce a book or even a few stories.” Grendel appears to be finished eating. He slurps some water, shakes his head, and goes back out to his perch on the couch. “Dr. White, the department chair, is a pretty good friend. And he really looked out for me. But he could only do so much. And he was really on me, reminding me what was at stake. He kept telling me, ‘Just produce something, Connor.’”

“No pressure, right? Hurry up and write an entire book while you’re grieving.”

“Life goes on at some point.” I drink some more. “The world doesn’t stop forever. Six months had passed after you disappeared. Six months. No one really said it out loud, but everybody was thinking the same thing. After a few days—a week, really—people were thinking the worst had happened. That you weren’t coming back. That you were dead. Murdered. Even your mom said it in an interview she did with the local paper. Does she know you’re—”

“I’ll call her soon,” Madeline says, her voice sharp. “You just finish telling me about the book and how all of this happened.”

We’ve reversed roles. She’s asking the questions. She’s playing the part of authority figure. And I feel compelled to answer her and give a full accounting of myself.

“I had your book,” I say. “Almost all handwritten. And you were gone. And I had an agent interested in my writing from years ago, although I wasn’t even sure she still knew I existed. I took your handwrit- ten book and retyped it on my computer.”

“You gave me a hard time about turning in a handwritten draft. I told you my computer died.”

“It turned out to be to my advantage. I made some of the revisions as I went along. I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to send it anywhere, that I was just going to type the book out as an exercise, a way to get my own creative juices flowing again. But the deadline was coming up for my tenure review. And I really wasn’t sure how I would handle it if I lost this job. On top of everything else, to be unemployed with nowhere to go.”

Madeline shows concern as she listens. She’s nodding, encouraging me to keep talking. And it feels good, really good, to finally unburden myself of the secret I’ve been carrying around for the past eighteen months. Even if I am unburdening myself to the person most directly harmed by my actions.

“It’s so hard to get a book published,” I say. “What are the chances for anyone? It was a whim. A Hail Mary play. But my agent loved the story. And within a few weeks, an editor loved it. And bought it. I kept telling myself to speak up, to tell them it wasn’t mine. But the train just kept gathering momentum and . . . I have to be honest . . . after every- thing that had gone wrong for me, after all my struggles with writing, to hear people saying such nice things felt really, really good.”

I look at her, and she swallows some of her bourbon. The look on her face has shifted, from concern and understanding to something I can’t really read. Her eyes look flat and cold, pale marbles staring back at me.

“I’m sorry, Madeline,” I say. “I really am.”

She takes her time responding, and then says, “Don’t worry. I didn’t show up here without a plan for how you’ll make this all right.”

“Excerpted from KILL ALL YOUR DARLINGS by David Bell, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2021 by David Bell”