Modern day Nashville and 1950s Detroit clash worse than an IKEA futon and a plaid Barcalounger when a free-spirited interior designer and a strait-laced automotive engineer find themselves in another time. TOMS-wearing Olivia Haugen and Madras-shirted Kyle Daniels have no idea why they’ve ended up in 1954 Michigan, but it’s probably not because of all the swank mid-century furnishings. Discovering the reason might have something to do with a wily salvage warehouse owner and her not-so-little shop of secrets.
Praise for the book:
“Wow this book just drew me right into it from the start.”–Diana K.
“Loved it. Details of the past were so real, you felt you were there!” –Amy B.
“This book was amazing. It was funny, harrowing, nerve-racking, and just plain awesome!!!” –Tiffany T.
“It’s about to storm,” Constance said, dutifully changing the subject. As if manifested by her words, the sunlight disappeared and a rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. She pursed her lips. “So I guess you’re heading home to that feckless man-friend of yours. Clayton, wasn’t it?”
“It’s Troy.” Olivia tilted her head. “Clayton was last month.”
Constance rolled her eyes. “I’m going to start making a list so I can keep track.”
“It’s not that bad,” Olivia protested. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“If it’s a lack of drama you want, you should lay off artists and musicians.” The shop owner sniffed. “You should be looking into more mature men like—”
“Your nephew Kyle—that pinnacle of malehood and maturity, or so I’ve heard.”
“It wouldn’t kill you to at least meet the man one of these times.”
“And disappoint you when he fails to pique my interest?”
“You can’t know that,” Constance said, exasperation in her tone.
Olivia arched a brow. “You said he’s an engineer. And thirty years old. Could he sound any more exciting?”
“He’s level-headed, has a great career—”
“And is such a catch that he’s still single at his advanced age.”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
Smirking, Olivia shrugged. “I’ve heard this before. It’s all a retread.”
“That’s what you get here in spades. Retro retread.”
Olivia patted her lightly on her head. “Let’s keep the retro to home décor, shall we?”
Constance crossed her ample arms over her chest, her expression mulish. “I’m not kidding about the demand of mid-century inventory. You’re going to have to find another access point if you want the good stuff. And grab one of those umbrellas by the door or you’ll get yourself soaked to the skin.”
Kyle Daniels pressed himself against the brick storefront behind him, his body just inches out of the sudden downpour. The slight overhang of the building, however, failed to stop the rain from splashing onto his shoes. He frowned. The shoes were new—as were his pressed trousers, which were becoming speckled with moisture.
That ridiculous door jingle sounded and he peered through the sheet of rain to see a customer leaving the salvage shop, umbrella poised high over her head.
Not just any customer. He’d seen that white-blond hair and lithe figure before.
Olivia Haugen—the answer to all his dreams, according to Great Aunt Constance.
Kyle had caught a glimpse of her a few times—usually leaving the shop—and every time he saw her, his impression was the same. She was artsy, high-strung, and flighty.
And he hadn’t even met the woman.
Just the way her pale hair floated around her face vexed him. How could she stand it getting in her eyes all the time? She drifted down the sidewalk in a vague, dreamy way—even in the rain. Didn’t she realize she could trip on the broken sidewalk? Or get mugged by a stray criminal? She seemed completely unaware of her surroundings.
And when he saw her climb into a yellow and blue Mini Cooper, painted with the bold lettering of House Whisperer Inc., he had all the information he needed to come to a reasoned, logical conclusion.
She was a nonstarter.
A pointless pursuit.
Besides that, he knew in his gut that she’d never give him the time of day. He’d come in contact with females of her ilk before, and knew a meeting with her would be accompanied by an amused yet dismissive look coupled with the usual disdain for his attire. Madras shirts and Dockers apparently provoked rolled eyes and barely suppressed snickers. Kyle figured she’d go for the type of guy in skinny jeans and V-neck T-shirts that revealed a bony sternum.
And there would be hair gel. Lots of it.
Sorry, Aunt Constance. This dream of yours will just have to crawl into a corner somewhere and die.
Author Bella Street
#1 Amazon Bestselling author in Time Travel & Gothic Romance!
Living so close to Nashville has provoked Bella to take up fiddle lessons. Until her tunes no longer sound like amorous alley cats, she writes weird romance (which includes Gothic romance, science fiction romance, apocalypse, time travel, paranormal, fantasy romance, New Adult–and possibly sasquatch).
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