It’s 7:08 on the morning of Maggy O’Brien’s thirty-fifth birthday and she’s driving carpool in her pajamas and bunny slippers. She can’t remember the last time she shaved her legs. She’s hasn’t slept past dawn since her kids were born and one of them is now a teenager.
Can life possibly get any worse?
The second she sees her sisters waiting impatiently at the foot of her driveway, she knows the answer to that question. Claire and Ellie are staging a makeover intervention and no amount of protest can save Maggy from being cut and colored and waxed to within an inch of her life. And as if that’s not enough, they announce she’s being banished to Atlantic City for an all-expenses-paid getaway weekend for one.
Maggy isn’t a sequins-and-stilettos kind of woman. She’s a single mom who is more comfortable pushing a shopping cart through Stop & Shop than sipping champagne in the backseat of a stretch limo headed toward Vegas on the Jersey Shore. Still even Maggy isn’t immune to playing Cinderella for a weekend, even if it only means room service lobster and trying her hand at the penny slots.
But when she locks eyes a few hours later with ruggedly handsome police detective Conor Riley, she discovers there’s more to Cinderella’s story than dancing until midnight.
They agree it’s just a fling. A weekend of magic with no strings attached. They’d say goodbye on Sunday night and return to their everyday lives with sweet memories and no regrets.
But Maggy and Conor are about to discover that maybe some flings are meant to last forever . . .
After yesterday’s romance reading disaster, I needed a redemption! So it was good timing to have Barbara Bretton’s The Day We Metscheduled right after.
As a fellow divorcee, I totally related to Maggy’s need to feel content with her life, the need to feel comfortable in your own, new skin. Bretton hits all those emotions dead on. How scary it is, to meet someone and feel that instant connection, and second guess every single bit of chemistry! And then to have everyone else question it too?
Don’t worry, there’s a lot of hotness going on in this romance novel. Of course there is. She’s a petite pretty little thing in a family full of tall amazons, and he’s a red-blooded Irish cop from Jersey. I like to call these modern bodice-rippers “bra snappers.” Instead of corsets we get garters.
I like this book though because so often in bra snappers, the women can fit a certain “strong but can’t do anything without her new beau” profile, and the men can be very macho macho macho. Maggy is clearly a fighter, but even without Conor, she’s going to keep on fighting. He’s certainly macho enough, but Conor is almost more vulnerable than she is.
It’s a bra snapper, sure, but it’s a very well written one. And the characters are pretty well thought out. Bretton will be going on my list for whenever I want a book like this.