The Hardest Cut by Jamie Bennett (book club recommendations .TXT) 📕

“Gaby Matthews, you make feel about ten feet tall.  I love you.”  He gently rubbed my stomach and then froze and stared at his hand.  “What was that?”

“It was a contraction,” I said.  “I’ve been getting them all day.  Remember how I wanted to clean the kitchen last night?” I reminded him.  “So much natural light!  Gorgeous Lake Michigan views!” the real estate listing had read about that room.  When I’d seen that, I knew it was the house for us.  “I was nesting.  It’s also why I took six of Tessa’s drawings to get framed this morning.”  Luckily this house also had a lot of big walls to hang art.

“And you’ve been having contractions all day?” Ben demanded.  “And we’re having thirty people over for your birthday party?  You’re cutting up a cake?  Gaby!  Are you having the baby right now?”

“Not at this exact moment, but pretty soon,” I said, and snuggled.  “I didn’t want Tessa to miss the party.  And it’s so easy that everyone’s already here, because Hallie and Gunnar can take the kids and Jory can take the dogs when we leave.”  I breathed hard.  “You know, we should probably head out.”

Ben jumped up, carrying me with him.  “We’re going to the hospital!” he yelled, and people seemed to freeze then spring into action, running to get my bag, pulling cars around to free Ben’s truck, hugging us and saying good luck.  We kissed the kids and told them we’d see them soon with their new little sibling, and then we were in the truck and on the road.

“Is it too bumpy?  Do you need water?  Are you in pain, honey?” Ben asked, letting go of his death grip on the wheel to take my hand.  “Is everything ok?”

“Everything is great,” I told him, and breathed through another one.  I hadn’t even needed that wish when Tessa blew out the candles on my birthday cake!  Nothing could have been better than what we already had to-gether—except adding one more little Matthews, who was coming soon.

“Ben, drive faster, ok?”

Very soon.

Other Woodsmen Football Books

(in chronological order)

The Big Hit

The Comeback Route

The Checkdown

The Benchwarmer

The Goal Line

Defending the Rush

The Last Whistle

About the Author

Jamie Bennett (that’s me!) is the author of a bunch of super-great books, including more about football (and a book about Hallie and Gunnar, The Last Whistle).  You would really like them.  In fact, you should probably read them right now, immediately.

Seriously.  Go find them on Amazon.

You can reach me via Instagram and Facebook @jamiebennettbooks (and join the Rocinante group for extra updates).

Thanks for reading.  And if you enjoyed this book, please leave a review!

Read More about Hallie & Gunnar: The Last Whistle

The end.  It was really over.

“You did the best you could, Hallie,” Gaby told me.  “No one could have done more.”  She placed her Sterling Standard Realty sign in the window and followed me out through the door, the bell jingling with its familiar cadence.

“Yeah,” I sighed, and eased the key out of the lock for the last time.  “I tried.”  And currently, I was also trying to restrain the tears that had flooded into my eyes when I saw Gaby’s “for sale” sign.  There was no use crying over this anymore; it was finished.

“Keep your chin up, Hallie.”  That was what my dad had always told me.  So I looked up at the sky to hold in the waterworks, but I caught sight of the gold lettering on the glass that read “Holliday Booksellers.”  My grandpa had painted those words on the shop’s front window himself, with a big, curly H at the beginning and an elf face hiding in the S at the end.  He had sat behind this window every day in the bookstore that he had founded and that he loved, as had my dad.  As had I, until I’d left and then everything…

And here came the tears, unstoppable now.  Darn it!

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Gaby said sympathetically, and I tried my best to dial it down.  I also had to look down, because I didn’t want to trip on the sidewalk as we walked away.  “Gravy, I never thought of you as a crier, but sometimes real estate is so emotional,” she commented.  She rubbed my back as I took a shaky breath and her phone rang, for the fiftieth time since she’d come to meet me this afternoon.  “I just have to take this really quick,” she said, and held the sparkly phone to her ear.  “Gaby Carter,” she announced briskly, and swiveled a little to conduct her transaction.

At least someone’s business was going well.  Real estate had started to boom as August rolled in and people listed the summer cottages they had enjoyed for one last season.  Gaby was on-call constantly.  She had assured me that the bookstore building would sell quickly, too, with its prime location on our main street and with the parking in the back.  Our little town was actually experiencing a bit of a renaissance—there was even a new owner for Art’s Market, where previously a woman had found a rat in a carton of oatmeal.  There was a new sandwich board on the sidewalk in front of the sliding door which bragged, “Under NEW, RODENT-FREE Proprietorship!”

And now there would be a new owner for Holliday Booksellers, too.  Gaby would help me sell the building that my grandfather had bought and that I had tried to salvage as I also frantically tried to salvage the business, doing anything and everything to keep my head above water.  Tea party story hours for kids?  Check.  Romance book clubs with complimentary wine?  Check.  Social media campaigns, sandwich boards of my own, coupons?  Check, check, check.  Practically begging people to buy from me?  Check on that, too.

No matter what I did, the books stayed on the shelves, the kitschy souvenirs I’d thought the summer tourists