Teddy's Temptation

TEDDY’S TEMPTATION HEART OF HARMONY GROVE BOOK 2 QUINN WARD CONTENTS 1. Teddy 2. Shiloh 3. Teddy 4. Shiloh 5. Teddy 6. Shiloh 7. Teddy 8. Teddy 9. Shiloh 10. Shiloh 11. Teddy 12. Teddy 13. Shiloh 14. Shiloh 15. Teddy 16. Teddy 17. Teddy 18. Shiloh 19. Shiloh A Note From Quinn About Quinn 1 TEDDY Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the blinds, casting a faint glow across my cluttered home. It was a chaotic mess, but it was mine—and I loved it. Tools and unfinished projects filled every corner, marking my existence as Harmony Grove’s go-to handyman. Always something to fix and someone to help. It kept me busy and out of trouble. For someone who couldn’t imagine being tied down to a desk or having to walk through the same steps day in and day out, it was the perfect solution. I rolled out of bed, stretching out my muscles, and savoring the still morning before town came to life. I slipped into my uniform of faded jeans, a white T-shirt, and a flannel—all for practical rather than fashion purposes—and headed to the kitchen. The box of cereal I’d emptied yesterday stuck out of the top of the garbage can, mocking me for neglecting to run to the store. Some days, it was just easier to grab something on my way home than coming up with something to cook for myself. According to my buddy, Waylon, living on cold cereal was something you couldn’t get away with if you were older than ten. I happened to disagree. Which was why I now had nothing to eat for breakfast. Instead of rummaging through the fridge to see if there was anything that sounded appetizing and hadn’t gone bad, I toed on my well-worn boots and headed to the diner. More often than not, that’s where I wound up because I hated the hassle of cooking for one. Patrick’s departure still clung to me like a bitter aftertaste, even though we’d both admitted our marriage had been long over before he said those four dreaded words: “we need to talk.” If he hadn’t left, I might have stayed miserably stagnant until my last breath. Stepping outside, I breathed in the crisp morning air and made my way to the center of town. Harmony Grove’s familiar charm soothed my heart, its close-knit community a comforting constant in my life. “Morning, Teddy!” Mr. Larson hollered from his porch, coffee in hand. His gruff demeanor from my childhood had softened over the years, but he remained an early riser. When we’d been kids, he’d terrified all of us by threatening to break our big wheels if we didn’t quit making a racket outside his open windows. Time had brought change to the small town, too. Some of the abandoned buildings now housed bustling businesses and new faces had woven themselves into the fabric of the community. Seeing how we were growing even as so many small towns around us were dying was a testament to Harmony Grove’s resilience, and I felt proud to be a part of it. At one point, it had looked as if Harmony Grove would join resemble a ghost town without the tumbleweeds or cowboy shoot-outs. “Morning, Mr. Larson,” I responded with a reserved smile before heading on my way. I smiled broadly as I continued on my way, shivering slightly when the cool morning breeze picked up up. “Teddy!” Mrs. Anderson waved from her garden. “Thanks again for fixing that leaky faucet last week. You’re a lifesaver!” “Anytime, Mrs. Anderson,” I said, my chest swelling with pride. I touched my father’s worn leather-wrapped pocket watch, a reminder of the man who’d taught me everything about being a handyman. I hoped he’d be proud of the work I was doing rather than pissed that I hadn’t done more with my life. My mood dipped slightly, thinking about how often we’d fought when I was younger. He insisted there was more for me out there than following in his footsteps, refusing to listen when I told him I didn’t want more. He did a valuable job, and now I was trying to fill his shoes. The diner’s familiar scent of bacon and coffee greeted me like an old friend. I found solace in this place, even if only for a brief reprieve. “Morning, Teddy!” Loretta, the ageless waitress, called out. Her dyed-red curls danced as she waved me towards the tables in the back. “Your favorite table’s open.” “Thanks, Loretta,” I replied, the corner of my mouth turning up in a slight smile as I sat down at the back of the dining room, away from the chatty old men. “Usual breakfast?” she asked, barely glancing up as she refilled coffee mugs. “Please,” I nodded, grateful for waitresses who appreciated routine as much as I did. As I ate, I considered the projects I had to tackle today. The hardware store awaited, as did a list of odd jobs that kept me afloat. I longed for another substantial renovation project, something that would provide stability and a sense of accomplishment. After breakfast, I made my way to the park to fix a broken swing—not a paid gig, but it needed doing and it was on my way home so I could drive to the other end of town. The laughter of children surrounded me as I focused on the worn-out chains and rusty bolts. “Good morning, Teddy!” Mr. Harper called out, walking his dog along the path. I managed a smile and nod before turning back to my work. In the background, I overheard a group of moms discussing their relationships, their anecdotes full of love and appreciation. It was almost sickeningly sweet. Listening to how people in love talked about their partners was always a reminder of how ill-suited Patrick and I were for one another. There had never been a time when we’d gone on to our friends about something the other had done. “Thanks for