The Bloom Girls

by Amy Pine

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

Gilmore Girls meets My Big Fat Greek Wedding in this humorous, multi-generational story about a mother and daughter who discover that life happens when you least expect it.

Gabi Bloom doesn't believe in signs. She believes in photographic evidence, the view through her camera lens, and the snap of the shutter. It's why she traveled to Europe—to satisfy her wanderlust and to kick off her photography career. But in Ireland, all of that changed when Gabi gazed into the impossibly blue eyes of an American bartender. She wasn’t prepared for their intense and immediate attraction, or the fact that she’d be bringing Ethan home with her . . . as her fiancé.

Gabi's upcoming marriage is the cherry on top of her mother's current predicament. Stumbling toward forty, Alissa is a pastry chef who raised her daughter single-handedly while Gabi’s father traveled the globe. Now her baby girl is getting married after a whirlwind romance and Alissa—well, Alissa is pregnant. Again. And not only is her ex the father, he wants her back. For good. Until she can figure out that part of the puzzle, Alissa is hiding her big little secret even as she helps Gabi plan a happily-ever-after wedding. But somewhere between disaster and hope, life might just bloom in a way that is breathtakingly unexpected . . .

Release date: August 3, 2021

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 368

Sample

Chapter One

Gabi Bloom knew she was being silly and over-the-top, but she didn’t care. She was twenty-two, as of two days ago, a college graduate, and she finally had the first stamp in her passport. This was a special occasion, which meant no holding back.

She stood in the middle of the rain-soaked street, right there in Galway, Ireland, and spun like she was Gene Kelly dancing through puddles in Singin’ in the Rain.

Her long ponytail swished against her back, but she was avoiding actually splashing in the puddles because then she’d have to dig something dry to wear out of her backpack, which still sat unopened on the bed in her hostel. Plus, she was technically using said spinning to find the best camera angle from which to capture the essence of her new location—the brick-paved streets shining with rainwater, the vibrantly painted storefronts mixed in with the gray stone facades of older buildings, the glow of the streetlights reflected in the puddles, and the locals—and perhaps travelers like herself—pouring in and out of the various pubs, smiling and laughing. However, staying dry was key. Gabi’s whimsy only extended as far as practicality would allow it.

Sure, after the flight to Shannon and the hour-plus bus ride to Galway, she was jet-lagged beyond comprehension. But sleep could wait—at least, until it was absolutely necessary. Right now her sole desire was to capture the scene on her Nikon D500—the extremely generous graduation/birthday gift from both her mom’s and her dad’s parents, one of the only times in recent history she could remember the ex-in-laws agreeing on something together.

Still, Gabi had the gorgeous new camera hanging around her neck, which she’d use to capture the equally gorgeous sites throughout her trip, so she certainly wasn’t complaining. All she wanted was to have the most amazing two months of her life without family complications or competition getting in the way.

She squeezed her eyes shut for one brief moment, willing her home life to stay where it belonged—at home—and backed up toward the curb to survey her surroundings.

The light rain that had lasted the whole bus ride from Shannon to Galway had miraculously stopped as soon as Gabi arrived. Now, with the sun on the brink of setting, the quaint street looked like a movie set. It felt like a movie set. And she was the heroine in some romantic comedy like Notting Hill or, even better, a movie about female self-discovery like Under the Tuscan Sun.

Okay, fine, the second was a book before it was a movie, but both were films she’d watched with her mom as a young teen. While her father spent months (sometimes years) in foreign locales helping salvage forests or planting trees, Gabi and her mom traveled across the globe, one movie at a time. She had a running list in her planner of cities and countries she wanted to visit and photos she wanted to take, starting with this one, right here, in the middle of Eyre Square.

She chose her settings and squared up the shot. The last rays of the sun were hitting a puddle in the middle of the street just right, reflecting the orange banner along the brick building that read HOSTEL. Her finger hovered over the button, ready to press, but then another light entered the frame, an artificial light that was—moving. It weaved back and forth as it drew closer. She was so used to looking at the world through the eyepiece of a camera that it wasn’t until she heard the high-pitched motor that she lowered her DSLR and saw the scooter careening toward the curb—and an even bigger puddle than the one in the center of the street.

She only had a second to think. She grabbed her camera, whipped the strap over her head, and held it as high in the air as she could reach. She jumped back, but not before the inexperienced—or possibly inebriated—driver sped through the puddle, spraying her from her nose all the way to her feet.

