Spotlight & Giveaway: The Catch by Amy Lea

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Amy Lea’s new release: The Catch

A grumpy lobster fisherman tosses a fashion influencer’s impeccably curated life overboard in the next romantic comedy from international bestselling author Amy Lea.

In a last-ditch effort to rescue her brand from the brink of irrelevance, Boston fashion influencer Melanie Karlsen finds herself in a rural fishing village on the east coast of Canada. The only thing scarier than nature itself? The burly and bearded B and B owner and fisherman, Evan Whaler—who single-handedly disproves the theory that Canadians are “nice.”

After a boating accident lands Evan unconscious in the hospital, Mel is mistaken for his fiancée by his welcoming yet quirky family, who are embroiled in a long-standing feud over the B and B. In a bold attempt to mend family fences, Mel agrees to fake their engagement for one week in exchange for Evan’s help with her social media content.

Amid long hikes and campfire chats, reeling in their budding feelings for each other proves more difficult by the day. But is Mel willing to sacrifice her picture-perfect life in the city for a chance at a true, unfiltered love in the wild?

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from The Catch 

Without warning, the deep, thunderous growl of a vicious animal sounds behind me. Naturally, I yelp like I’m being brutally attacked, dropping my phone. Consider my motor skills zilch. As my phone hits the tattered welcome mat at my feet, I pivot, shoulders hunched, fists clenched, ready for blood.

***
Turns out, the growler isn’t a wild creature ready to tear my body limb from limb. It’s a mountain of a man. A thick plaid flannel button-down covers a barrel chest so broad I doubt I could wrap both arms around him and touch my fingertips. Not that I would dare get within a five-foot radius of someone whose hostile blue stare is so poisonous I think he could vanquish all his enemies with a single look.
His commanding presence freezes me in place. A foreboding sizzle zips through me as I take in the thick, unkempt ashy beard concealing his jawline, barely covering a surly, grim expression. Overgrown dirty blond hair wings out from under his faded and frayed Maple Leafs ball cap, which has seen better days.
“Who the hell are you?” His voice is gruff and terse, as if uttering anything beyond a single syllable is a herculean effort he’d rather not be bothered with.
My body betrays me with a bark of laughter. The moment it spills out of me, I hike my tote over my shoulder, righting my posture in a sad attempt to match his height on the staircase. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Your voice took me by surprise.”
He raises a thick, dark brow. “My voice?”
I blink. “It’s just so . . . deep.” I wave a hand, trying to unearth the words. “Kind of like an action movie bad guy?”
No response. Just a scowl.
“Um, is this the Whaler Inn?” I ask, despite the Whaler Inn information pamphlet displayed on the desk. Though based on the ad offering a quaint B and B that isn’t in the midst of renovations, it’s a fair question.
He widens his stance like he’s the loyal bodyguard of a young pop star at the height of their fame. “Who wants to know?” His narrowing gaze is so skeptical, I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing again.
“Um, me, obviously. I made a reservation. You’re not the owner, are you?” Frankly, I’d imagined a folksy, salt-and-pepper-haired couple in matching knit sweaters. They’d be in their seventies, though they’d intend to keep running the inn until the day they died (on the same day, of course), because it’s been in the family for millennia. Upon entry, I’d be offered fresh-baked banana bread and an assortment of senior citizen candies from a crystal bowl. I’d be charmed by their tendency to add an “Eh?” at the end of every sentence while they delighted me with tales of merciless northern winters past.
Conveniently, the Plaid Giant fails to confirm nor deny ownership. “You didn’t make a reservation,” he says matter of factly. That flannel is really doing overtime under the swell of his arms. He strikes me as the type who got those Thor-like muscles by doing honest work in the wilderness, trapping animals and hauling logs for the cabin he’s building miles from civilization because he clearly hates humanity.
“Actually, I did reserve. For a week.” Panicked, I bend over to pick up my phone, overturned on the floor at my feet. Crystal has long since hung up, though she’s tried to call back four times and sent multiple texts. I pull up the Airbnb email, brandishing the screen at him, as if he can read it from this distance with bionic sight.
A trace of a frown forms under that bushy beard. “Nope.”
It’s not like I want to stand here and argue, but I’ve had enough reservation mix-ups for one day. “I have my res right here.” I hold out my phone, extending my arm completely, which only results in a deeper scowl.
His frown doesn’t budge as he lumbers down the stairs, wood creaking under each heavy step. When he rounds the desk, I catch a whiff. I hoped he’d smell like wet dog or rotting garbage. But nope. Instead, his scent is rich and smoky, like campfire and maybe a hint of leather.
“Is it possible you didn’t see my reservation? It doesn’t really look like technology is your strong suit.” I wave a hand in the vague direction of the clunky laptop.
“Yeah, technology is real hard to come by for kidney-stealing ‘backroad Canadians,’” he grumbles, tapping his calloused finger on the counter impatiently as he waits for the laptop to boot up.
Unease settles along my spine as I mentally replay my call with Crystal. I definitely took my sarcasm a little too far.
I contemplate an apology, but before the words come to me, he grumbles something unintelligible and hunches over the keyboard. Whoever constructed this desk didn’t take someone of his height into consideration. He stabs at the keyboard with his index finger, squinting at the screen with effort. “You requested the reservation, but it wasn’t confirmed.”
Crap.
In all the stress, I was thrilled there was any availability at all. I completely forgot about awaiting confirmation from the host, aka this miserable man who single-handedly disproves the theory that all Canadians are nice.

Excerpted from The Catch by Amy Lea Copyright © 2024 by Amy Lea. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Excerpt. ©Amy Lea. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

Giveaway: 1 finished copy of THE CATCH (U.S. only, 18+)

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and post a comment to this Q: What did you think of the excerpt spotlighted here? Leave a comment with your thoughts on the book…

 
a Rafflecopter giveaway

 
 

Meet the Author:

Amy Lea is the international bestselling author of romantic comedies for adults and teens, including Mindy Kaling’s Book Studio selection Woke Up Like This. Her acclaimed works have been featured in USA Today, Entertainment Weekly, Cosmopolitan, Elle Magazine and has been long listed as a CBC Canada Reads finalist. They have also been optioned for film and sold to over a dozen foreign territories.
When Amy is not writing, she can be found fan-girling over other romance books on Instagram (@amyleabooks), eating potato chips with reckless abandon, and snuggling with her husband and two goldendoodles in Ottawa, Canada.

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/673411/the-catch-by-amy-lea/