The Fall in Love Checklist Read online

  The Fall in Love Checklist

  A Novel

  Sarah Ready

  W.W. CROWN BOOKS

  An imprint of Swift & Lewis Publishing LLC

  www.wwcrown.com

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. All the characters and situations in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to situations or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real locations are used fictitiously.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2020 by Sarah Ready

  Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Published by W.W. Crown Books an Imprint of Swift & Lewis Publishing, LLC, Lowell, MI USA

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  ISBN: 978-1-954007-00-0 (eBook)

  ISBN: 978-1-954007-01-7 (pbk)

  ISBN: 978-1-954007-03-1 (hbk)

  “Ten steps to fall in love”

  What if you made a list of all the crazy things you’ve dreamed of doing, but have been too scared to try…and then did them? Every. Last. One.

  Unassuming, nice-girl Dany has always done what other people expect. She keeps her dreams buried beneath boring cardigans and beige upholstery. Until the day she’s diagnosed with breast cancer, her fiancé dumps her, and she loses everything.

  Now Dany is going to do the unexpected – survive and thrive.

  She has a ten step checklist and a sexy new landlord determined to tag along. Suddenly, Dany’s life goes from ordinary to wildly unexpected. But when everything turns upside down again, Dany has to decide, is number ten on her list the end or just the beginning?

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Get Dany & Jack’s Wedding Story - Free -

  She Needs a Hero. He Needs a Second Chance.

  Also by Sarah Ready

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Dear Reader,

  * * *

  Thank you!

  I hope you enjoy reading The Fall in Love Checklist as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  The Fall in Love Checklist is a romance, but it’s also a love story about the girls. The women in all of our lives that help us get through the hard times, the super duper awful times, and the worst of the worst.

  A little over a decade ago my sister-in-law was diagnosed with breast cancer. I went and stayed with her to help take care of her two young children during her surgery and treatments. One day she mentioned that at the hospital there was always a group of women who knitted and chatted while getting their chemo. That was all she said about it, just one sentence. But the image stuck with me all these years. More than a decade later that seed sprouted into a novel.

  I hesitated at first to write a romance about a heroine with breast cancer, but then I said, well why the heck wouldn’t I? We all have hard times, and often the best things come out of what we consider to be the worst.

  In the book, I didn’t concentrate on the medical aspect as much as the emotional journey. Medicine changes too rapidly for anything written to stay up to date. However, I did consult a physician during the writing process (thank you Dr. J). Any mistakes are mine and mine alone.

  I hope you enjoy Dany’s journey. She has spunk and turns a hard situation into one full of joy, lots of laughter and fun.

  Thank you again for reading, I’m grateful for you, your review, and for sharing/recommending this book if you enjoy it.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  Sarah Ready

  1

  Dany

  * * *

  My mother said nothing should stop my wedding, not even a pair of misbehaving breasts.

  It’s funny the things you remember when coming out of anesthesia.

  So, it’s done.

  My breasts are gone. The girls. My boobs. Chopped off for misbehaving.

  Farewell, dear friends. Goodbye. Adios amigas. Ciao. Auf wiedersehen. Adieu. I imagine they’ll be chucked out with the rest of the surgical unit’s biohazards: gallstones, colon polyps, cellulite. My grandfather got to keep his old pacemaker, do you think they ever let you keep your breast tissue?

  I try to open my eyes, but the harsh light hurts and the room spins. I close them again.

  There’s beeping and distant voices. The sounds of a hospital running. The fluorescent light shines through my closed eyelids.

  I drift back into a warm sleep.

  Sometime later, I wake up again. Try to open my eyes. Can’t.

  Still, I smile. I did it. I made it through the mastectomy. It’s going to be okay. My throat tightens and I swallow down the urge to cry. It’s all going to be alright now. The doctors said it was confined to the breasts, and now that my breasts are gone, everything’s going to go back to normal. It’ll be okay.

  It will, I tell myself. My chest tightens. It will.

  I fight down my doubts. In the last weeks, since my diagnosis, fear and doubt have sprouted like weeds in July. I can’t stop them from growing. Weeds will always grow. But I can smother and cut them out like a ruthless gardener.

  Everything is going to be okay. It is.

  I drift back into that groggy dizzy state.

  I dream about my fiancé. Shawn. He should be here soon. And my mother. But not my father. He didn’t want to see me like this. That’s alright. I don’t want him to see me like this either.

