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Her contemporary romance debut, Sweet Tea, will be published by Hallmark Publishing in July 2021. Her historical fiction debut, By Design: the story of Ann Lowe, Society's Best Kept Secret, will be published by William Morrow in March 2022.
Piper Huguley blogs about the history behind her novels at http://piperhuguley.com. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and son.
Escape to New Zealand
ROSALIND JAMES
Author’s Note
The Blues, Crusaders, Highlanders, All Blacks, Racing 92, and other teams mentioned in this story are actual rugby teams, and New Zealand is a genuinely beautiful place full of wonderful people. However, this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Escape to New Zealand: Past Characters Appearing in This Book
Marko Sendoa, Nyree Morgan. JUST SAY (HELL) NO (Bk 11). Marko is a blindside flanker (No. 6) for the Auckland Blues and the All Blacks; Nyree is a painter.
Rhys (Drago) Fletcher, Zora Fletcher. JUST COME OVER (Bk 12). Rhys is the coach of the Auckland Blues and a former All Black (flanker); Zora is a florist who was married to Rhys’s late brother. She is also Hayden Allen’s sister. Zora has one son, Isaiah Fletcher; Rhys has one daughter, Casey Fletcher.
Kane Armstrong, Victoria Gibson. JUST SAY CHRISTMAS (Bk 13). Kane is a lock for the Canterbury Crusaders (and Luke’s brother); Victoria is a prosecutor in Auckland (and Nyree’s closest friend).
Grant Armstrong, Miriama Armstrong. JUST SAY CHRISTMAS (Bk 13). Grant is the former coach of the Otago Highlanders and Luke and Kane’s father; Miriama is Nyree’s mother.
Carefully consider, what prevents you from living the way you want to live your life?
- The Dalai Lama
CHAPTER 1
Nowhere to Run
There’s no elegant way to walk out on somebody with an enormous striped ginger cat in your arms. Unfortunately, Hayden Allen only realized that later.
He hadn’t been able to wait for the lift. Instead, he walked fast up the stairs of the flash Wynward Quarter apartments and knocked at the door, feeling the excitement rise in him like bubbles in a glass of champagne. It wasn’t tickets to Tahiti, but maybe it was even better, because it was personal. Anyway, it was too soon for anything like that. He knew it was too soon. Two and a half months—too soon.
He couldn’t help it, though. He had a hopeful heart. Broken too many times, but he kept coming back for more. This time, though … this felt like it could be the real thing.
He stood in front of the apartment door and willed his heart to slow, shifting the cat in his arms, because the thing must weigh about ten kg and was carrying around another half its weight in fur. Maybe this was a stupid idea.
Harden up. It was a brilliant idea. You just have to execute. Get out of your comfort zone and take a leap. He rang the bell. And waited.
And waited.
Julian had said he’d be staying home tonight when Hayden had mentioned he’d be working late. The plan had seemed perfect.
Wait. Obviously, Julian wouldn’t come to the door if he wasn’t expecting anybody. But he didn’t always lock the door, did he? Should he check?
Julian could be mercurial, especially lately. One day loving and affectionate, the next distant. Hayden had thought, Give him space. It’s a lot. It feels like a lot to you, too. Now, he tried the handle. Unlocked. Still, he hesitated. Was that too much, walking in?
Not with a gift, surely.
He pushed the heavy door open. He’d been right, he realized with outsized relief. There was music coming from the speakers in the lounge, the sultry, bluesy stuff Julian favored when he was relaxed—or randy—and the smell of something delicious wafting in from the open ranch sliders.
It was going to be all right. It was going to be better than all right.
He kicked off his shoes with some difficulty—no hands—and headed out there, noticing the bottle of wine in the ice bucket on the kitchen bench along the way. Dinner and wine? That worked.
Julian was on the balcony, facing away from Hayden, dressed in shorts and T-shirt as usual, his lean body elegant even while tending to the oversized barbecue that was among his prize possessions, or, as he would say, “The one thing New Zealand does well, other than sheep, sailing, beaches, and a casual dress code.” A pristine white yacht pulled out of its slip in Viaduct Harbour below, the sky was the serene blue of late spring, the drifting white clouds were reflected in the water that slapped against the quays, and the scent of grilling meat made Hayden’s mouth water. As did the glass of white wine at Julian’s elbow.
Julian had the best nose for wine Hayden had ever seen—and he used it. He could polish off a bottle by himself and only become sharper, his wit more cutting. Taste too sophisticated for Auckland, maybe, which made sense, because he was British. British, with a glamorous flat, a glamorous boat, a glamorous life, a way of looking down his aristocratic nose that thrilled Hayden ridiculously, a thorough knowledge of music, the ability to order the best food in three languages, a case full of classic books that he’d actually read, and the quickness of brain to converse wittily about all of it.
