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  PRAISE FOR KELLY HARMS

  The Good Luck Girls of Shipwreck Lane

  “A perfect recipe of clever, quirky, poignant, and fun makes this a delightful debut.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Set in small-town Maine, this first novel is a story of rebuilding, recovery, and renewal. Harms has created two incredibly likable heroines, allowing the strengths of one woman to bolster the weaknesses of the other. While the central conflict of the story appears to be resolved fairly early, a succession of plot twists keeps the reader intrigued and invested. In the manner of Mary Kay Andrews and Jennifer Weiner, Harms’s novel is emotionally tender, touching, and witty. Great for book clubs.”

  —Booklist

  “Spunky leading ladies that you can take to the beach.”

  —Fitness magazine

  “The story is funny and heartbreaking throughout.”

  —Melissa Amster, Chick Lit Central

  “Another perfect summer diversion is The Good Luck Girls of Shipwreck Lane. Kelly Harms writes with love about a trio of women desperate for a change and smart enough to recognize it may not be exactly what they planned. Delicious.”

  —Angela Matano, Campus Circle

  “The friction between the Janines, along with a few romantic foibles and a lot of delicious meals, results in a sweetly funny and unpredictable story that’s ultimately about making a home where you find it.”

  —Madison, Cap Times

  “Kelly Harms’s debut is a delicious concoction of reality and fairy tale—the ideal summer book! You’ll feel lucky for having read it. And after meeting her, I guarantee you will want a great-aunt Midge of your very own.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Sarah Addison Allen

  “Warmhearted and funny, The Good Luck Girls of Shipwreck Lane pulls you in with quirky yet relatable characters, intriguing relationships, and the promise of second chances. Harms’s debut is as refreshingly delightful as a bowl of her character Janey’s chilled pea soup with mint on a hot summer day.”

  —Meg Donohue, bestselling author of How to Eat a Cupcake: A Novel

  “Funny, original, and delightfully quirky, Kelly Harms’s The Good Luck Girls of Shipwreck Lane shows us that sometimes, all we need to make it through one of life’s rough patches is a change of scenery and a home-cooked meal.”

  —Molly Shapiro, author of Point, Click, Love: A Novel

  “The characters are so well drawn that they practically leap from the page, charming dysfunction and all! A poignant, hilarious debut that’s filled with heart, soul, insight, and laugh-out-loud moments. It’ll make you rethink the meaning of what makes a family—and if you’re anything like me, it’ll make you want to pick up and move to 1516 Shipwreck Lane immediately! I’m such a fan of this utterly charming novel.”

  —Kristin Harmel, author of Italian for Beginners and The Sweetness of Forgetting

  “Clever and memorable and original.”

  —Samantha Wilde, author of I’ll Have What She’s Having

  “Janey and Nean each have a common name and uncommon hard luck, and when they suddenly have in common a sweepstakes house, their lives begin to change in ways neither of them could have imagined. Their quirky wit will win you over, even as they fumble through their crazy new life. The Good Luck Girls of Shipwreck Lane is alive with warmth and wit; I enjoyed it right through to the satisfying end.”

  —Kristina Riggle, author of Real Life & Liars, The Life You’ve Imagined, Things We Didn’t Say, and Keepsake

  “Kelly Harms’s The Good Luck Girls of Shipwreck Lane is a delightful book bursting with good humor, fast action, and delicious food. Aunt Midge is a pure joy, and I loved Wimmer’s surprising, spirited, and generous slant on what it takes to make a family.”

  —Nancy Thayer, New York Times bestselling author of Summer Breeze

  The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay

  “Kelly Harms writes with such tender insight about change, saying goodbye to her beloved yet troubled city life, and hurtling into the delicious unknown. Her characters sparkle; I loved Lily and wished I could have coffee with her in the enchanted town of Minnow Bay.”

  —Luanne Rice, New York Times bestselling author

  “The temperature in Minnow Bay, Wisconsin, may be cold, but its people are anything but. Kelly Harms has created a world so real and so inviting that you absolutely will not want to leave. The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay proves that a little small-town meddling never hurt anyone and that, sometimes, it takes a village to fall in love. Kelly Harms has done it again!”

  —Kristy Woodson Harvey, author of Dear Carolina and Lies and Other Acts of Love

  “The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay is a glorious read, full of heart and humor. Lily is the kind of character you’ll root for to the end, and the delightful residents of Minnow Bay will keep you chuckling with each turn of the page. Kelly Harms is a talented author with a knack for writing a story you’ll want to read again and again.”

  —Darien Gee/Mia King

  “In The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay, Kelly Harms weaves together a small town and big dreams into a delightful and heartfelt tapestry of friendship, love, and getting what you deserve in the way you least expect. I was hooked from page one, then laughed out loud and teared up while reading—exactly what I want from romantic women’s fiction. Kelly Harms is the real deal.”

