"If you are a fan of second chance romances or holiday stories, you need to read this book RIGHT NOW! You won't be sorry. How the Grinch Stole My Heart is one of my favorite reads of 2018." -- Author Tracie Banister, of Izzy As Is and award-winning Mixing It Up. 🎄🎄🎄🎄
Chick Lit Shop -- Well, if you're still in the middle of your holiday reads, I'd love to suggest this #RomCom gem, How the Grinch Stole My Heart, by the very talented Annabelle Costa!!! 😍❤🎄🎅🎁📚
I've read several of her books and what I enjoy most about this author is that each male protagonist has had a physical disability to overcome to the best of his ability & then just continue to handle as a part of ordinary everyday living. Annabelle writes with authority -- drawing from her long career as a physical therapist. Every book, Annabelle draws you in, you root for her soulful heroes, and subtly, your eyes are open to the questions one might ask if any of us had to overcome an unexpected disability. For example, if you lost control of your legs, or an arm, or one arm and one leg, how would you approach driving, or opening a jar, or carrying a package? Emotionally, if you had your life changed by this unexpected disability - perhaps it was due to a car accident, or a ski trip, or a fluke, would you be stoic, angry, sad, bargaining?
The best part of Annabelle Costa's soulful heroes, is their hidden knight-in-shining-armor personalities. Think of a tragic, soulful Mr. Darcy of Jane Austin fame, and you'll get a sense of her typical heroes. Annabelle writes one of women's favorite fantasies -- swoon-worthy, potentially gentlemanly men, who may have a quiet, mistakenly surly outer demeanor, but contain true-blue hearts of gold.
"Annabelle writes one of women's favorite fantasies -- swoon-worthy, potentially gentlemanly men, who may have a quiet, mistakenly surly outer demeanor, but contain true-blue hearts of gold." -- Chick Lit Shop 😍
In her most recent books, Annabelle Costa has been increasing using dual POV (point-of-view), quite successfully. Knowing directly what is in her male protagonists' heads and in the minds of the women they meet, gives you a bird's eye view of these humorous comedies of errors.
If you enjoy this holiday gem, which I will also be reading this month with you, I strongly recommend two of her more recent contemporary romance books - The Best Man, and My Perfect Ex-Boyfriend. If you like light & fun chick-lit, I recommend some of her original books, which still hold a special place in my heart - The Boy Next Door, The Time Traveler's Boyfriend, and Harvard Hottie *So cute, squee! ❤ *
Please Note: In this book, How the Grinch Stole My Heart, the language is a little strong in places, especially during the male POV. Just a fair warning. 😉
And now, an Excerpt from How the Grinch Stole My Heart - Chapter 2: Noelle! 😍
Excerpt!
Chapter 2: Noelle
I’m shaking with anger.
I thought that was an expression people use, but in this case, it isn’t. I am literally shaking as I stare at the email on my phone. I am so pissed off right now at my ex-husband.
You would think the fact that Greg left me for his hygienist would give me the moral high ground forever. Yes, my husband the dentist left me for his hygienist. It was the biggest cliché ever. All my friends warned me not to let Greg hire a hygienist who was too attractive, but seriously, it’s not like I had any input in the matter. It’s not like my husband ran all his hires by me. By the time I laid eyes on Dina and was horrified by how young and pretty she was, she was already on the payroll. You can’t fire someone for being attractive—that would be an HR mess.
And yes, she’s younger than me. Ten years younger than me. Speaking of clichés.
Worst of all, because I’m apparently a masochist, I stalk her Facebook page, which is not set to private. She and Greg have traveled more in the year since he and I separated than we traveled during the entire ten years of our marriage. Why do I look at photos of Dina in a bikini in Bermuda, glaring at her perfect tummy that has clearly never held a full term fetus inside it? Why do I do that to myself? Her last Facebook update was: I love having a tan in December!
And now I get this gem from Greg in my inbox:
Noelle,
I was very disappointed to learn from Henry that you took him to see another dentist to have his teeth cleaned last week. Clearly, since his father is a dentist, it doesn’t make sense you should take him elsewhere. Dina is taking it personally that you don’t trust her to clean our son’s teeth properly, and she is quite hurt. Despite whatever personal grudge you have, Dina is an excellent hygienist and professional at all times. I expect in the future that you will bring Henry here for his next cleaning.
Best,
Greg
P.S. I believe you have my DVD of Blazing Saddles, and I would like you to return it when I pick Henry up next weekend.
First of all, let’s just get this out of the way: I do not have Greg’s copy of Blazing Saddles. I don’t even like that movie. And even if I did, I don’t even own a DVD player! Greg took ours when he moved out, and I never bothered to replace it. So the last thing I want is a stupid DVD for a movie I don’t even like that I wouldn’t even be able to play.
Okay, now let’s address the bigger issue:
I do not want to set foot in Greg’s dental offices ever again. I do not want Dina’s bubble gum pink fingernails in my son’s mouth. And yes, maybe I was being petty by taking Henry to another dentist when his very own father is a dentist, but when I thought of walking up the metal staircase to the dental office that Greg and I looked at together all those years ago, I just… couldn’t.
And Dr. Chambers is a good dentist. He has a whole treasure chest in the back that Henry got to rifle through for being well-behaved during his cleaning. So.
I chew on my thumbnail, which is this awful bad habit I have left over from my childhood. I do it whenever I’m angry or nervous or even bored. Every time I do it, I half expect to hear my mom snap at me, Noelle, stop chewing on your thumb! It drove Greg crazy too. I’d nearly managed to stop, but with the separation and then the divorce, I fell off the wagon. My stomach is probably filled with chunks of my thumbnail.
