Living With No Regrets Is Harder Than It Seems
Finley isn’t exactly sure when her life began to feel unfamiliar. She suspects the transformation started long before she caught her husband and fellow garden club member doing the white-trash-two-step on her new Bernhardt sofa. Now free from the shackles of a loveless marriage, and with her children off to college, she’s finally able to go searching for the missing pieces of her heart.
Finley’s best friend, Cathyanne, is already working hard to ensure that Finley finds true love this time around. But when Finley is unwittingly tossed into the arms of two men—their sexy trainer and her neighbor, a popular country star—Cathyanne fears finding the right guy will be more complicated than she ever could have imagined.
For Finley, building a new life feels as impossible as flying a paper airplane to the moon. But maybe, just maybe, with the right help, she will find her whole heart—even if it’s in the very last place she thinks to look.
Praise for With No Regrets
“The imagery is beautiful, the romance very well done and realistic.” Rachel Ann Nunes.
Finley is a spunky and snarky Southern woman with a lot of sass! The romance is swoon-worthy and satisfying. And underneath it all, it's got a great message. Definitely worth a read!
Packed like corralled cattle between four wood paneled walls, the riotous crowd filling the bar overwhelmed the echo of Finley’s boots as she made her way through the darkened hallway. Built during the early days of Nashville, Tootsie’s was rumored to have launched Willie Nelson’s career as well as other famous performers like Kris Kristofferson, Patsy Cline, Waylon Jennings, and in more recent decades, Quinton Townes.
At the end of the hallway, and through an open door, Finley spied her neighbor.
Jagged locks of ashy-blond hair peeked out from under a worn cowboy hat to poke at the frayed edges of his western shirt. A dimple split his right cheek as he smiled, his head bent toward that of a young woman.
Finley moved closer, watching as the groupie handed Quinton a cocktail napkin. “Will you sign this for me?” she said, adding a coy smirk.
Quinton ran his smoky gray eyes over the woman’s skintight T-shirt as he slipped the paper and pen from her hands, his fingers lingering a touch longer than necessary on hers. “Who should I make this out to?” he drawled in that slow, Texas way of his.
Gazing out from under a pair of mascara-laden lashes, she said, “McKenna,” and then bit down on her plump bottom lip.
Finley rolled her eyes. This one was young, even by Quinton’s standards. Likely, not much older than her daughter Royanne, or Quinton’s own estranged daughter, Annie, for that matter. Because she hadn’t known him back when he was married, it was hard for her to imagine him as anyone’s daddy. But then he’d become a father long before the world had known his name. Before his solo career had taken off and he’d mistakenly boarded a high-speed train running on tequila and cocaine, barreling headlong into the blinding lights of one forgotten arena after another. Before he’d traded the unconditional love of a wife and three children for the fleeting admiration of his fans. Before the cheers of the crowds had echoed into a deafening abyss where there wasn’t enough booze or blow in his empty hotel room to silence the void. And certainly before he’d woken up one morning a homeless, washed-up one-hit-wonder with nothing but a broken-down Mazerati to call his own. The very day he just so happened to have entered Finley’s life.
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