“Asshole!” she yelled, just as the moped jumped the curb and hit a light post, the vehicle skidding right and the driver pitching left onto the wet ground. “Oh shit!” She placed her camera, which was thankfully dry, into the bag slung across her torso and raced to where the helmeted rider lay motionless against the curb.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no. Please don’t let the last thing this guy hears be me calling him an asshole.” Even though he sort of was. He could have killed her—and might have just killed himself.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she said softly.

When she got to him, she dropped down to a squat and was relieved to see his eyes were open. They were really good eyes, too—bright blue with thick, dark lashes and Ohmigod, FOCUS, Gabi!

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I mean, you’re breathing, right? I just saw your chest move, so you’re not dead. Please don’t be dead. Or the only way I’m going to remember this trip will be as the graduation trip where I talked to a dead guy who had gorgeous eyes.”

He blinked, and she wondered if he was in shock.

“Should I call nine-one-one? Wait. Do they even have nine-one-one here?”

She hadn’t anticipated near-death encounters with motorists, which meant that in all she’d read about the places she wanted to travel, she skipped the chapters that dealt with situations such as this—if said chapters even existed.

“You…” His voice was hoarse.

Maybe he needed water. Maybe these were his last words, and he was going to tell her something really important that she’d have to pass on to a family member.

“Should I call someone?” In case he wasn’t a native English speaker, she slowed her cadence and increased her enunciation. “Do you have an emergency number in your phone?”

He shook his head, then coughed.

“Oh God!” Gabi said. “You are dying.”

He held up a finger, asking her to wait, so she bit her lip and held her breath, hoping the first day of her trip wasn’t about to end in unforeseen tragedy.

“Not…dying,” he said, then sucked in a huge breath. “Wind—knocked out of me.”

She allowed herself to exhale. “Oh thank goodness. I mean—not thank goodness that the air got knocked out of your lungs but thank goodness you’re not dying. That would have been a bummer.”

His breathing seemed to be returning to normal, and the corner of his mouth turned up. “You—think my eyes are gorgeous? Because yours aren’t so bad either,” he said, his accent definitely American.

Gabi gasped and fell backward onto her butt so she was now sufficiently soaked on both sides.

The victim—if he even was one—rose up onto his elbows and grinned, and she backhanded him on the shoulder. Gently, of course. Even if he was okay, that had been a pretty nasty crash.

“I’m here freaking out that you’re dead, and you’re flirting with me?” she asked.

“I’m pretty sure you flirted fir—”

But he was cut off by a car honking as it approached the two of them and the crashed scooter. The stranger scrambled to his feet, grabbing Gabi by the hand and pulling her up with him before yanking the small vehicle out of the way.

Gabi’s stomach did a cartwheel, which she chalked up to the adrenaline at having almost been run down not once but twice. It had nothing to do with his hand wrapped firmly around hers.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, and despite her stomach settling when he released his grip so he could put both hands on the bike, she held steady on the adrenaline explanation.

A handful of pub-goers had gathered, lining the pavement behind them, but he waved them off.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just don’t tell Colin before I do, okay?”

“Ay, Ethan,” a young woman said to him with a smile. “See you in the pub.”

Ethan. His name was Ethan. What was the tiny pang in Gabi’s gut at the other woman already knowing it, speaking it so freely with such a familiar grin?

He—Ethan—parked the moped successfully against the same post he’d hit. Somehow, other than a flat tire and tiny but visible dent in the frame, it didn’t look too worse for wear. When he turned back to face her and stepped forward, though, Gabi realized he was limping.

He was a head taller than her five-foot-three-inch frame, and she had to look up to make eye contact with him.

“You are hurt,” she said. “We should call an ambulance or something. Though I’m not quite sure how that works overseas. Do you know? I’ve read tons of travel books and blogs, but no one says anything about what to do if you see a reckless driver get taken out by a lamppost.”

So much for flirting. Not that that was what they were doing.

He unclasped his helmet and pulled it off, running his hand through thick, dark brown waves.

Gabi’s mouth went dry, but then he narrowed his bright blue eyes at her.

“Do those books of yours mention anything about how it’s dangerous to stand in the middle of the street in a foreign country? Maybe then you wouldn’t be in the way of supposed reckless drivers,” he said, no sign of that flirty grin.

“I wasn’t—” she stammered. “I mean, you were the one—” She groaned. “Is it even legal for you to drive here? In a foreign country?” she added, echoing his accusation. “I figured you needed some special license for that.”

