About the Book

They've been best friends since third grade, and now they're next-door neighbors. When a baby is
abandoned on the front porch of their duplex in the middle of a snowstorm, playing house changes
everything.

Sometimes what a single dad needs most is the right girl…

 Note from the Author
Part of Wren and Rigby’s story is finding an abandoned baby on their
doorstep. In researching this, I learned that some states have laws that allow
mothers to safely and legally surrender their infants.

A big part of this program is Safe haven baby boxes.

https://www.idsnews.com/article/2020/03/the-woman-behind-the-boxes

Rigby Wright – something of a flirt, playboy, professional

photographer
Wren Yates – Clinic nurse

https://www.michigan.org/article/trip-idea/historic-towns-explore-near-ann-
arbor
 Chapter One

Wren Yates carefully maneuvered the heavy snowblower along the

cement walkway leading from the double garage that sat off to one side of
the duplex she shared with Rigby Wright, glad she was almost done.
For now, at least.
Glaring up at the low-hanging layer of dirty-cotton clouds, she blinked
snowflakes off of her eyelashes and shouted over the roar of the
snowblower, “You picked a fine time for an assignment in Thailand,
Rigby.”
She pictured her best friend—a solid five-ten, broad shoulders, dark
hair he kept military short, green eyes that changed color depending on his
mood, and a mouth that said plenty without uttering a word—working the
grueling photo shoot that had kept him halfway around the world for more
than eight weeks.
Snapping pictures of some of the world’s top models for a popular
swimsuit calendar.
Grueling. He’s used that very word. Okay, so maybe he got sand up his
shorts. And maybe his index finger hurt after pressing the shutter button a
thousand times. But aside from that, how hard was it for a hot guy to take
pictures of hot babes on a hot beach for a hot calendar?
“I’m sure Miss November was particularly arduous,” she muttered
under her breath
Wren wrestled the snowblower back on course, admitting to herself she
wasn’t grumpy about having to clear the driveway and sidewalk for the
fourth time in two days. She missed Rigby. Aside from a couple of long
weekends between assignments and the week between Christmas and New
Year’s, he hadn’t been home for a decent length of time in almost six
months. She was genuinely thrilled his photography career was doing so
well, but she missed him like crazy.
Couldn’t he find something local to shoot? Michigan had thousands of
miles of shoreline, hundreds of picturesque small towns, and plenty of
opportunities for an independent photographer. The Great Lake State wasn’t
exotic like India and Bali, and the weather—frigid and snowy in winter, hot
and humid in summer—often sucked, but it was home.
That had to count for something, right?
Her eyes burned with uncharacteristic tears, which she blamed on
back-to-back double shifts at the small clinic where she worked as a
pediatric nurse combined with the weather complications that came with
twelve inches of snow and sub-zero winds. Just another February in
Michigan.
Images of Rigby sprawled on a white sand beach, lounging in the shade
of a palm tree, sucking on a tropical drink served up in a coconut shell
faded away as she imagined herself neck-deep in a hot, steamy bath, then
bundled up in her fuzzy robe and slippers while she noshed on a melty
grilled peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich dipped in a mug of warm vanilla
milk.
Two more passes to clear the sidewalk to the back door and she’d be
done. At least until morning. The weatherman was predicting another six to
twelve inches. Hopefully, by clearing away what had already accumulated,
Wren had lowered her odds of getting snowed in. Not that she wouldn’t
mind a legit excuse to stay home for a few days, but out here in the rural
Michigan countryside, healthcare providers were in short supply. When an
emergency arose, icy roads and snowdrifts didn’t count as legitimate
reasons not to respond.
 Beneath her heavy parka, knit cap, and fleece long johns, her skin
prickled with sweat. God, she couldn’t wait to shuck her outdoor gear, leave
a trail of clothing through the house, and climb into the clawfoot tub to soak
away her troubles.
She rounded the corner of the house, eager to finish the job and call the
day done. She cocked her head as a vibration rumbled against the noise of
the snowblower. Her duplex sat atop a hill with a 360-view of the
surrounding landscape, but it was the only house at the end of the narrow
lane. Most strangers realized they’d made a wrong turn before starting up
the steep incline, turning around at the base of the knoll and continuing
along their merry way.
The sound of a heavy-duty engine grew louder, confirming she had a
visitor.
She hurried to clear the narrow swathe of cement before shutting off
the snowblower and hustling back to the front of the house.
“Thanks for the ride, Dale.” A familiar figure was shrugging out of a
heavy canvas coat which he tossed onto the passenger seat of a Ford F-450
pickup. “Appreciate the coat, too.”
“Rigby!” Wren’s joyful screech gave him just enough time to turn
around before she launched herself into his arms. “You’re home!”
Clutching her so she didn’t topple to the ground, Rigby waved as the
stranger drove off, then wrapped both arms around her.
“Not quite the welcome I expected, but I’ll take it.” His warm, robust
laugh came out as a white frosty puff as he squeezed her tight against him.
“I can’t believe you’re home!” Wren steadied her boot-clad feet on the
icy blacktop of the driveway as he set her down. “Why didn’t you call? And
who”—she gestured to the red taillights disappearing into the snowy
twilight—“is Dale?”
 “I didn’t call because I wasn’t sure I could get a flight out of Bangkok.
There were delays, then I lost my phone charger, then I realized it was three
a.m. your time, then I didn’t know if you were working or not, so I just
called an Uber once my flight landed.”
“Rig-by!” Her cheeks ached from the cold air and the broad smile she
couldn’t drop, even while chiding him about the outrageous cost of a ride
from Detroit Metro Airport, about an hour and a half southeast, to their
duplex outside the small town of Bennet. “You should have called.”
“I know.” His voice deepened, and his eyes softened to a heathery
grayish-green. “I missed you, girl. I couldn’t handle the disappointment if
you’d had to say no so I figured I’d just get my ass home and wait for you.”
She waved an arm toward the enormous mounds of snow she’d cleared.
“Your timing is perfect, as usual.”
“If the weather forecast is accurate, I’ll have an opportunity to take my
turn clearing show tomorrow.” He dropped an arm over her shoulders as
they ambled toward the house. “Please tell me you have a pot of chili
simmering on the stove. I’m starving.”
“Go on inside.” Wren ducked out of the friendly embrace. “Take a
shower. Unpack. Check your mail. Whatever. I’ll put away the beast”—she
nodded toward the snowblower—"and be right in. I’ve been working
doubles at the clinic all week, so I was planning on something simple for
dinner.”
“I can finish up,” he objected.
“You don’t even have a coat.” Wren rested her mittened hand on a
cocked hip. “If you want to help out, start dinner.”
“Anything in particular?” He shifted the strap of his duffel higher onto
his shoulder.
“It just so happens I was going to fix our favorite.”
 “Grilled peanut butter and jelly. Raspberry jam for you. Grape jelly for
me.”
He winked, and a sunburst of pleasure warmed Wren from the inside
out. Her best friend was home. Hopefully for longer than a weekend. Cold
dread at his next departure threatened to swamp her effervescent
contentment so she pushed it away. He’d just arrived. It was ridiculous to
miss him already when he was standing strong and real in front of her.
She watched Rigby climb the wooden stairs that led to the wide
covered porch stretched across the front of the duplex. The front doors into
each unit sat at each end of the porch, a matching set of bay windows
looking out from the living room in each duplex. His side was dark and
uninviting; a table lamp illuminated her half.
“I want two sandwiches,” she called. “And don’t skimp on the peanut
butter.”
He unlocked the front door to Unit B and reached inside to flip the light
switch. The sight of both sides glimmering with inviting golden light
caused Wren’s heart to swell. Rigby had been a part of her life since
elementary school when his family bought the house next to hers. They’d
quickly became inseparable best friends—climbing trees in the field behind
their homes, walking downtown to the Quo Vadis theater for Saturday
matinees, doing homework together, playing on the co-ed youth soccer
team, Rigby teaching her to drive a stick shift when he’d inherited his
mom’s old Honda Civic, Wren teaching Rigby how to dance after his
homecoming date said he had two left feet.
They grew up together, seeing each other every single day until Wren
moved to Detroit to complete her nursing degree at Wayne State University.
Rigby came down for long weekends, but the separation was tough. When
she moved back to Bennett six years later, having obtained a master’s in
nursing, Rigby invited her to move into the other half of the duplex he’d
purchased and was renovating.
It was the perfect solution. Owning separate units provided proximity
as well as privacy. Wren was more of a homebody who preferred casual
evenings hanging out with a few close girlfriends, while Rigby was
extroverted and outgoing, charismatic and charming, which made him
popular with the single women in town.
They’d shared the duplex for three years, falling into a comfortable
lifestyle as neighbors and friends. All of that changed eighteen months ago
when Rigby had been invited to participate in a gallery show featuring local
amateur photographers. Some magazine executive from New York saw
Rigby’s work and offered him an assignment photographing architecture in
South America for a glossy travel magazine. After Sao Paulo, he was off to
Amsterdam. Then Alaska. Moscow. London. Shanghai.
Each time he left to trot the globe, it felt like a fiber in the rope binding
their friendship together slipped loose and started fraying.
But none of that mattered now.
Rigby was home, and she intended to make the most of every minute
with her best friend.

