Book Blitz + Giveaway: ‘Pity Present’ by Whitney Dineen
Pity Present
(Pity Series #5)
Author: Whitney Dineen
Publication Date: October 24, 2024
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/213161821-pity-present
Synopsis:
Molly
I haven’t beeninterested in dating since my ex dumped me for a new girl at his law office. Since then, I’ve thrown myself into my work as a hotel gift shop designer. While being single isn’t what I expected, there’s truth to that old saying, “Once bitten, twice shy.” And the bite of a cheater stays with you.
Christmas can be a particularly vulnerable time, which is why I accepted a job right before the holidays. I had no idea the lodge that hired me was also hosting a singles’ event. Imagine my surprise when they had a last-minute cancellation and asked me if I wanted to join them.
Blake
When I left LA for my dream job in Chicago, I never dreamed by first assignment would be spending two weeks in Elk Lake, Wisconsin, covering the Midwestern Matchmaker’s new venture to set up Chicagoland singles. I’m a sports journalist for Pete’s sake, not some airheaded twit who writes about the lovelorn.
Unfortunately, the job I transferred for isn’t open yet, so here I am. In Wisconsin. Living my worst nightmare. There is no way anybody is going to find love at this thing. No way.
So, imagine my surprise when the most awkward woman in the world trips over me …
Amazon Purchase Link: https://amzn.to/48eJ8NG
When the train pulls into the Elk Lake stop, I jump to my feet and practically run for the exit. Unfortunately, I don’t see the foot blocking the aisle. As such, I wind up making a spectacular display as I trip up the aisle for several yards. My performance is akin to a vaudevillian physical comedy routine. Luckily, a hand reaches out to steady me before I hit the ground. “Whoa there. I’ve got you.”
I take a moment to catch my breath before turning to thank my rescuer. One look at his hazelly green eyes and chiseled jaw renders me nearly speechless. Is that a tan? I finally manage to say, “Thump queue.”
The Adonis stands up and reaches toward his overnight bag. “Excuse me?”
“Thump queue,” I repeat before forcing my mouth to form proper words. “I mean, thank you.”
His lips curve ever so slightly before he responds with a wink. “You’re welcome.”
I know I just told my sister I wasn’t interested in dating and that she was crazy to suggest I might be about to embark upon my very own cheesy movie experience, but for a split second, a wave of possibility washes over me. Before I can stop myself, I ask, “You aren’t a lumberjack by any chance, are you?”
His eyes widen. “No.”
Feeling foolish, I try to think of something to say that will make me seem less weird. I decide to go with, “Me neither.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Good to know. I hear it’s hard work.”
I’m going to be single forever. While I claim to be fine with that outcome, I secretly want to find the man of my dreams, get married, have two point five children, and then adopt a Bernese Mountain puppy or three. The house in the suburbs and white picket fence are a given.
Turning around, I continue to make my way off the train while chastising myself for being such an idiot. I step down to the ground before lugging my suitcase to my side. The gorgeous stranger is behind me, but he doesn’t stick around to continue our inane small talk. Instead, he veers to the right and exits the platform.
I don’t move as quickly. I simply look around at my charming surroundings. There’s nothing like a small-town train station decorated for the holidays. The depot windows are strung with colored lights. The old-fashioned streetlamps lining the walkway are festooned with flocked wreaths, and Christmas carols are booming from the speakers against the side of the building.
Laughingly, I tell myself, “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” Not that Chicago is at all comparable to Kansas, but a certain Wizard of Oz magic seems to have overtaken me.
I appreciate my surroundings for long enough that by the time I turn around, I’m the only person left on the platform. The text I received from the Elk Lake Lodge said they would send a driver to pick me up. As such, I make my way through the depot to the other side of the building.
The sidewalk is covered in fresh snow, so I’m careful to step into the footprints left by others. I look around for a van with the hotel’s name on it, but the only vehicle at the curb is a dark blue Suburban. Before I can approach it, a gaunt middle-aged man wearing a gray parka steps out. “Molly Anders?”
I throw a hand up in the air and reply, “That’s me!”
He walks over and takes possession of my suitcase before putting it in the back hatch. Then he opens the door for me. “Name’s Paul. You’re my last pickup which is good because we’re expecting more snow.” I’m glad I decided to come tonight and not wait until morning.
Getting into the back of the truck, I’m greeted by a familiar face. “Hey, there.” It’s the hottie from the train.
