A Hate Like This (A Gamble on Love Mom Com #2) Read Online Whitney Dineen, Melanie Summers

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: , Series: A Gamble on Love Mom Com Series by Whitney Dineen
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Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
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Single mother Moira Bishop hates when her family interferes in her love life. If life as a young widow isn’t hard enough, just add three boys, a slew of unruly pets, and ownership of Gamble Alaska’s only diner. The last thing she needs is a man to look after too.
Entertainment lawyer to the stars Ethan Caplan hates his clients. There’s only so much coddling and placating a man can do in a lifetime. He’s finally decided he’s had enough, so he escapes to the tiny no-horse town of Gamble to work on the novel he’s always wanted to write.
Positive that Alaska will be distraction-free, Ethan’s sure he can pen a bestselling legal novel. That is until he lays his eyes on Moira Bishop. Suddenly he finds himself having five meals a day at the diner, just so he can talk to her for a few minutes.
When Moira’s son wins tickets to a Dodgers’ game in L.A., Ethan jumps at the chance to play host to the family. He’s sure he can win her over by showing her how glamorous life could be with him. With the help of his friends, he plans the date to end all dates, hoping one incredible night will change her mind about giving love a second chance.
Will Moira open her heart to Ethan? Will Ethan do what it takes to prove that he can be the man Moira and her boys need in their lives?

FULL BOOK START HERE:

Chapter 1

Moira

My mornings are complete chaos. Actually, my whole life is a bit of a circus. Being a single mom of three boys has me scrambling around like a house elf on crack. You’d think it would be easier now that the kids are old enough to do things for themselves. And it would be, except for my compulsory need to prove that I can be mom, dad, and sole provider—all with a carefree smile on my face. A smile that probably looks like I’m fighting—and losing—a battle against constipation.

Brushing back my overgrown dark bangs, I sigh while mentally trying to schedule some time for a big, fat cry. Can I make it ’til Thursday?

My husband, Everett, died seven years ago while I was pregnant with our twins, Colton and Ash. His crabbing boat was hit by a freak storm. Normally, a storm wouldn’t have been a problem, but Everett’s penchant for deferring maintenance on his boat was the deal breaker. The motor conked out before he could make it to shore.

According to his crew, Bob and Fareek, after dropping anchor to ride out the squall, my husband was washed overboard by a monster wave. My guess is there was some drinking going on.

While very much in love when we got married, Everett and I were not in the best place when he died. We’d just bought a house in need of major repairs, we had a toddler who refused to sleep and was into everything, and I was pregnant with twins. Life had started to feel like we were competitors in the Hunger Games instead of husband and wife.

Grabbing ahold of a scorching hot, cast-iron skillet, I yell, “Son of a …”

My oldest, Wyatt, walks through the door and completes my sentence for me. “Bitch!”

“Butterfly,” I correct him sharply, rushing to the sink to cool off burn number three this week. Note to self: hot pads are your friend.

“Yeah, son of a butterfly,” he laughs. “Good one, Mom.” He pulls out a creaky wooden chair from the table before plopping down and filling his plate with pancakes. “You know, we could just come with you and eat at the diner. You don’t have to make us breakfast at home.”

“You eat too many meals there, especially in the summer.” After the twins were weaned, and I’d made peace with my new lot in life, my brother, Digger, and our Grandpa Jack gave me the money I needed for the down payment on the only diner in Gamble, Alaska.

With the help of my grandmother’s extensive recipe collection, and Lloyd, my amazing and reliable cook, I’ve built a business that will allow me to raise my kids in relative comfort. Meaning I keep a roof over their heads, food in their stomachs, and shoes on their feet. There are precious few extras as Everett and I didn’t have any life insurance. No one ever thinks they’ll die young.

“Moooooooooom, Colton stole my Spider-Man T-shirt and won’t give it back!” The twins come tearing into the kitchen like their britches are on fire.

“Sit down and eat your breakfast,” I tell them. “Colton, you wore yours yesterday which means you’ll have to wait until wash day. You can’t just take your brother’s.”

“But he’s wearing my Hulk Underoos!” Colton whines.

I purse my lips at the absurdity of this conversation. “Really?”

Shrugging, he says, “Yeah, but it’s not like anyone will see them.”


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