The damp air made his hair curl up above his ears, and Gabi found herself fighting off a grin. She was supposed to be indignant, not thinking about how good-looking he was or how his already too-blue and too-pretty eyes were even more vivid in the glow of the streetlamp.

She fidgeted with her camera bag, itching—for no explainable reason—to snap a photo of him right here. Right now. But that would be weird, right? Definitely weird.

He raised a brow. “Ah, something else you missed in your guidebooks.”

“Huh?” Gabi asked, having lost her train of thought.

“Driving overseas?”

“Right!” she said, with more enthusiasm than was necessary. “Driving. Recklessly.” She winced. “You were saying?”

He shook his head. “If you have a US driver’s license, then you’re qualified to drive in the UK. My buddy Colin who lent me the moped might have a different opinion. And no hospitals. It’s just a previous injury that got a bit of a wake-up call. Happened almost a year ago.”

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I talk before I think.” She bit her lip, reminding herself to think first, talk second. “Actually, that’s pretty much the norm. But I am glad you’re okay—and that the last thing you ever hear won’t be me calling you an asshole.”

“You called me an asshole?” He burst out laughing, then winced as he put weight on his left leg.

She reached for his elbow on instinct, as if she could support him like a crutch, but he braced his palm against the wet lamppost before she made contact, gritting his teeth as he spoke.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. He was lying, of course, but Gabi wasn’t going to argue. “You were saying? Something about me being an asshole?”

Gabi threw her hands in the air. Okay, fine. So she was going to argue. “You soaked me and almost my camera too.” She looked at his wet jeans and cargo jacket. “Okay, I guess you’re no better off. Maybe even a little worse. Are you going to be all right? I mean, are you sure there isn’t someone I should call?”

She wanted to get out of her wet clothes, but at the same time she wanted to stay here, shivering, a little while longer. There was something she liked about him—about Ethan, other than his eyes. For a guy who’d almost bought the farm, he was funny. And charming. And he was flirting with her, wasn’t he?

He nodded toward Darcy’s Bar, the one connected to her hostel.

“My shift starts in ten minutes. I need to get in there and break the news to Colin about his bike or scooter or whatever it is. And then I need to beg him for another ten minutes so I can change.”

Her eyes widened. “You work at Darcy’s?”

He shrugged. “For the time being. I have an open-ended return ticket. Eventually I’ll head back home to start working for my father.” His shoulders lowered, and he blew out a long breath. There was more to that story, but this didn’t feel like the right time or place to ask. He didn’t even know her name.

He glanced down at his wet clothes and over at the hopefully-not-ruined scooter. “Looks like my night can only get better from here. So you know Darcy’s?”

She shook her head. “I mean yes. I mean—I haven’t been there yet. I just checked in to the hostel and was going to maybe grab a drink after I put on some dry clothes.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Which you wouldn’t have to do if I wasn’t such a shitty driver.”

Her cheeks warmed. “You said it this time. Not me.”

“Tell you what…If you promise you’re actually coming down for a drink, the first one’s on me.” He held out his right hand. “I’m—”

“Ethan,” she blurted, and his eyes widened. “I heard that woman say your name. Guess you’re quite the popular guy around here.”

Now her cheeks were on fire. Stop. Speaking. Before. Thinking.

Ethan laughed and nodded toward his still-extended hand. “Are you going to leave me hanging, mystery girl? A name for a name is usually how this works.”

She wrapped her hand around his and shook. And even though she was wet and cold, an inexplicable warmth spread through her.

“Gabi,” she said. “It’s very unexpected to meet you, Ethan.”

His dark brows drew together. “It’s very unexpected to meet you too, Gabi.”

Together they crossed the street in the direction of their destination, Ethan’s limp slowing them down, not that she minded.

When they reached the door to the bar, an awkward silence filled the space between them.

“Thanks for not dying,” she blurted and immediately regretted her equally awkward departing words.

Ethan laughed. “Thanks for making sure I wasn’t dead. I’m looking forward to our date.”

She snorted—and regretted that too. “It’s not a date.” He was simply paying her back for doing exactly as he’d just said—making sure he wasn’t dead. She hadn’t come to Europe to date. These next two months were meant to satisfy her wanderlust, to build her portfolio so that she could get a steady, stable job once she got home, maybe apprenticing at an established portrait studio in the hope of one day opening her own. But dating? No, no, no, no, no. That was not on any of her lists or in any of her travel guides, and it certainly wasn’t something you did while traveling overseas for eight short weeks.

