Mr. H.O.A. by Carina Taylor (hot novels to read .txt) 📕

mudding, even though she hadn’t ever been, which was why I wanted to remedy that. I hoped she would go to a mudding event and decide that it wasn’t for her, and then she’d decide that Mason wasn’t for her either.

“What’s with the green stuff?” Marni pointed to the goop on my face.

“I’m doing a live makeup tutorial while the cookies are baking. This takes away the puffiness from my eyes.”

Marni shrugged. “Just remember to take the towel off your head too.”

Patting my makeshift turban, I smiled. “I didn’t want my hair to dry on the walk over here. I need to do a blowout.”

“You know I have that friend who would give you a discount at the hair salon if you tell her my name. She works wonders with my hair.” She gestured to her thick, heavy-handed bangs that somehow fit Marni well but would look horrendous on anyone else.

“Thanks for that.”

I gathered up my belongings and turned to walk out the door. Only, my mind must have been on other things, because I bumped into someone—with my face. Where was the rest of my body when I needed it? That would teach me to slouch.

“Oh, excuse me!” I apologized. I fumbled with the bag but managed to hold onto it. Raising my head, I stared at a chest. My face had left a little avocado imprint on the man’s white T-shirt. Not wanting to make things more awkward, I hurried around the man, ready to dash for the door.

“Riley!” a familiar voice called to me. I stopped. The voice was deeper than I remembered. More gravelly. But I’d know it anywhere. Slowly turning around, goosebumps on my arms, I stared at the man I’d smashed my face against.

A blast from the past stood in front of me, a water bottle in his hand. Brown, tussled hair. Bright-green eyes that saw too much.

He’d always seen. He always knew.

I let out a squeak and ran out the door. My flip-flops slapped against the bottom of my feet as I tried to keep my armful of groceries from falling. The cars zooming down the road next to me had me glancing frantically over my shoulder as if he were driving one of them.

When I made it to the gated entrance to my neighborhood, I slowed my sprint to a light jog.

I was home.

I was safe.

My secret was safe.

The past would have to stay in the past. There was nothing else I could do about it. No matter how much I wanted to wrap my arms around the past and hug him—er, it—I couldn’t, because the past was over.

I could only look to the future—mine and Wren’s.

The good-looking man who had grown into his large ears and broad shoulders didn’t have a place in the Wren-and-Riley future.

Our trailer wasn’t big enough.

I hurried past Tony, who was busy washing his Mustang in front of his green single-wide. I nodded to Eldon, who stood in front of his outdoor shed, a screwdriver in each hand.

My heart still raced as I popped the handle on my trailer and opened the door. Home sweet home. That’s right. I lived in a trailer park.

And it wasn’t just any trailer park. It was the one and only, coveted, desirable, Burnside Waterfront Trailer Park.

In other words, it was a trailer park like any other trailer park across America.

Single-wides, Airstreams, travel trailers, RVs. We had it all. We even laid claim to the fact that we had two double-wides in our park.

I set my bag of groceries down inside before I climbed the narrow, steep steps inside. I turned around and scanned the street—no sign of him. He wouldn’t follow me here. There was nothing to worry about.

I slammed the door then emptied my groceries onto the tiny counter space.

After I laid all the delicious ingredients for chocolate chip cookies out, I glanced down and realized my big toe was bleeding.

Darn it. I wanted to do a nail tutorial soon. I couldn’t do that if I had hamburger toes.

Opening the pantry—really it was a cupboard with two shelves—I pulled the first aid kit from the back. There weren’t any Band-Aids to be found, only a thick square piece of gauze and some tape.

My toe was still dripping blood, but it definitely wasn’t gauze-worthy. I’d just have to wash it off in the shower. I pulled the towel from my head and used it to clean off the avocado mask.

The trailer rocked as someone climbed the steps. I waited for Wren to open the door, but instead of the door opening, there was a knock. Probably Elise and Sam from next door. Both were retired and considered the news bearers of the trailer park. Good news, bad news. They liked to share it all. They popped over to chat all the time.

I set down the first aid kit and limped to the door. Why did toe injuries cause your entire leg to freeze up?

I would never know.

When I opened the door, my toe was the least of my worries.

Nate Mercier stood there. Grown-up, handsome as sin, and scowling angrily.

Want to read more? You can order Miss Trailerhood here!

More by Carina Taylor:

Romantic Comedies:

A Love Like This Series:

Neighbors Like That

Christmas Like This

Friends Like These

Chick Lit:

Only in Colter Series:

The Perfect Plan