The Courtship Coach - Love in Abbottsville Book 3

Tally Kerr has always been shy. And not just a little bashful. She’s the kind of shy that paralyzes her when someone she doesn’t know speaks to her. The kind that causes panic attacks when she has to go in public. Thanks to her social anxiety, she’s never even been on a date, which puts a huge damper on her dream of having a family someday. Until she meets Jake Mills, a recent divorcé with three young daughters, who hires her to be their nanny.

Being around Jake’s girls only strengthens her desire for children of her own. And being around their handsome, charming, much-older-than-her father gives her feelings she probably shouldn’t be feeling.

After learning of her nonexistent dating life, Jake volunteers to coach her on how to get past her shyness and meet new people. But is there more to his offer than meets the eye?

The Courtship Coach is a heartwarming romantic comedy with loads of small-town charm, flirty banter, an age gap, adorable kids, a fun cast of friends and townsfolk, swoon-worthy kisses, and a happily ever after, of course.

Chapter One

Tally

My body trembled from a low-level hum of nervousness that had taken over my every extremity. Going to the grocery store was a simple task for anyone else, but for me, it was a whole ordeal. In a town as small as Abbottsville, Michigan, I was bound to run into someone who knew me or my family and wanted to chat, and small talk was the worst thing ever.

Because I was shy.

And not just a little. I was the kind of shy nobody wants to be. The kind that crippled me in social situations and made me withdraw out of fear of saying something wrong. The kind that kept me from connecting with people, even though I desperately wished I could. Outside the safety and comfort of my family and small circle of friends, I was a disaster in the real world.

As I moved toward my car, I pictured myself completing each step of this task, from getting into the vehicle to pulling back into this parking spot in my parents’ driveway.

I turned on soothing classical music for the drive and headed out, wondering if I should’ve taken Mom up on her offer to have Dad go instead. I appreciated how understanding my parents and siblings had always been. They helped however they could and gave me space on the days I just couldn’t handle it. I’d been working on putting myself out there more lately—thinking about it was more like it—and trying to overcome some of the fears I’d built up in my mind. Progress was slow on that front, though. But volunteering to go to the store for Mom was a good step.

“Okay, I’ll go the back way and drive a few blocks out of the way so I can avoid the busy intersection in town.”

Talking out loud to myself helped me stay focused and on task. But only when I was alone or around family. I could only imagine what people would think of me if I did that in public.

I’ve struggled with this for as long as I can remember. When I was young, people rudely asked my parents if I had a learning disability since I rarely spoke when we were out in public. Friends of theirs would greet me or ask me a question, and I just stared at them like a deer in headlights. And the fear that shot through my body when in those situations was almost enough to make me pass out. But if I did that, people would look at me and stare and wonder what the heck was wrong with me. I did not want attention. I wanted to blend into the woodwork. And I’d gotten very good at it.

But if you were a fly on the wall in our home, you would’ve seen the real me, the girl who dropped her guard and wasn’t afraid to talk and laugh and have fun with my seven siblings. Yes, that’s right, there were eight of us kids. I loved our big, loud, chaotic family.

My older sister, Rochelle, started calling me Tally when I was a baby because it was easier for her to say than my full name, and it stuck. Well, except with my dad. He loved his little Natalia.

But his little Natalia was a grown woman now, soon to turn twenty-eight on Christmas day. (Yes, I have a Christmas birthday. Don’t even get me started on that.) And I was kind of a mess. At least I felt like I was.

Especially now, as I pulled into the grocery store parking lot because my anxiety began to rear its ugly head.

I chose a space far out, away from any other cars. My old Dodge Journey had a random glitch that would sometimes cause the alarm to go off when I opened the door. I didn’t mind walking the extra steps to the store if it meant lessening my embarrassment.

I sat in my car and watched the front doors slide open and closed as a steady stream of people moved in and out of the store. I knew it would be busy. It was the day before Thanksgiving, after all.

I took a deep breath as I slung the strap of my purse over my shoulder and forced my body to move out of the car. Thankfully, no random car alarm today, so I hit lock on my key fob then put one foot in front of the other.

I only need canned pumpkin. I know what aisle that’s in. I’ll be in and out of the store in minutes. No big deal. I can do this.

My inner dialogue continued where talking to myself had left off, trying to psych myself up to do something I didn’t really want to do.

As I neared the doors, I fought every instinct within me to turn around and bolt. My breath caught as the doors opened before me, and I walked inside and made a beeline for the baking aisle. As I approached where the pumpkin was usually displayed, my eyes locked on the empty shelf.

Oh no!

I should’ve known they’d be out of pumpkin this close to the holiday.

And then I spotted it. One solitary can at the back of the shelf.

I quickly squeezed around a woman with a cart and reached for it just as someone else did.

We pulled it off the shelf together, our hands gripping the can.

I tugged as I looked up into the warm brown eyes of the most handsome man I’d ever seen. Dark chocolate waves fell loosely across his forehead and just brushed his shoulders, accented by caramel highlights and a little grey in his stubble and sideburns. And he wore glasses … I felt weak in the knees.

Until he spoke.

“I had it first.”

“I don’t think so,” I blurted out, which was so unlike me. I’d never been one to stand up for myself, but something inside me needed to get this can for my mom. “I need it for a pie.”

I groaned inwardly. Duh. Why else would someone be buying pumpkin the day before Thanksgiving?

“Me too.”

I tugged again, but he didn’t give. One corner of his mouth curled up as if he found this amusing, but I was not at all amused.

“Are we going to fight for it?” He smiled, and my heart stuttered in my chest.

Then my mouth went dry, my mind cycling through a million responses, all of which seemed ridiculous. I couldn’t figure out how to reply, so I simply tugged harder, and he let go, causing me to lose my balance, flail backward, and drop the can.

His hands shot out and grabbed hold of my arms to keep me from falling as the can hit the floor with a loud thud and went rolling away.

I felt paralyzed with his hands gripping my upper arms and his body now within my personal space. His gaze traveled over my face to my lips and back to my eyes, and mine did the same. I’d never before had an urge to kiss a man, but his lips looked full and soft, and I wondered what they would feel like against mine.

I swallowed hard and righted myself, and he released my arms, but I still felt the pressure where his hands had been on me.

My eyes darted toward the floor in search of the can just as a woman walked into the aisle, spotted the can several feet away from us, and snatched it up.

“Hey!” the man cried. “That’s ours!”

I blushed, somehow liking that he’d said it that way.

“Not anymore.” She dropped it into her cart, whipped around, and took off before either of us could do a thing about it. Not that I would’ve anyway.

My shoulders sagged.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve let you have it.”

“A gentleman would have.” I surprised myself with that one, too, as I stepped around him and walked away.

“Hey, wait.” He was suddenly walking beside me as I headed for the exit. “Can I make it up to you?”

I shook my head and kept walking.

“They might have some frozen pies left.”

I shot him a look of disgust.

“Too good for Sara Lee, are ya?”

My nerves kicked into high alert when he actually came outside with me. I didn’t know if I should walk to my car with this stranger on my heels or not, so I stopped just outside the door.

“I’m leaving now,” I declared.

He nodded. “Well, I wish you’d let me do something for you.”

I felt frozen like a statue, unsure of what to do or say as seconds ticked by slowly.

He pressed his lips together and nodded again. “Sorry about the pumpkin.”

I nervously turned and headed across the parking lot toward my car. After a dozen steps, I glanced back over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following me again.

He still stood on the sidewalk where I’d left him, with a handsome smirk on his face.

As I kept walking, I heard him chuckle and say, “Happy Thanksgiving.”