To go for it or not to go for it? That is the question when two former high school flames return to their Shakespeare-obsessed hometown for a summer of theater and unexpected romance, in a laugh-out-loud rom-com from debut author Jessica Martin.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from For the Love of the Bard by Jessica Martin, which is out June 28th 2022!
Literary agent and writer Miranda Barnes rolls into her hometown of Bard’s Rest with one goal in mind: to spend the summer finally finishing her YA novel, the next installment in her bestselling fantasy series. Yet Miranda’s mother, deep in the planning stages for the centennial of the town’s beloved annual Shakespeare festival, has other ideas.
Before you can say “all’s fair in love and war,” Miranda is cornered into directing Twelfth Night–while simultaneously scrambling to finish her book, navigating a family health scare, and doing her best to avoid the guy who broke her heart on prom night.
When it comes to Adam, the veterinarian with a talent for set design and an infuriating knack for winning over Miranda’s dog, the lady doth protest too much. As any Shakespeare lovers knows, the course of true love never did run smooth, and soon Miranda realizes she’ll have to decide whether to trust Adam with her heart again.
“You are a furry jerk face,” I informed Puck as we drove back down the tire-eating road. He was lucky that Dr. Walter Winters, the kindly local vet who had tended all of my pets over the years, would know what to do with a dog who clearly had a gastronomical death wish.
Puck had bounded into my life via a former roommate who worked at an animal shelter. Sam often brought home some of what she charitably called “the special cases” until she could place them with people who she knew wouldn’t return them. One such specimen was an impish pup who invaded our apartment one Christmas Eve and consumed all of our toilet paper and stockings before Sam could even get her jacket off. Full of Charmin and yarn, the little jerk promptly curled up in my lap and commenced snoring. I only-half listened as Sam poured us each a mug of mulled wine and went off about the shallow state of humanity and the adopters who routinely passed over the shelter’s black animals. She needn’t have bothered. From that first Wookie snore, Puck was mine and I was his. I’d be damned if I’d let his gluttonous ways take him from me now.
Pulling into the driveway of the Winters’ Tail, we clambered out of the car, up the steps, and past the meticulously painted porch swing. The waiting room, which was more homey front parlor than seating area, was empty. Glancing at my watch, I realized it was after two. Damn it. Dr. Winters always closed up early on summer afternoons so he could golf at Guildenstern’s Greens. The receptionist must have forgotten to lock up. I reached for my phone to call Mom to see if she had Dr. Winters’ personal number so I could text him. Unlike most people who had helped Moses carry down the tablets from the mountain top, Old Man Winters was quite tech savvy.
“May I help you?” A voice that decidedly did not belong to Dr. Winters sounded from the back room. Out stepped someone in a white lab coat. A promising start. The man was tall, but not overly so, with a swimmer’s build and blond hair peeking out at odd angles from beneath a Sox hat.
“I’m looking for Dr. Winters. Do you have his number? I need to get in touch with him. My dog ate chocolate. And some macarons,” I added for posterity. “But it’s the chocolate I’m worried about.”
The man stepped around the counter and knelt by Puck. From this angle, I could see that under his coat he was sporting a blue and green checked flannel shirt that Ian would have coveted. The YA writer in me mentally revised the prior description of blond hair to caramel with golden wheat undertones. Shame that the hat was blocking his face.
Puck collapsed into his belly rub position and panted happily.
“How much chocolate did he ingest?”
“A half dozen chocolate turtles. I’m sorry to be rude,” I said to the man still rubbing my dog, “but I really need to speak to Dr. Winters.”
“I am Dr. Winters,” he replied amiably, his back still turned to me.
“Yeah, so last time I checked, Dr. Winters was a cuddly teddy bear of a man with a pack a day Werther’s Original habit. You are not him.” Taking several steps back, I glanced nervously around the waiting room. Maybe this guy was an intruder who’d murdered the real Dr. Winters and stashed him out back? Could I reach that crystal cannister full of dog treats on the counter and brain him with it before he realized I was on to him? I glanced quickly at Puck, who was completely oblivious to the potential danger. Honestly, my dog had no sense of self-preservation.
The imposter rose, turning to look at me square on, a thoroughly amused expression on his now upturned face. Only then did I glimpse the hazel eyes under the cap.
“Good to see you, Miranda.” Adam Winters, the son of the aforementioned cuddly vet, extended his hand.
I stared down at it as if he’d offered me one of Puck’s backyard deposits and took another step back. The murderous burglar scenario would have been preferable to this.
The good doctor’s smile, bright and friendly as it was, slid right off his face.
“Where’s your father?” I demanded, dropping all pretense of politeness.
“In St. Petersburg recovering from double bypass. Sending him out of state was the only way to ensure he wouldn’t come to work,” Adam said dryly.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered, my anger momentarily subsiding. “Is he okay?”
“He tried to talk my mother into letting him golf eighteen today. I think he’s going to make it. Despite his general disregard of all medical advice other than his own.”
“That’s good,” I said, more than a little relieved. I really liked Dr. Winters. Well, Dr. Winters the elder. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
“Miranda.” In those three syllables I heard the ask to be forgiven for a decade-old hurt.
I held up a hand without looking at him. “I’m good,” I replied in my Miranda the Frost Giant voice as I fumbled for Puck’s leash.
“The nearest animal hospital is twenty miles away. Please let me give him some hydrogen peroxide and an activated charcoal chaser. Given his size, I don’t think that amount of chocolate is going to do any lasting damage, but we should treat him right now and not take any chances. Okay?”
I looked at Puck, who gazed up at me with his soulful blue eyes, the sole mark of his Husky lineage. Shoulders slumping in defeat, I sighed. Who was I kidding? I’d have gladly sold a non-regenerating organ to ensure his well-being. I was not going to let something as silly as a devasting “girl done wrong on prom night” scenario get in the way of Puck’s health. I was a dog parent, damn it. “Okay,” I said and dialed back my chilly tone.
Excerpted from FOR THE LOVE OF THE BARD by Jessica Martin, published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2022
