Jordie Spagnato was content raising her daughter on her own, and running a successful New York City hot spot. Enter Nathan Harper: tall, handsome, full of charisma and there to lend a hand when a drunken brawl almost lands Jordie in jail.
Late night walks, rooftop visits and breakfast quickly become their routine until Nathan’s future and Jordie’s past threaten to ruin their lives.
“Fuck!” I blurted out as I reached my steps. Nathan was perched there halfway up and, my Lord, he was looking fine.
“Is that a statement or a request?” He grinned mischievously at me, a grin that touched those amazing blue eyes.
Oh shit, he’s here … on my front porch. My heart slammed into my throat and I was pretty sure I had lost the ability to form a coherent sentence.
“Hi?” was all I could manage to say. What was he doing here at three A.M.?
“I wanted to make sure you made it home safely,” he said, as if answering my silent question.
“Nut. Job,” I mouthed slowly to him.
He laughed, unveiling that beautiful, perfect, white-toothed smile that made his eyes even brighter. Then it happened. With that one smile, I surrendered to whatever it was inside of me I was fighting. I could no longer worry about how this story would end
when all I wanted to do was start it. I walked past him. “Want to come up for a beer or something?” I unlocked the door and waited for the impact of the rejection.
I could hear the smirk in his tone.
“Is that a statement or a request?” Ugh, what are you doing? Is this flirting? I silently sighed. Rachel had never been more correct — it had been too long. “Lock the door behind you, please.” I started the two-flight journey to my apartment. We reached my door, and I took a deep breath while I unlocked it. We walked in and I tossed my crap on the table as usual. He closed the door, and I heard the click of the
“Want some breakfast?” I asked him, walking past the large sectional in my living room into the kitchen. Nathan followed but stopped in the dining room and took a quick glance around my place as he leaned against the wall. “Assuming I will be here for
breakfast?” he asked in a sultry voice full of humor.
Flushed, I popped my head out from behind the fridge door. “Smart ass, I meant now. I’m starving. Yes or no?”
“Sure.” He got dimples when he smiled.
“Can you make some coffee?” I pointed to the pantry closet door.
“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped into the pantry. “Pop Tarts? You eat Pop Tarts?” His muffled words became clearer as he walked out, holding coffee in one hand and a box of Pop Tarts in the other. He closed the door with his foot.
“I enjoy a good Pop Tart.” I pouted, crinkling my eyebrows.
“Seriously? Strawberry? I thought you said you enjoyed a good Pop Tart.” He eyed me suspiciously.
“Shut up — it’s the sprinkles. They make me happy.” I quickly looked back down to the pan, trying not to stare at his amazing blue eyes.
“Do you know what these are made of?” He sounded appalled, as if I were eating a cockroach instead of an artificial pastry.
“No, please enlighten me.” I noticed my cheeks hurt because I had been smiling for the past five minutes.
“All right, sassy pants, I will.” He was attempting to be serious, but began to laugh while he poured water into the coffee maker.
“C’mon educate me, I need a good schooling, and have you ever made coffee before?” I playfully grabbed the coffee from his hands, swiftly dumped four scoops into the top of the machine, closed the lid, and pressed the start button.
“Impressive.” He hopped onto the counter holding the box of Pop Tarts again, watching me. “It’s a sugar coma is what it is. I can’t explain it. I just know anything that has a shelf life of fourteen years and is still edible after a nuclear winter can’t be good for you.” He held his head high and tightened his lips as if he was triumphant in convincing me.
I stared blankly at him, trying my damnedest not to laugh, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me as they tightened. We both burst out in laughter.
“Really? That’s all you got?” I snatched the box from his hands and put it back on the counter. “Like I said, it’s all about the sprinkles, so if there is in fact a nuclear winter, at least I’ll be happy.” I tossed him a loaf of bread.
“Can you make toast?”
“Can I make toast?” He hopped off the counter. “Of course I can make
When I turned to look at him he was standing at the toaster with a confused look on his face.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
My mouth popped open wide in shock and he laughed.
“Gotcha.” He winked, pushing down the lever.
HJ grew up in Bricktown New Jersey, less than an hour away from New York City. As a teenager and early twenties, she loved hanging out in the glamor of NYC. She was a "City Brat" so it was pretty difficult for her to pack her stuff and three cats in 2005, for a life changing road trip, moving to California. She's travelled around the country until she met her better half in 2005.
After serving twelve years in the Air Force, the man of her dreams ended his military career and they moved to Georgia in 2007. Since then, they've settled down in Leesburg GA, and had their first child.
No place has ever come close to replacing the magic of New York City for HJ. So when it was decided to try this romance writing gig out, naturally her first book 'Finding Jordie' would be set there.
HJ enjoys reading, and spending time with her family. Reality TV is a guilty pleasure and she's a sucker for romantic comedies and Robert Pattinson. HJ is a pro at goofing off, She talks with my hands, (She's Italian!) She drinks way too much coffee, and gets too little sleep. Oh, and she has a thing for Jackie-O sized sunglasses. HJ's has five furry kids and most importantly, one beautiful daughter. HJ is always striving to be the best Mom possible.
HJ's very passionate about the things she loves, that's why she was outraged when they cancelled SMASH and Southland! It should be considered a small miracle if you ever get to see a serious or pic of her posing all nice and pretty...She's not that girl. She's a spontaneous goof and believes the best things in life come naturally. Yes, that includes random no make-up selfies during a 2:00a.m. writing marathon.