In Every Possible Way - Softcover

Thompson, Alicia

 
9798217187218: In Every Possible Way
Softcover
ISBN 13: 9798217187218
Verlag: Berkley, 2026

Inhaltsangabe

One woman’s luck changes in an instant when she hits her head and wakes up in Ireland, in this whimsical, whirlwind romance from USA Today bestselling author Alicia Thompson.

After yet another disastrous date where Jess is too awkward, too earnest, too whatever, she’s ready to put her romantic daydreams aside. Other than an enchanting Irish accent, her latest date is no prince charming. Then the night goes from bad to worse when she’s mugged in the parking lot and hits her head. Hard.

Hard enough that when Jess wakes up, she’s in Ireland.

The first person she meets is Eamonn, a quiet, gruff mechanic. Since Jess is stranded with no passport, cell phone, or way to get home, Eamonn becomes her reluctant knight in shining armor.

Over the next forty-eight hours, they meander through the cobblestone streets of Dublin and explore the Irish countryside, sharing their deepest fears, quiet hopes, and softest aches. It’s a connection that is as electrifying as it is terrifying, because what if Jess falls asleep and Eamonn vanishes like a dream? But a love like this—touched by magic and a little bit of luck—is never quite as it seems.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

ALICIA THOMPSON writes romance novels, reads whatever she can get her hands on, and plays a mean “Bad Moon Rising” and not much else. She lives in Central Florida with her family.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

One

It was probably a bad idea-spending my thirty-seventh birthday on a first date-but I admit I'd let myself daydream. It would make a great story, wouldn't it? If we ended up together forever?

I didn't even know it was her birthday at first, he'd say to our . . . well, kids felt like a bit much, but maybe he'd be telling the story to his big, happy family who marveled at the way he lit up around me. But when she told me I said, Okay then, let's keep the night going.

And we'd do something extra romantic, I didn't know what because what was there romantic to do near this strip mall Thai food restaurant, but it'd be something. It'd be magical.

Instead, my date was fifteen minutes late and the night only went downhill from there.

"Jess?" he said, pointing at me. The way his gaze swept down my body, I could tell he was disappointed. It's just one of those things you can pick up on, after you've been on enough dates. I was wearing my favorite dress, made of a gauzy fabric with a lining underneath except for the sleeves, which were sheer and a little blousy, ending in cuffs with a line of buttons on them like something out of the Victorian era. Two overlapping panels of fabric across my chest made a deep V neck, and the skirt was swirly and tied with a string around my waist that was more fashion than function. I'd owned this dress forever, so it was kind of shabby, if you looked too closely at it. It was a little loose on me, but in a way I personally thought looked good-skimming my body without clinging to it. It also happened to be the most beautiful color I'd ever seen, a deep purplish-blue or bluish-purple depending on how you wanted to describe it. I didn't even know the name of the color.

"Sure," I said, because in my mind I was like, Sure, of course, this is how it always goes so why did I think it would be any different?

"Is that not your name?" he asked. His was Niall, as I knew from the app, and there was a hint of an Irish accent in his voice that said maybe he'd come by the name honestly.

"No, it is," I said. "Should we-"

An apathetic hostess had grabbed two menus and was showing us to a booth by the window, where I had a perfect view of the advertisement for $8.99 Botox next door.

"I feel like I got robbed," I said, gesturing to the sign. "They charge ten dollars a unit down the street."

He looked at me blankly. "If you'd rather me call you Jessica, just say so. Your profile had your name as Jess."

"My name is Jess," I said, trying to give him a smile. It occurred to me that maybe he was nervous, which endeared him to me a bit. He didn't look like a man who'd be nervous on a first date-he was attractive, with dark hair and blue eyes, and then there was that accent. His profile had said he was younger than me by a year-two years now, I guessed, technically-but I'd figured that age gap was so small as to be inconsequential. Who cared about a couple of years when you were in your thirties? At the same time, I couldn't help but be conscious that most of the men my age on the app seemed to be looking for women ten years younger. My Botox joke had only been because there happened to be a sign outside the window, but maybe it had been a poorly chosen reminder of one of the differences between us.