  —Amy Nathan

  “In The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay, Lily Stewart is Shopaholic’s Becky Bloomwood meets Capote’s Holly Golightly. This charming tale is filled to the brim with eccentric characters, uproarious predicaments, and a charming (if not chilly!) setting. Kelly Harms has created the most lovable character in Lily, a starving artist with a penchant for disaster and a completely unbreakable spirit. One for the beach chair!”

  —Kate Moretti, New York Times bestselling author of The Vanishing Year

  “Filled with witty dialogue and an unforgettable cast of characters, The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay is a complete charmer. I rooted for Lily from the first page and didn’t want to leave the magical town of Minnow Bay. Kelly Harms delivers another heartwarming novel that lifts the spirit.”

  —Anita Hughes

  “The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay is the perfect feel-good read. An irresistible premise, a charming—though forgetful—heroine, an emotionally involving love story, lovely writing . . . it all adds up to cozy hours in a fictional place you’ll wish you could visit. Don’t miss this delightful novel!”

  —Susan Wiggs

  “Sometimes you read a book that hits all the right notes: funny, charismatic, romantic, and empowering. The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay is that book. Kelly Harms’s enchanting writing lured me into the quiet yet complicated world of Minnow Bay, and I never wanted to leave. I loved it in every way!”

  —Amy E. Reichert

  “Delightful, and sure to captivate readers and gain new fans for author Kelly Harms. With sparkling dialogue and a winning heroine who finds her big-girl panties amid the disaster zone her life has become and heads in a new direction, finding love along the way, it had me turning the pages into the night.”

  —Eileen Goudge

  “I loved this book! Fresh and devastatingly funny, The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay is romantic comedy at its very best. The talented Kelly Harms is one to watch.”

  —Colleen Oakley, author of Before I Go

  “The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay thoroughly entertains as it explores friendship, flings, and finally finding yourself. Harms tells the story in a funny, fresh voice ideal for this charming coming-into-her-age novel.”

  —Christie Ridgway, USA Today bestselling author of the Beach House No. 9 and Cabin Fever series

  OTHER BOOKS BY

 
KELLY HARMS

  The Good Luck Girls of Shipwreck Lane

  The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Kelly Harms

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542042963 (hardcover)

  ISBN-10: 1542042968 (hardcover)

  ISBN-13: 9781542040570 (paperback)

  ISBN-10: 1542040574 (paperback)

  Cover design by David Drummond

  First edition

  This one goes out to single mothers everywhere.

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dear Mom,

  So here’s the thing. And I know you’re going to make some weird big deal out of it because you’re a mom and a nerd and you can’t help yourself. You’re going to, like, make it into a Facebook meme and then needlepoint it onto a pillow because you’re crazy. But whatever, here it is: you were right.

  Not right about reading. Mom, reading is . . . something I do because I love you and because I want to get into college. The books you gave me were 90 percent less boring than the books I’ve read for school. But they were still boring. Did you know half of these books you picked have been made into movies? The reason is because movies are better and people who are reading books are always thinking, “God, this would be so much better if it were just not a book.”

  Ok. Anyway. You were right about Dad.

  I didn’t want you to be so right. I wanted you to be happy, for sure. But not right about this one thing. I wanted things to be so much more black and white, because honestly, it’s just easier to make sense of things that way. What happened to our family was much easier to understand when it was all because Dad was a terrible person. But he’s not a terrible person, now that I’ve gotten to know him. He’s just really, really complicated. Even after all this time, after the last three months, if you asked me how our family got to this point, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’d be all like, “Uh . . . you tell me?”

  And the thing about being in this hospital, Mom, is that I do know EXACTLY how I got here. I know the stupid decisions that I made, one by one, until I was in this beeping room with all this stuff stuck into my arms and up my nose. And I would not do things the same again if I had it to do over.

  That’s regret, right? That’s what you were hoping to spare me and Joe when Dad first showed up this spring and you asked us to give him a chance. Regret. But here I am, drowning in regret, and maybe I’m not ever going to get a chance to make it right. So guess what. I know how Dad feels now. And I don’t want anyone else to have to feel this way.

  So whatever you decide about him, Mom, then, ok. It’s your decision. I won’t be a brat about it. I want what I want. Joe wants his own thing. But for once in your nerd mom life, what we want most of all is for you to make a choice that will make you happy.

  And if this is that, well then. I guess. Go for it.

  Love,

  Your favorite daughter (Cori)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Three months earlier

  There are a lot of people you don’t expect to run into in small-town Pennsylvania. And a few you do. I run into my best friend, Lena, almost every day—she teaches in the same school that I do, so when we don’t go out of our way to see each other, we’re seeing each other anyway, in the halls, the teachers’ lounge, the parking lot, scraping frost off our cars as late as April.