“Hey, hi. Fancy meeting you here.”
The driver gets in and asks, “You two know each other?”
Before I can answer, my seat mate explains, “We met on the train. Neither of us are lumberjacks.” Kill me now.
***
What in God’s name is Kyle doing here? He can’t have broken up with Amelia, too, can he? Thoughts spin through my head like a tornado tearing through a mobile home park. No freaking way is my ex at the same singles’ event I am. What kind of heinous crime did I commit in a past life to warrant this kind of rotten luck?
Before I can continue my flight to safety, I hear Kyle call out, “Molly, is that you?”
While I want to run, I’m suddenly overcome with the desire to confront him. Whipping around, I force what feels like a maniacal smile onto my face. Through clenched teeth, like I’ve come down with a bout of lockjaw, I sneer, “Kyle. What are you doing here?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, but he doesn’t answer. In the silence, I stare at him long and hard and decide that he’s as handsome as ever, but there’s something else that wasn’t there before. Is that humility? If so, it looks good on him.
He finally says, “I … um … Amelia and I broke up.”
Excellent. “Really?”
“Yeah, um … well … the thing is, she married someone else.”
“Oh.” What else is there to say? You certainly got what was coming to you, didn’t you? But I don’t go there. He’d have to be an idiot not to have already worked that out for himself.
Before I can ask for further details, Blake walks up and joins us. “How do you two know each other?”
Kyle’s face forms into a wince. “Molly is the girl I left for Amelia.”
Before Blake can comment, I ask, “How do you know Kyle?”
“We met this afternoon,” Kyle says. “We were both out walking.”
“You told a complete stranger that you left me for another woman?” Well, this is embarrassing. It’s also not something I would have ever thought Kyle would cop to. The man I knew wasn’t particularly keen on taking responsibility for actions that made him look less than stellar. Case in point, he told all of our mutual friends that our breakup was a joint decision.
Addressing Blake, Kyle asks, “Would you mind giving us a minute?”
Apparently, Blake does mind because he stands riveted to his spot. I’m glad too, because I think I might enjoy having a witness while I rail against Kyle for wasting so much of my time. Having an audience will embarrass him more.
Barely controlling my anger, I announce, “I’m not sorry Amelia left you, Kyle. In fact, it’s exactly what you deserve. And while I no longer fantasize about you getting run over by a semi-truck, I really don’t think there’s any point to you and me talking.”
“You wanted to kill me?” He looks appropriately chagrined.
“Not personally,” I tell him. “In my fantasies, I liked to be on the sidelines watching you meet your end.” Your grizzly, untimely, painful demise, you big turd.
Kyle’s complexion turns a dingy sort of grey. “Oh.”
I continue, “I’m not sure how many of these mixers I’m going to attend, but I’d like to make it clear that you are to avoid me like I’m the bubonic plague and you’re a midwife. Because that’s how I see you.”
“You see me as a midwife?” He sounds genuinely confused.
“No, you get to be the bubonic plague, Kyle.”
“I suppose it’s too late to say I’m sorry then.” If I didn’t hate Kyle quite so much, I’d almost feel some compassion for him.
“Not at all,” I answer. “In fact, I’d very much like to hear your apology.” It won’t do me any good now, but I find I’m quite enjoying my ex’s discomfort.
Taking a deep breath, Kyle says, “I’m so sorry, Molly. From the bottom of my heart, you deserved better than what I did to you, and there’s no excuse that would justify my past behavior.”
Darn if he doesn’t sound sincere. But I’m not about to let him off the hook. “Better late than never, I suppose,” I tell him. Then for good measure, I add, “Now, stay away from me.”
Kyle’s gaze shifts from me to Blake and then back to me. “If that’s what you want.” I nod my head once, which is all the energy I deign to expend on his behalf.
Kyle turns to walk away but Blake does not follow suit. Instead, he steps closer to me. “That was brutal,” he finally says.
I take a giant step to the side to regain my personal space. “What was brutal?”
“Kyle and you. You know, the whole leaving you for another woman thing?”
In attempt to recoup my dignity, I tell him, “It’s over and done. Kyle doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”
“Yeah, but still. It must have been a shock at the time.”
“A shock?” I ask before saying, “Yeah, it was a shock, but you know what they say, don’t you?” He shakes his head, so I tell him, “All’s fair in love and war.”
“It sounds like you’re defending the guy.” Blake sounds surprised.
“No. I’m not defending him. But Kyle did teach me a valuable lesson.”