"Sorry." I fiddled with one of the buttons at my wrist, which was starting to come loose. "I don't know why I said sure when you asked me that the first time. I think I'm a little nervous? I always get nervous before first dates because I don't know if I'm any good at them."

He'd already flipped the menu over and was looking around for the server. "I usually get the panang curry here. It has a bit of a kick, if that's a problem for you. I know some people really can't handle spice."

"I read a lot of romance," I said. "Believe me, I can handle spice."

What the fuuuuuuuuck. I didn't even know what I was saying, or why I was saying it. I was stuck in some horrifying I need a vacation from my vacation type nightmare, except in this one I wasn't just spouting clichés but potentially opening up a can of worms I really didn't want to open. I'd made the mistake of talking about the books I was reading on a date before, and even if it was a mix of genres, somehow the romance was always the one that got interrogated. It bummed me out, having to argue for my own interests like there was something wrong with them in the first place. I didn't even like the word spice when applied to books, for god's sake, it had just flown out of my mouth.

The worst part was that I think I'd been trying to flirt.

Niall had flagged down the server and was already placing his order. "One panang curry, with a Diet Coke to drink. And she'll have-"

He looked at me expectantly, but I hadn't even had time to review the menu yet. The server was a young woman in her early twenties, probably enrolled in classes at the university ten minutes away. I felt a sudden pang of tenderness for her, just thinking about my own food service and retail jobs in college, while I was studying to be an artist. I'd often been surprised by how much habit and muscle memory could pull me through when my head was somewhere else, thinking of brushstrokes and composition and shadows and light.

Not unlike now, when this woman just wanted my dinner order.

"The same, please," I said. "Only with water."

Once the server had left, Niall looked at me full on for the first time since we'd sat down. His gaze dipped to my cleavage, which would've been gratifying except it kind of awkwardly just stayed there.

"Diet Coke underwent hundreds of tests to make sure it met Coca-Cola's standards before it was brought to market," he said to my chest. "Some people think it's Coke with the sugar subbed out, but it's a completely different formula."

"Oh," I said. "Well, that's cool. Are you big into the history of soda?"

I'd meant the question sincerely-I could settle in to learn some interesting facts about carbonated beverages over the years-but he gave me a look like I was out of my mind. At least he was looking at my face again.

"No," he said. "I just take an interest in what I put inside my body."

Me, too, buddy, I wanted to say, but of course I couldn't. I thought about making a joke about the market testing for water, remembered his non-reaction to the Botox joke, and decided against it.

I cast around for things to say related to what he'd put in his dating profile, or the few conversations we'd had through the app's messaging function. I knew his name was Niall and he was thirty-five, he had a job in marketing but I wasn't quite sure what, and he'd picked this restaurant because it was around the corner from where he lived even though it was so far from my work that I'd had to ask to shift the start time for the date back half an hour. I'd liked his profile picture-not just because he was attractive, but because he'd been standing in front of the greenest grass I'd ever seen. Something about it had called to me.

"You must be from Ireland?" I said, thinking of that picture, that accent.

"God," he groaned. "What do women find so compelling about Ireland? Let me guess, you've seen Leap Year a few times? It's a rainy backwater shithole, is what it is."

I had, in fact, seen Leap Year a few times. But obviously I wasn't going to say that now. I thought randomly of a painting I'd studied as part of a twentieth-century art history class, The Liffey Swim, the way it put you as one of the spectators to an annual sporting event in Dublin. The colors had been all grays and greens, unexpected streaks of red in the water, and then the contrast of the pale clouded sky above. I thought of everything else I knew about Ireland-how green it was, that it rained a lot, yes, that it had a rich history of folklore and fairy tales...

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Verlag
Berkley
Erscheinungsdatum
2026
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 13 
9798217187218
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
400
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@libri.de
gpsr@libri.de

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