Loving the Architect - Blurb & Ch 1
Loving the Architect - Blurb & Ch 1
A sweet steamy contemporary romance for you. No hardcore smut, but good feels, and of course set in my beloved Sheffield.
I co-write romance with Amabel Dennis. As part of a relaunch of an older series I love but never fully committed to, I’m going to hold myself accountable and write the prequel here in Substack for you.
It’ll be shared alongside the hotter fiction,
so just scroll on by to the next post if it’s not your thing.
I’m still deciding how the book will be launched but I know one thing, it will drop into the archive, behind the paywall, to protect my work.
I hope you’ll give it a go, and if you like it, or not, let me know. Be kind!
By supporting my work with the price of less than a coffee a month, you help me bring free content to you, and of course supply me with tea and coffee and printer ink!
It also tells me what I’m getting right and what might need a bit of tweaking. This isn’t a side hustle for me, it’s my job. Not to be dramatic, much, but this is how I pay my bills and keep my roof over my head. Massive appreciation for your support! It matters!
This is a stand alone prequel to the Riverbrook Close series. Oh and here’s the exclusive cover reveal too!
Loving the Architect - Blurb
An unexpected inheritance brings them together, but will their love withstand the challenges, secrets and years between them?
Inheriting my grandparents’ property felt more like a burden than a blessing. I was only twenty, grappling with loss, and suddenly responsible for an old house and fields choked with weeds.
Desperate to create something beautiful out of the mess, I hired Lars, a Danish architect with big ideas for an eco-home. Twice my age, experienced in life, and yes handsome as heck, he carried a calm that felt like the balance to my soul.
As we worked together, our professional boundaries blurred. Lars became more than an architect to me. He became someone who understood me, even in my darkest moments. But with the shadow of his past lingering between us, I’m left wondering.
Can we build a future on a foundation that others have tried to tear down?
A sweet steamy age-gap instalove romance, where grief is overcome to secure that happy ending they both so deserve.
A prequel to the Riverbrook Close Romance series.
Daizy Dennis & Amabel Dennis
Loving the Architect - Ch 1 - Maria
The envelope sat heavy in my lap. I stared at the bold typeface emblazoned across the top.
‘Final Will and Testament’.
My heart pounded. Fingers trembling around the handle of my tea mug, its warmth, just shy of scorching, grounding me.
This was it, the end of an era. A door slamming shut on my already turbulent past.
I bit back tears, tracing the sharp edges of the envelope, almost willing a paper-cut to justify my pain. A lump rose in my throat, too large to swallow. Maybe burning tea would do the trick.
I’d known this day would come. I’d tried to prepare myself, but the finality of it still knocked the air from my lungs.
Nan was gone.
She’d waited just a month after Pops passed, her beloved husband of fifty years.
I shut my eyes and breathed deeply, the scent of strong tea mingling with the echo of burnt toast. I could almost see Nan bustling around in our cramped kitchen, her hands dusted with flour as she baked. The memory so vivid, I could almost reach out and touch it.
I used to lie on the sitting room floor, watch black-and-white movies while my grandparents sat on the sofa, their slippered feet entangled, a typical Yorkshire expression of love. Not blatant or overtly romantic, but meaningful in its simplicity.
Snuggled between them on that old floral sofa, I’d inhale the familiar blend of Old Spice and cake mix, feeling safe, like I was home.
They had been my port in the storm after the devastation of losing my parents far too soon. Now that steady, no-nonsense foundation was gone too, and I felt utterly adrift.
I gulped down a breath and slit open the envelope, sliding out the documents.
Skimming the first page, I flicked past the legalities. The next few pages listed various assets to be distributed.
The old house, humble as it was, fully paid for, along with all its hard-earned contents.
Pops’ classic car, which he’d doted on until the engine seized, again.
And an investment portfolio.
Wait, what?
I blinked and reread it.
Yes, I’d read it right.
I had inherited a small but unexpected amount of money in bonds, shares, and… this last item couldn’t be right.
'The property, lands, and adjacent woodland at... Sheffield…'
A mix of shock, disbelief, and fear hit me square in the chest before rippling through my entire body.
I’d known about the house, this house, the place they’d called home for the last five years. But the investments, and that second property? The land it sat on? That was news to me.
Reading on, I discovered Pops had bought it decades ago with dreams of starting a nature reserve. A sprawling hillside at the city’s edge, brushing up against the beauty and wilderness of the Peak District.
How the heck had he kept that a secret from me?
I laughed out loud, and then swore at him up there somewhere, sipped my tea and read on.
He’d won big on a horse. After reading Beatrix Potter as a kid and loving Peter Rabbit, Pops had copied his favourite writer and bought land.
What the heck, Pops?
Always so humble, working hard every day, never once mentioning his dream of something bigger. The land had sat untouched for decades, and now it had unceremoniously fallen into my lap. Maybe that had been his plan all along.
My fingers clenched around the document, the tactile manuscript paper crinkling as a wave of panic surged within me.
How could I possibly manage this?
Twenty years old, an orphan with no living family, freshly graduated from university with a seemingly pointless business degree I’d only pursued for lack of a better plan. I could barely sort out my own life, let alone take on the responsibility of a ramshackle building and acres of overgrown fields and woodland.
I wanted nothing more than to sit down and talk it through with someone, but that someone was gone. It was just me now. Hot tears prickled my eyes, overflowed my lashes and my heart broke all over again.
The crushing loneliness weighed down, making it hard to breathe. It consumed me. The same emptiness that had first hit my all those years back.
I’d been just fifteen on the night when the police knocked on the door of our shabby council flat to deliver the news about my parents.
The night I was orphaned.
Then Nan and Pops had swept in, enveloping me in their warmth, doing their best to shield me from the world. Through the years filled with grief and moments of pure giggle-filled joy, they had been my everything, my guardians, my confidantes, my dearest friends.
With their love and support, I’d almost found a sense of home and belonging again. A treasure I’d thought was lost forever after my parents passed.
Nan’s comforting hugs and Pops’ groan-worthy jokes had held me together like mugs of tea for the soul. Nan, so patient, guiding my hands in the kitchen, transforming me from a clumsy beginner to a skilled cook. Though my gravy would never taste as good as hers.
And Pops, ever practical, showing me how to mend a puncture or unclog a fuel line on his beloved Morris Minor Traveller. I’d grown to love that old car with all its quirks, nearly as much as he had. Now its vintage timber frame, off-white paintwork and not so reliable engine were all mine.
Two houses, a car and land, so much land.
How could I shoulder such massive responsibility when I could barely keep myself afloat?
I will be sharing this series as we edit and brainstorm.
Please feel free to chip in!