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If You Ask Me Book PDF ePUB Details
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If You Ask Me Book PDF ePUB Summary
When an advice columnist’s picture-perfect life implodes, she opts to go rogue in this hilarious, heartwarming romance from the author of Meet Me in Paradise.
Violet Covington pens Dear Sweetie, the most popular advice column in the state of North Carolina. She has an answer for how to politely handle any difficult situation…until she discovers her husband, Sam, has been cheating on her.
Furious and out of sensible solutions, Violet leaves her filter at the door and turns to her column to air her own frustrations. The new, brutally honest Dear Sweetie goes viral, sending more shock waves through Violet’s life.
When she burns Sam’s belongings in a front-yard, late-night bonfire, a smoking-hot firefighter named Dez shows up to douse the flames, and an unexpected fling quickly shows potential to become something longer lasting.
A lot of people want to see the old polished Violet return—including her boss, who finds her unpredictability hard to manage, and Sam, who’s begging for another chance.
But Dez appreciates Violet just the way she is—in fact, he can’t get enough of her. The right answers don’t come easily when Violet finds herself at her own personal crossroads. But maybe, by getting real, Violet can write her own happy ending.
Sam and I moved to Sunny Ridge, a small town nestled between Apex and Holly Springs, ten years earlier, when the few subdivisions being built were mixed in among horse farms like some kind of utopia. It was so charming and perfect; weÕd loved it right away, just like weÕd fallen for each other. The tiny historic downtown still stood, as picturesque as ever, but there were more communities, fewer trees, and no horses for miles these days.
On my way home, I stopped at the newest addition-a high-end grocery store-and bought some sushi-grade tuna and salmon along with a bottle of prosecco and then headed toward the year-old firehouse, where a crew was bringing the truck to a high shine in the sun. One guy tossed a soapy sponge like a football.
It arced over his target’s head and landed in the road ahead of me. I slowed the Jeep to a stop to keep from running it over. The intended receiver, a tall, handsome man, sprinted into the road after the rogue sponge.
Once he’d saved it from the street, he flashed me a grin and then loped off, launching the sponge right into the laughing quarterback’s face. I was in such a good mood I waved before I continued on.
I hung a left into our neighborhood. It had been the first one Sam and I had looked at when we decided to buy. The only one.
We lived in a sky-blue Victorian on a cul-de-sac where I baked Ritz Cracker chocolate toffee bark every Christmas, threw the Labor Day cookout with an honest-to-God bouncy castle, and could be counted on to bring flowers and two bottles of wine-a red and a white-to the community Bunco club each month.
It was idyllic. Sam mowed the zoysia lawn in perfectly parallel lines and I planted clematis and azaleas that burst with color along our picket fence every spring. It was the kind of life I’d pictured when I was a girl, watching my mother plan all those fancy weddings for her clients and dreaming about my own happily ever after.
I parked in the driveway next to Sam’s car-he’d taken an interest in the environment recently and carpooled most days with one of our neighbors who worked for the same firm-and grabbed the mail from the mailbox.
I bounced up the steps, wrangling the giant stack of mail, the grocery bag, and my keys. Inside, I left my shoes beside the door before heading into the kitchen. I dropped the mail on the table. The paper fowarded my readers’ letters here, so we got more mail than most people.
I ran a hand over the envelopes, debating whether I should open them, start the sushi rice, or get changed. I was dying to get out of my constricting work clothes and into a pair of nice jeans and a tank top, unwind my hair out of the high bun that had become a uniform over the years, but I wanted to make sure I had everything ready by the time Sam came home.
I cooked the short-grain rice until it was tender, fanning it precisely the way the directions specified, adding the rice vinegar, placing it on the cling wrap on the little mat, and then filled it with the fish and cucumber sliced into tiny sticks before I tucked it into the fridge next to the chilling bubbly.
Sam wasn’t due back for another two hours-plenty of time to shave my armpits, wash my hair with the coconut shampoo he liked, do my hair and makeup, and greet him at the front door.
I made a beeline from the bedroom door straight to the bathroom to turn on the shower before I undressed. I hated to be wasteful, but the water took forever to get hot-the water heater was old, like the linoleum. Maybe we could use the extra income from the syndication to finally redo the bathroom.
Even better, Sam could stop working so hard to get promoted, all those early mornings and late nights, and-I dared to dream-his mother might even stop calling my column a “little hobby.”
About The Author: Libby Hubscher
Libby Hubscher is an author and scientist. She studied biology at Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine, and holds a doctor of philosophy degree in molecular toxicology from North Carolina State University.
Her work has appeared online and in textbooks, scientific journals, and literary journals. Her short story “The Unwelcome Guest” was long-listed for the Wigleaf Top 50 in 2018. She lives in North Carolina with her husband, two young children, and a menagerie of pets.
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Libby Hubscher is the author of “If You Ask Me”.
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