  And my daughter’s best friend, Trinity. God, a day without Trinity would be a thing to behold. Trinity at school, Trinity at my house, Trinity’s car parked outside my daughter’s swimming lesson waiting for her to be done so they can go wander around downtown and look at boys.

  And my dental hygienist. I see her every Saturday at the farmers’ market, where she sells handmade soaps and candles with the other church ladies. If I don’t swing by their booth and say hello, she writes me a little note and puts it in the mail, and since she’s extremely cheap, I know exactly how much trouble that gives her. Dear Amy, it will read. I’m worried about you. Please let me know you and the kids are ok. In God’s Love, Miriam.

  Then there are the people you don’t expect to see. Jamie from Outlander. Despite looking, and hard, I see him exactly never. Not at the market, not at school, not at my son’s Odyssey of the Mind competitions.

  Or Oprah. I would love to run into Oprah. I think she’d be fun to talk books with.

  Or my husband.

  Except there he is. My husband of eighteen years. Last seen three years ago, when my daughter was twelve and my son eight, and he packed up one roll-aboard carry-on-size suitcase with shirts I’d ironed and ties I’d picked out and a change of suits and some running clothes and his shaving kit and his six different kinds of antianxiety medication and went on a business trip to Hong Kong. And never came back.

  He’s back.

  That’s definitely him, standing over there by the Band-Aids at our local drugstore. He is looking at me. He is forcing a smile. I know in an instant, in a painful, I have dreaded this moment for years instant, why he is here.

  It was only a matter of time.

  He wants his life back.

  —

  Like any self-actualized, successful, capable adult woman would do in this situation, I duck behind the Q-tips.

  It’s a pointless move. John is standing maybe ten feet away from me, and he definitely saw me. He just gave me a sheepish smile I would know anywhere. It comes with a little shoulder shrug. It is the “Sorry I forgot to pick up milk on the way home but here I am exhausted after a long day and now it’s too late to send me back out so can’t the kids just have dry cereal tomorrow morning?” smile. My students have a similar version. The “Can I have an A for effort?” smile.

  But the problem is John did not forget to pick up the milk on the way home. He forgot to come home, full stop. He forgot to come home, raise his kids, pay his bills, and be faithful to his wife for the last three years, and it really, really seems like there should be a different facial expression for that. I would prefer it if he were wearing the facial expression you’d make if your ex-wife were about to hit you about the head and shoulders with a blunt instrument, for example.

  From my crouching position at the endcap of the first aid aisle, I look around for blunt instruments.

  All I see are fluorescent-pink Hula-Hoops. It would be hard to beat a man senseless with a plastic Hula-Hoop covered in sparkles, and yet for a long and rather pleasant moment, I consider trying.

  “Amy?” John asks. “Is that you?”

  He knows it’s me. I know it’s him. I would know him anywhere. For almost a year after he left, I kept thinking I saw him in other cars when I was driving around town, and my heart
would seize up, and then it would collapse in on itself when I got a second look, and I would feel immeasurably tired from each of these tiny false alarms. One time, only a few weeks after he left us, I thought I saw a John-shaped man in the back of a car with a ride-sharing label on it turning onto our street, and I got this absolutely certain feeling, the feeling of just knowing, and my blood began to race through my veins, and I felt like, I don’t know, like I had been trapped in a canyon without food or water, and now someone was coming with a rope ladder to save me. I pulled over and waited for the car to pull into our driveway. But it didn’t. It passed right by while I sat there staring at it in my rearview, watching it drive past without slowing. I took it so hard I couldn’t see to drive for twenty minutes.

  This is not that. This is not a drill. He is back, and I would rather die of thirst than take any rope he has to offer me now.

  “John,” I say, pretending, pointlessly, to have only just seen him. I come around the corner into the aisle where he stands. There are ice packs and packages of gauze and tubes of Neosporin. Everything we would need to fix him up after I pulverized him with novelty children’s toys and jumbo bottles of vitamin D.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” he says, and I stare at him, dumbfounded. He can’t believe I’m here? In the town where we lived together for almost two decades? Where our children said their first words and took their first steps and are currently waiting for me to get home with—I look in my basket, having completely forgotten what the hell I came here for—microwave popcorn, tampons, and Clearasil? “I mean, I was expecting to have to come to the house to talk to you, and I was worried how you’d take it, and how to catch you in private before seeing the kids, but this is better, right? Because I’m not invading your space?”

  I continue to stare at him. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to be the kind of person who can claw another person in the face with her fingernails. But I am not that kind of person, and we are in a drugstore, so I just stare.

  “Amy?” he asks. “Amy, are you ok?”

  “Go away,” I hear myself tell him. “I don’t know why you’re here, but we don’t need you. Go away. Now.” I set down my basket, which has suddenly become painfully heavy, and make a little shooing motion, as if he is a bird who landed too close to me at the park.