“What’s that?”
“He taught me trust is something that needs to be earned. I gave him my trust too easily, and I won’t make that mistake again.”
Blake looks at me questioningly while continuing to stare at me like he’s trying to see inside of my brain. “People do have to earn trust,” he says, “but at some point, you have to take things on faith.”
The first thought that comes to mind is that Blake is simply too good-looking to be here which makes me not trust him. But then again, who’s to say gorgeous men have an easy time dating?
***
Blake pulls me into his arms with enough force that I have no option but to follow. My face lands smack into the crook of his neck. One whiff and I’m done for. From this moment forward, orange and clove, with a hint of bay rum is my new favorite fragrance.
I’m quite literally rendered speechless by this man. His arms, his scent, his overwhelmingly possessive embrace. If he showed any interest in me whatsoever, I’d run away to a deserted island with him and spend the rest of my days eating bananas and beating our clothes against the rocks to keep them clean. I wouldn’t even mind all the sand that would surely invade every corner of our beachfront hut. Somehow in my fantasies we’re roughing it like castaways.
Blake starts to hum along with the melody of the song, and I feel the vibration to the very core of my being. Yes, Blake, I’ll fly to the moon with you. I’ll swing on the stars…
But of course, this is real life and not a romance novel, so instead, I trip over my own foot which causes Blake’s hold on me to become something of a death grip. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I’m mortified is what I am, but I somehow find the nerve to tell him, “That was something I saw on Dancing with the Stars. If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have hit the floor and started to break dance.”
Blake’s laughter fills me with joy. “I would have liked to have seen that. Want to try it again?”
I shake my head. “It’s a maneuver that requires spontaneity.”
“Maybe you’ll do it later.”
I hope not, but I don’t say that. “I never try the same move on the same guy.”
“Molly …” Blake’s warm breath hits my skins and causes goosebumps to pop up everywhere.
When he doesn’t continue talking, I counter with, “Blake …”
“I like …” But again, he doesn’t finish his sentence.
“What do you like?” The feeling of me in your arms? The softness of my hair as it tickles your nose? The promise of a new love?
“I like pineapple.”
“Excuse me?” Is he likening me to fruit?
He pulls me closer for the briefest moment before pushing me away to the point where a high school chaperone would not only approve, but she’d also wonder if I had a world-class case of BO. “I’m trying a new line on you. I figure if I’m going to find love while I’m here, I need to up my game. So, what do you think?”
I think I’d like to knee him in the knutz and tell him not to practice his wooing techniques on me unless he’s interested in dating me. My delicate sensibilities can’t handle it. “I think that if it’s true love you’re after, you should let the woman you’re interested in discover the kind of fruit you prefer in a more organic way.” I sound like a schoolteacher scolding him for throwing spit wads.
“Like on our honeymoon?” His voice is full of humor which makes me want to jump into his arms.
“Or when you take her out to brunch,” I say sourly.
“I have an idea,” Blake says. “I think we should buddy up and help each other while we’re here.”
“Buddy up?” I’m more insulted than I’ve ever been in my life.
“Yeah, you know, hook up and consult with each other about the people we meet. Help guide each other.”
“Hoo … hoo … hook up?” My mouth goes completely dry at the very thought.
“You know, have meals together that aren’t part of the mixer.”
“Oh.”
When the song ends and Blake steps away from me, I wind up stumbling forward like I’m trying to get back into his arms. How mortifying. Reaching out to steady me, he says, “So what do you think. Should we be each other’s dating pals?”
The words dating and pals should never be used in the same sentence. It’s mean. Hurtful. I think of how my mother has always told me to know my worth and not chase after a man, and she’s one hundred present right. There’s no better way to show Blake I’m not romantically interested in him than to be his bud.
With that in mind, I tell him, “Sure, let’s be pals.” Now all I have to do is convince myself that’s all I want.
***
Molly’s eyes narrow to the point where only the barest slits remain open. “Fine, I’ll go talk to him, but you have to go talk to the woman I pick for you.”
Fortunately, I’m not actually looking, and therefore have no problem agreeing. “Go for it.”
Scanning the room, Molly settles on a woman I’d guess was a librarian in Victorian times. She’s wearing a cardigan sweater over a turtleneck and her skirt is so long it’s nearly brushing the top of her shoes. “Her.”
“She looks very nice,” I tell her. “Dependable.”
“You could do worse than dependable,” Molly says. “Trust me on that.”
