The blurb? Divorced mother of two, April Raine, is just starting to get her parenting services business in the black, but television psychologist, Dr. Jeff has put her company at the top of his list of Family Unfriendly Businesses once too often. Now April and Jeff will spend thirty days in a remote cabin in the Adirondack Mountains, surrounded by television cameras, to the delight of a talk show’s audience, in a 21st century Battle of the Sexes. When the dust settles, who’ll come out on top? The mom? The doctor? Or will love prevail after all?
I'll even give you an excerpt to whet your appetite a little more. This is actually one of my favorite scenes.
He paced the kitchen behind her until the constant back and forth sent an army of annoyance marching down her spine. When the pacing continued for nearly thirty minutes, she considered tying him to a chair.
Just when she decided to retrieve the excess clothesline, he popped his head across her writing pad. “I think I’ll make tuna salad for lunch.”
“I’m very happy for you.”
“Would you like some?”
“No, thank you.”
“Okay then.” He straightened and walked to the pantry.
Relieved at having him occupied with some task, however lame, April returned her attention to her letter. “…I don’t know if you’ve seen any of the television footage (unless Dad or Lori taped it for you) because you should be in school, but so far, I’m holding my own against--”
“Oh, for God’s sake, where is the blasted tuna?” Jeff’s noisy fumbling in the pantry broke her concentration. “You’d think with a cabinet this deep, someone would have thought to mount a light inside.”
Slamming her palm on the counter, she rose from her stool, abandoning her letter for a quieter time and place--maybe a foxhole in Afghanistan.
“Move,” she ordered, emphasizing her demand with a quick nudge of her elbow to his chest. A split second later, she held the can before his face. “Right here in the front, Jeff.”
“Well, I probably moved it into the line of sight while I was digging in the back,” he mumbled.
Men. She’d never come across one who could find an item in a pantry, closet, or garage unless it sprouted arms and waved with wild abandon.
While she watched him, impatience growing, he spun around the kitchen, that same puzzled look never leaving his face. “Where’s the can opener?”
Exhaling on a sigh, she opened the utensil drawer and pulled out the necessary item.
“What’s that?” he asked, turning the can opener over in his hands as if it were an ancient relic from an archaeological dig.
“A can opener, silly!”
“Don’t we have an electric one?”
She shook her head. “‘Fraid not.”
“Well, then, how do you use one of these things?”
Lips twisted in a smirk, she took the opener and can from him. “Here.” She clamped the jaws of the opener around the can’s rim and cranked the handle a few times. “Just like this. You think you can take it from here, Doctor?”
“No need to get snotty,” he replied. “I’ve just never seen one of these before.” He took the can from her. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be fine now. Go on back to your letter.”
April knew better than to even try. Returning to her seat, she waited patiently and counted to herself.
One… two… three… four… five--
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
She’d reached five before the next catastrophe struck. Not bad.
“What do you need now?”
“I spilled tuna juice all over myself trying to take the lid off.”
He not only got the fishy liquid on himself, he spilled smelly droplets all over the floor. The floor she’d scrubbed clean yesterday.
“Okay, Jeff, you win.” With another exasperated head shake, she grabbed a roll of paper towels and knelt to wipe up the mess. “Go change your clothes before you have every cat for miles howling outside our door. Then you can start a fire for us while I make your lunch.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. You just want to make me look inept in the kitchen.”
“You’re doing a fairly good job of that on your own,” she replied. “Now go.”