  But it’ll be alright. It’s gone now. Gone.

  The dry hospital air tickles my nose. I’m cold beneath the scratchy thin blanket. I stretch my sluggish arms and legs. My chest hurts. I flinch and hold still. The cocktail of pain medication and anesthesia takes over again, and I float back into numbness.

  Shawn will be here soon.

  The overhead lights send little stars sparkling through my eyelids and I drift into a nice dream about my wedding. The sparks of the fluorescent are the twinkle lights lining the aisle. The machine beeping is the trilling of a harp. The sharp medicinal scent is the perfume of roses. I pull in a breath.

  My dream wedding is three months away. I’ll be better by then.

  I will.

  I’ll wear the strapless ivory silk mermaid gown. There are freshwater pearls sewn in the bodice and
the train. Shawn will stand at the altar, waiting for me. We’ll be married. Start our lives. I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted. A perfect family and home. Shawn as the head of The Boreman Group, and me as his wife. Everything I could ever want.

  I pull out of my wedding fantasy. The grogginess of anesthesia is still thick. My thoughts feel like molasses. Sticky and sweet.

  I hear someone shift next to me.

  “Shawn?” My voice cracks and I don’t know if I managed to say his name or not. I reach up and try to feel my chest. Ouch. I flinch. There are bandages. Ice packs. The IV pinches the back of my hand. I flop my wrist back to the hospital bed.

  Suddenly, I feel his presence, a warm maleness. I squint my eyes. He’s there, sitting on a metal folding chair. He’s partially blocked by a curtain. It’s a tight space. My vision’s fuzzy. My brain’s moving too slow. But, I know one thing…

  “I love you,” I say.

  I do. We’re perfect for each other. His business pedigree and my social standing check all the boxes. Our relationship is built on affinity and respect. The perfect combination. I’m not interested in five husbands, like my mother. One will do. And Shawn fits. He’s solid. Reliable. Efficient. He wants a wife who can be an elegant hostess and an asset to his business. I check his boxes too.

  I got The Diagnosis two weeks ago. Those weeds of fear whispered that everything would change. That I wouldn’t survive. That Shawn would leave me. But Shawn told me he’d be here for it all. That nothing would change. Another mark in his favor. I don’t want anything to change.

  “Tell me you love me,” I say. I need to hear it.

  Nothing.

  I reach. Grab for his hand.

  When I find it, I nestle my palm in his. Pull him toward me.

  His warm, strong grip reassures me. I sigh in pleasure.

  He’ll tell me he loves me now.

  I squeeze his hand.

  Nothing.

  The long pause makes my skin itch.

  “Please,” I say.

  Another hesitation.

  Then he clears his throat.

  My heart thumps. I swallow in trepidation. Something’s wrong. Although my foggy mind can’t quite grasp what.

  “Is it awful?” I ask.

  “No,” he says.

  I hang onto that word and squeeze his hand. The room spins like a wobbling top near to falling over.

  “I thought I might not wake up,” I say. Although, it’s not so scary now that I’m holding his hand.

  His breath hitches and I hear the metal chair scrape the tiles as he scoots closer.

  His thumb gently strokes the back of my hand. His touch vibrates over my body.

  “Did they say they got it all?” I ask. Then I chide myself. Of course they got it all. We’re going to get married. Everything’s okay.

  “I don’t know,” he says.

  There’s something odd in his voice.

  I tumble back into a floating mist. I brush my loose hand over the air above my chest. It feels suspended in jelly. I move my hand up and down. No breasts. No boobs. Ding dong the boobs are gone. I giggle and shake my head. It feels wobbly on my neck.

  His thumb, rubbing my other hand, is doing something to my insides. I want to press up against him.

  “You feel so good.”

  I hear a sharp voice across the room. Not Shawn.

  Did I say that out loud? My mother would’ve been mortified. I should be mortified. I’m not. What’s in these drugs? Who else is in this room?

  Shawn clears his throat. I’ve made him uncomfortable.

  Was my mother here? A thought bubbles up. What had she said yesterday? Oh, right.

  “Do you still think I’m beautiful? My mother said you might not.”

  I hear a low growl. Shawn never growls. Never.

  “Honey, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  My body warms. I try to scoot closer to his deep voice. I want to feel the low rumble of it down to my toes. I imagine his voice licking over my skin. I like this version of Shawn.

  “She said you might get scared off. That some men run.”