“Meet me back here in ten minutes?” I ask. “You know, so we can compare notes.”
Molly rolls her beautiful blue eyes. “Fine.” Then she wanders off in the direction of the least threatening man in the room. In turn, I head toward her choice for me.
When I arrive at the woman’s side, I smile and ask, “Are you having a nice time?”
Her posture jolts upward before she answers, “Not at all. How about you?”
I decide to come clean. “This kind of thing isn’t really my bag.”
“Then why are you here?”
Playing on a variation of my previous lies, I tell her, “I’m writing a book. The main character is going on one of these dating weekends, so I figured I’d come check it out.”
“You’re here on false pretenses!” she practically shouts, which causes several people in the near vicinity to turn and stare at me.
“No, not really,” I tell her. “I mean, I’m single too.”
“If you’re not here to meet someone, then you’re throwing off the numbers for everyone else.”
“But I’m not,” I try to explain.
Before I can convince her, she declares, “I’m going to tell Trina. The only people that should be in this room are ones who are sincere about finding love. If you’re not serious, you shouldn’t be here.”
While I’d like nothing more than to get kicked out of this event, I’m guessing Gillian’s retribution would be swift and painful. Like she’d put me on the morgue beat or make me the person in charge of covering PTA meetings at elementary schools. I hurry to tell the flustered woman in front of me, “My name is Blake and while I am writing a book, I’m also a single man looking to find my person.”
Her left eye starts to twitch nervously and I’m about to suggest she go lie down when she blurts out, “Olivia. I’m Olivia.”
Hoping to establish some normal dialogue, I ask. “What do you do, Olivia?”
“I’m a pet psychic,” she answers. So much for normal.
“What does that entail?” I valiantly try not to let any judgment show.
“It entails talking to animals and asking them about their feelings. What did you think it meant?”
Suddenly feeling like a three-hundred-pound man walking across a newly frozen lake, I respond, “I didn’t really know. You’re the first pet psychic I’ve ever met.”
“Do you even have pets?” I’m not sure there’s a man alive who would be suited to a woman with this bristly of an attitude.
“Not currently,” I tell her, “but I used to have a piranha. I don’t suppose you communicate with fish, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I’m not prejudiced against fish.” I briefly wonder if Olivia didn’t just get released from some kind of mental health program. Prematurely.
“I guess I didn’t know if fish communicated the same way other animals do.”
“Of course they do! They have brains, don’t they?” I cannot get away from this woman fast enough.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t really know much about fish.”
“Then why would you ever share your household with one?”
“I liked the way he looked,” I tell her.
“Oh, so you’re one of those.” At this point, I half expect Olivia to punch me in the throat and be done with it.
“You know what, Olivia?” I ask, but before she can answer, I tell her, “I think that maybe you and I aren’t a match.”
She has the audacity to look surprised. “Why would you say that?”
“You seem a little hostile,” I say. “I get that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, so maybe we should both chat with other people.”
Her expression falls to the point where I’m worried she’s going to start crying. “Fine, go. I didn’t want to talk to you anyway.”
A tiny part of me wants to console her, but the bigger part compels me to run for my life.
About Whitney Dineen
Whitney loves to laugh, play with her kids, bake, and eat french fries -- not always in that order.
Whitney is a multi-award-winning author of romcoms, non-fiction humor, and middle reader fiction. Basically, she writes whatever the voices in her head tell her to.
She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, Jimmy, where they raise children, chickens, and organic vegetables.
Gold Medal winner at the International Readers' Favorite Awards, 2017.
Silver medal winner at the International Readers' Favorite Awards, 2015, 2016.
Finalist RONE Awards, 2016.
Finalist at the IRFA 2016, 2017.
Finalist at the Book Excellence Awards, 2017
Finalist Top Shelf Indie Book Awards, 2017
Blitz-wide Giveaway (INT) Ends October 31st (Two – $25 Amazon Gift Cards)
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My obsession with reading started over 30+ years ago when I went to my first Scholastic Book Fair and found R.L. Stine's Fear Street series. Later, I came across Anne Rice's novels at my public library when I was fourteen when my obsession with vampires started. I was the girl who preferred to be a vampire over a princess any day. My husband says I would leave him a heartbeat for a vampire that looked like Spike or Angel (from Buffy the Vampire Slayer) or Damon Salvatore from The Vampire Diaries. (It's true, though, and he's accepted it.)
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Cute cover!