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Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.
She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.
With over two million books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over twenty novels. Her books have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.
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HENRY
The Afina house was mine, until I lost it with a straight flush. Let me repeat … a straight flush. My great grandfather built the Victorian farmhouse for his bride, Marian, in what is still one of Ohio’s smallest river towns. Birdville has a population of just under seven hundred.
The firstborn male inherits the Afina house. After my dad died two years ago, my mom moved to Germany where she and my dad had planned on retiring in the same town where my great grandfather was born.
She moved out.
I moved back in.
Thankfully, I kept my trailer. It’s like the universe knew I’d fuck things up.
We’re not a wealthy family—we’ve just always owned the most coveted house in Birdville. We were a coal mining family before my grandfather became a plumber, like my father, and like me.
So while I sit in my pickup truck outside the Afina house, I can’t help but think of my mom’s announcement that she’s coming to Birdville for Christmas.
That fucking straight flush.
Since I lost the family home just over six months ago, this will be my first time back inside it—as a hired plumber.
I knock on the door three times. It takes an eternity for someone to answer.
“You must be the plumber,” a fifty-something woman says, blowing at her silver and blond bangs to expose her kind blue eyes.
I hold up my toolbox and give her a guilty shrug.
“It’s the bathroom down the hall and to the right.” She shows me a canning jar filled with what looks like the makings for cookies. “I have to finish putting these together. Let me know if you have any questions Mr. …” Her gaze slides to my shirt and the name tag I’m not wearing.
I refrain from sharing my real name in case she makes the connection to it and the house she stole from me. Okay, it technically wasn’t her, but the sting is still too real to give a shit. I glance at the jar in her hand and smile. “Mason. Mason Ball.”
“Very well, Mr. Ball.” She shoots me a courteous smile and sashays to the kitchen.
I’m pleasantly surprised. She seems normal.
After I lost the house, the loan shark put it up for auction. Serena Soro, a writer of some sort, purchased it and nearly everything in it. I’d never seen her until today, nor had anyone else to their knowledge. She has everything delivered to her house. Rumors have been flying around since the day the moving company pulled into the driveway and unloaded her belongings.
She’s a recluse.
A vampire.