So why did she sort of want it to be a date?

“I asked you out,” Ethan said, pulling her out of her thoughts. “You said yes. If you show up, it’s a date.”

She repositioned her bag on her shoulder and cleared her throat. “I don’t remember saying yes. So I guess we’ll have to wait and see if this date—that isn’t a date—actually happens. Goodbye, Ethan.”

She spun on her heel and bit her lip as she sped around the corner and toward the hostel door.

Once inside, she blew out a breath and waited several beats for her heart to stop racing and to make sure the goofy smile spreading across her face hadn’t taken up permanent residence.

Then she headed up the stairs to find some dry clothes for what was not a date with a very handsome, reckless driver of an American bartender in Ireland.

*  *  *

Ethan came through on the free pint and even brought around a couple of appetizers for Gabi and the fellow tourists she’d met from her bus ride into town, but that was the extent of her interaction with the guy who nearly killed himself and then flirted with her on a rain-slicked street in Galway. Apparently when the hostel was filled to capacity, so was the pub—and then some. Plus there was a live Irish folk band, which was amazing but made it impossible for the two of them to do anything more than steal glances across the bar.

She tried to ignore the little flip in her belly whenever they made eye contact. She would only be in Galway for a few days. And while her attraction to Ethan was undeniable, what was the point? Gabi hadn’t come to Ireland for romance. She came to drink Guinness, to bike along the Dingle Peninsula, and to kiss only the Blarney Stone. Crushing on a guy for a few days would be nothing more than that—a crush. She’d had them before and she would have them again. This wasn’t anything new—even though she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him since she stepped foot into the pub.

Ethan grinned at her as he slid three pints across the bar to waiting patrons, and there it was again—the flip and flutter that she hadn’t asked for but that continued to plague her just the same.

She laughed even as her cheeks filled with heat. Yet despite the riot of activity in her stomach, her eyelids were growing increasingly heavy.

She stayed as long as her exhaustion would let her, which was almost until midnight. But the need for sleep finally won out. She caught Ethan’s eye as she stood from her table, waved and mouthed Thank you.

He was filling a pint and mouthed back what looked like What?

So she formed the words again. Thank. You. For the pint. But I have to go.

Again, he replied with a silent What?

People near her were starting to stare at a conversation that was clearly going nowhere, so she rolled her eyes and gave him a vigorous wave and made her way to the door. He at least had to understand that.

She’d see him again before she left. He was certainly easy enough to find. But the adrenaline of their earlier meeting had finally lost the fight with jet lag.

Must. Sleep. Now.

Once outside, the cool night air revived her enough to remind her that she’d never gotten her photo of the city street. She might have lost the glow of the setting sun, but the lights that shone down from under the roof now lit the stone building that housed the hostel and bar. She liked this shot even better.

Gabi backed into the street, which was quiet. Not a car or weaving scooter in sight. She set the shutter speed and aperture to account for a low-light photo and lifted the camera to her eye. She pressed the button and waited for the satisfying clicking sound that meant she’d finally captured a reminder of her first day on what she hoped would be an amazing two-month journey.

Click.

She lowered the camera and sucked in a sharp breath. Because Ethan was standing five feet away, just out of frame.

She dropped the camera into her bag.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous to stand in the middle of the street?” His voice was deeper than she’d remembered from earlier in the evening.

She laughed, and this time more than butterflies danced in her belly. Her pulse quickened, and her throat tightened. Only hours ago this person had been a stranger she may or may not have inadvertently killed. Thank goodness it was the latter. But now he was making her lose control of functions like simply taking a steady breath.

She reminded herself it was just a crush, but the rest of her body didn’t feel like listening to her brain.

Gabi cleared her throat. “I do know this. I almost got taken out by an American who doesn’t know how to drive on the left-hand side of the street. But since said American is nowhere near a motor vehicle at the moment, I feel pretty safe.”

Safe from getting run over by a moped, but alarm bells went off in her head the closer Ethan got.

Humor. Deflection. She got that from her mom. She guessed it was how her mother survived teen pregnancy, marriage, and divorce before turning twenty-five. As much as she loved both her parents, they were a lesson in love not worth repeating.

That was why Gabi had crushed plenty but never loved. That was why she craved stability. That was why this trip was her one and only foray into whimsy.