Look for the next installment of THE SINGLE DAD AND THE GIRL
NEXT DOOR
COMING SOON!
 Wren’s Grilled PBJ and Warm Vanilla Milk

PBJ sandwiches were a staple when I was growing up, but grilling the
sandwiches in a skillet takes this American lunchtime tradition to a whole
new level. The peanut butter gets all melty while the jelly adds enough
sweetness to make it taste a little bit decadent. If you’ve never grilled your
PBJ sandwiches, give it a try and let me know what you think! ♥

Note: These portions are for one person, so just double, triple, or quadruple
as needed.

2 pieces of bread (any type)

Peanut Butter (any type)
Jelly (any type)
Butter
1 cup of milk
1 ½ teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon sugar

For the sandwich:

Heat a skillet over low-medium heat.
Make a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. Lightly spread each side of
sandwich with butter and put in skillet.
Grill until golden-brown, flip, and toast the other side of the sandwich.
When done, remove from skillet and set on plate. Cut diagonally into two
halves.
Use caution when you eat it because the PBJ will be hot!
For the drink:
Warm milk on stovetop over medium heat or in microwave-safe mug.
Which in vanilla extract and sugar until completely dissolved.
Top with dash of cinnamon or whipped cream if desired.
 About the Author
EmKay Connor is the author of #sexysassy contemporary romantic fiction
infused with quirky humor and engaging characters. Her bright and breezy
romances are set in small towns, tropical locations, and glamorous
destinations where her heroes and heroines discover passion and fall in
love.

Her manuscripts have finaled and won numerous contests, including RWA's
prestigious Golden Heart.

She lives, writes, and drinks coffee in northeastern Florida.

Website: http://www.sexysassyromance.com/
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Facebook: EmKayConnor
Twitter: EmKayConnor