  Another low growl. I think he’s angry at my words. His hand tenses in mine.

  “Some men are fools. I’ve never been a fool.”

  “I’m going to marry you. I’d marry you tomorrow if I could.” Suddenly, a swell of emotion rushes through me. I want to marry this man more than anything in the world. There’s a desperate urgency there that I’ve never felt before. Blame it on the drugs, the mastectomy, whatever, it’s there.

  He drags his free hand across my forehead and pushes my hair away from my face.

  A warm fuzziness settles over me, but a niggle of foreboding is there too. I run my fingers over his hand. The back is covered in a light dusting of hair. And his finger pads have calluses. A slow chill slides down my spine.

  Shawn has smooth hands and no calluses. None.

  Plus, in no way does Shawn have a southern drawl. Or a low rumbly growl. And he has never in his life called me honey.

  I slit open my eyes. The room tilts and rolls and the bright light momentarily blinds me. I blink. The man holding my hand slowly comes into focus.

  He has dark brown wavy hair. A five o’clock shadow. Deep-set gray eyes. A full bottom lip with a kissable dent in the middle. He’s wearing a flannel and jeans with steel-tipped boots. And he’s looking at me intently. Holding my hand. Like he’s used to taking what he wants and never letting go. You can tell a lot about someone in the way they hold your hand. His grip is firm and confident. Reassuring. Possessive.

  Nothing like the casual, loose hold of my fiancé.

  Because he’s not my fiancé.

  He’s not Shawn.

  2

  Dany

  * * *

  I pull at my hand. He doesn’t let go.

  “Who are you?” I ask. The room tilts and jars until it finally settles and crashes. The fog sweeps away.

  I yank at my hand again.

  “Let go.” I pull again.

  My brain doesn’t know him, but that doesn’t stop my body from wanting him.

  He clears his throat. “You, uh…” He stops, and I can see thoughts flashing behind his eyes, but I can’t decipher what he’s thinking. Finally, he lets go of my hand. My lips wobble.

  “Why are you in my room?” My eyes open wide, as another fact hits home. “And why are you pretending to be my fiancé? What’s wrong with you?” My cheeks heat. Where’s Shawn? Why isn’t he here? Why isn’t my mother here? I look toward the door. What’s going on?

  My body has never gone haywire for a man, and I don’t know why it has to start now.

  He winces. “It’s not your room,” the man says.

  I swing my head back to him.

  “Ouch.” That hurt. Then, what he says sinks in. “Pardon me?”

  He gestures behind him. “It’s not your room. You’re in a shared recovery suite. I was on the other side of that curtain.”

  I look around. The hospital room comes into sharp focus. Bland pea green wallpaper. Generic painting of a woodland scene. A television. IV poles and medical apparatus. Curtains. And three hospital beds. All occupied.

  On my right a balding man with papery skin and thick blue veins snores. To my left is a pretty, sleek-haired teenage girl with a bandage on her nose. She stares unabashedly at me. Her expression reminds me of a mischievous otter I once saw at the zoo. She’s peeking at me from the bed behind the man. The one on the metal chair who held my hand.

  I clear my throat. Mortification washes through me.

  “It’s a shared room,” I say.

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re here with her.”

  He nods. “I’m here with her.”

  “Hi,” the girl says. She waves at me.

  I close my eyes. My mind has almost completely cleared and I’m rapidly coming back to my senses. I attempt to shake off the attraction I felt for this man. It was misplaced. He is
not my fiancé. I only felt that spark, okay, flame, because I thought he was Shawn.

  I snap open my eyes and look him square in the face.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “Please forget what I said.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. I’m Jack.” He holds out his hand to shake. I don’t want to take it.

  For some reason, it feels dangerous to take his hand again. Jack.

  What if, when I touch him, that ember sparks into flame once more? Even when I know he’s not Shawn? No. I don’t want to find out what could happen.

  “Daniella. There you are.”

  Oh thank goodness. It’s Shawn.

  He hurries into the room and steps in front of Jack’s hand, effectively blocking him out. Shawn sends him a peevish look.

  I let out a relieved exhale. Shawn’s here. He’s wearing his usual Tom Ford suit and Ferragamo shoes. He’s immaculately groomed. Even his fingernails are perfect half-moons. A sharp contrast to the flannel-clad, rough-hewn, southern-drawling Jack.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere. They didn’t tell me they moved you to the third floor.”