Kissing this stranger could definitely be defined as whimsical. But what if Gabi felt something more?

Ethan took a step toward her, the limp still there but no sign of pain on his face, only a nervous smile that she would guess mirrored her own.

“I asked you to wait, and you still left,” he said. “So I’m probably an idiot for chasing after you, but—”

“I thought you were saying what.” She crossed and uncrossed her arms, suddenly scared about why he wanted her to wait. “Because I was saying Thank you for the beer and food and—you chased after me?”

He shrugged. “I’m a bit slower than usual on account of a slight fender bender I had earlier this evening. Took me a little longer.”

Her heart hammered at his approach, and her mouth grew dry. She swallowed and took a steadying breath.

He chased her.

He hadn’t wanted her to leave.

What if what he wanted was what she wanted? What then?

“You never told me how you hurt your leg. Before today, I mean.” Even though she was stalling, she took a step forward, closing the gap between them so that if either moved an inch more, they’d be touching.

Gabi wanted the two of them to be touching, but her brain begged her to play it safe. To chalk this feeling up to the delirium of jet lag because where minutes ago all she wanted was to flop face-first onto her hostel mattress, now all she could think about was how close her lips were to his and how the electricity thrumming through her defied all logic.

“My knee,” he said.

“What?” she blurted.

He raised a brow. “You asked about my leg, and I was clarifying that it was my knee.”

“Yes! Sorry. Guess I zoned out there for a second,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

“Gabi…I didn’t chase after you to tell you my sob story.” He licked his bottom lip, and she swallowed.

“Why—why did you?” she stammered, her eyes now fixed on both of his lips, her stomach growing tight.

“Because you’re wildly attracted to me, and I figured you wanted to steal one last glance. It’s okay.” He crossed his arms. “I’ll give you a moment to really let the picture of me slinging beverages solidify in your mind’s eye.”

She groaned. “Ever think you might be a little overconfident? Or ever think I might not be in Ireland or Europe or whatever to meet someone I’m wildly attracted to? Not that I am—attracted—I mean.” Smooth, Gabi. So smooth.

“Ever think I might be hiding behind said confidence because I’m actually nervous as hell to tell you the real reason?”

“Ethan?” she asked, knowing that if she followed where he wanted to lead, her perfectly planned trip for perfectly planned reasons would be perfectly tossed on its head.

“Yeah?”

She couldn’t not ask. “Why did you ask me to wait?”

He blew out a steadying breath. “Because I was afraid if I didn’t, I might not see you again. And I really, really want to see you again, Gabi.”

Heat spread from her cheeks to the very tips of her toes.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

He shook his head and moved closer.

Gabi held her breath.

Ethan dipped his head toward hers. “I think kissing you might be the only thing that makes sense to me right now.”

She nodded. “I think you’re right.”

He skimmed his fingers across her hairline. She’d ditched the ponytail tonight, and for a second she wondered what the damp air might be doing to her do. While she’d inherited her dad’s straight hair instead of her mother’s wild curls, there was only so much humidity a girl’s hair could take. But the moment his fingers came to rest on the back of her neck, she forgot that she had hair at all.

She could feel where every one of his fingers touched her skin. And when his lips swept across hers, it was like she’d just gone over the edge of a roller coaster’s steepest drop. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled against him as she stood in the middle of a street in Ireland and kissed a guy she never would have met had he not almost run her off the road.

Chapter Two

Two Months Later

Alissa Adler bolted upright in bed, disoriented when she saw that the clock read 3:00 a.m. At first she thought maybe her body clock had tuned in with her daughter Gabi’s arrival; like maybe after eight weeks of her not-so-little girl being gone, it knew Gabi had entered a nearby time zone. But Gabi was still ten hours away from landing, so why the hell had she woken up?

She didn’t have to pee—shocking. And she’d taken the day off work for Gabi’s homecoming, so it wasn’t like she was late for the train.

Then it hit her, a wave of nausea like she’d never experienced before. Okay, she’d experienced this—symptom—before, but not like this. Not waking herself from a perfectly good night’s sleep. She barely made it to the toilet in time to seriously lose her lunch. Or in this case, she guessed it was whatever was left of last night’s dinner.

She hugged the bowl like it was a life vest, and at this point she was pretty sure it was.

Her food poisoning theory had gone out the window when her symptoms persisted past two days. She’d thought maybe it was a virus, but there’d been no fever. Finally,. . .