My fingers hover over the keypad on my phone’s screen, itching to type a scathing reply. I have the moral high ground after all.
But maybe I shouldn’t. I saw a therapist briefly after my separation, back when I could afford the copays, and she told me I needed to let go of my anger. Because if I don’t, I’m going to end up on blood pressure medications. Medications. Plural.
Before I can decide either way, the door to our apartment swings open. Henry stomps his way in, his little feet thumping loudly against the carpeted floor with each step. He throws himself against the sofa next to me, then starts tossing his rubber ball up in the air.
I cringe. He got that ball at a birthday party a month ago, and during that time, I’ve come to loathe it. It’s already broken two picture frames and toppled a small potted plant. It’s knocked over countless glasses of water or milk. Last night when I was trying to do our nightly chapter of Nate the Great so Henry doesn’t fall behind again in class, he took out the ball and started tossing it in the air while we were reading.
I want to confiscate the ball, but I can’t make myself do it. The divorce has been hard on Henry, and things aren’t better now that he’s cooped up in this small apartment every evening thanks to the growing cold.
The cold is a major issue. It wouldn’t be so bad if Henry could do basketball on weekends like last year, but Greg has refused to take him, saying it disrupts their weekend plans—so he’s doing zero sports right now. When I sat down with Henry’s teacher during the parent-teacher conference last week and expressed concern that it seemed like my son couldn’t sit still lately and could it be a sign of attention deficit disorder, she said, “All the boys get restless when the weather changes and they can’t play outside as much. Imagine a little wind-up toy that is all wound up, then released in a tiny little space. It would be going everywhere, bouncing against all the walls constantly, wouldn’t it?”
A wind-up toy is a perfect analogy for Henry’s behavior lately.
So I’ve reluctantly allowed him to keep the ball. But after a near-miss with our television set yesterday, I told him he’s only allowed to play with it in the hallway, where nothing can be shattered.
“Henry,” I say carefully, “didn’t I say you could only play with the ball in the hallway?”
“Uh huh.” He tosses the ball up in the air. “But this guy said I can’t.”
This guy said I can’t. Getting a story out of an eight-year-old can be a challenge.
“What guy?” I ask.
“This weird old guy,” he says.
“Like… the super? Luis?”
Henry just barely catches the ball before it smashes into the vase on our end-table. “No, he lives here. In 5B.”
“Oh.” We moved out of our old apartment only two months ago, so I don’t know many of our neighbors yet. The old place had too many memories. Also, too many zeroes in the rent. Not that this place is cheap—everything in Manhattan is outright ridiculous. But I didn’t want to pull Henry out of his school and away from his friends on top of everything. So we got a one-bedroom and he sleeps on a cot in the living room. “What did the old man say to you?”
“He told me I can’t play with my ball in the hall,” Henry says.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Were you throwing it against his door? Because I told you that you’re only allowed to throw it against the floor or up in the air.”
“I wasn’t throwing it against his door!” he insists. When I give him a look, he says, “I swear, Mom! I was being quiet.”
I believe Henry. I’ve never known him to lie before.
“And,” he goes on, “the man said if he saw me doing it again, he’d take it away.”
My eyes fly open. “He said he’d take it?”
He nods solemnly. “Yeah, but I don’t think he really could. He’s got a cane, and I bet I could run away with the ball before he could get it.”
“That’s not the point, Henry.” My right hand balls into a fist. Let go of my anger—yeah, right. How could I not be angry? If this guy doesn’t like my kid innocently tossing a ball around in the hallway, then he should take it up with me. Not threaten an eight-year-old child. What is wrong with him? “He has no right to take your ball away!”
He has no right. And I should march over to 5B and tell this old man what’s what!
I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? He sprays me with Ben Gay?
“He didn’t take it,” Henry explains patiently. He holds up the blue rubber ball. “It’s right here. See, Mom?”
“Yes, but—” I start to say, but at that moment, Henry throws the ball, and naturally, it goes completely out of control. I flinch as it barely misses my face, zips past my ear, slams into our bookcase, and knocks over three picture frames in one incredible shot. The sound of glass shattering echoes through our small apartment.
Apparently, I will not be going over to confront Mr. 5B. I will be cleaning up broken glass shards from the floor.
“Oops,” Henry says.
“Go to your room,” I mumble. “Now.”
Nobody ever said being a single mom was easy.
Blurb!
Single mom Noelle can’t stand her crotchety next-door neighbor.
She’s never met the man in person, but Mr. Grieder, a.k.a. Mr. Grinch, leaves her nasty notes whenever her son plays in the hallway. He complained until their doorman got rid of the beautiful Christmas tree in the lobby. He even slammed his door on the Girl Scout Carolers. This is Noelle’s first Christmas since a painful divorce, and this grouchy old hermit seems determined to make her favorite holiday as unpleasant as he possibly can.
Except there are two things Noelle doesn’t know about Mr. Grinch:
One, he’s not an old man.
And two, he’s going to be her date for Saturday night.
Purchase
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About The Author
Annabelle Costa is a physical therapist who loves the following things, not necessarily in this order:
--Chick lit (both reading it and writing it!) ❤📚❤
--Cupcakes (both making them and eating way too many of them...lol.) 🍰🍰🍰
--British accents (both listening to them and pretending to have one) ✈🚄🏰
--80s movies (both watching them and quoting them out of context while her friends frown in confusion) 🕶🎬🎥
--Pop music (both listening to it and singing it very, very badly in the car and/or shower) 🎵🎤🎵
Happy Reading! 😊❤📚
Chick Lit Shop 💖