After a string of bad blind dates goes horribly wrong, Olivia has given up on men. She has plenty to keep her busy in her little—slightly magical—small town, running the most popular bakery and coffee joint around.
But after a tall, dark, and handsome man comes to her rescue, she might just change her mind—until she finds out he's one of the town's resident werewolves.
Should Olivia stick to her resolve? Or take one last chance on finding true love?
My Blind Date is a Werewolf is a fun, quirky, and clean paranormal romance for all readers! It is the third book in the Love is Blind series, but each book can be read independently.
This is the third book in a newly released series with strong, steady sales.
It was a Tuesday night, and instead of curling up on the couch and reading the latest Eloisa James release with a nice glass of pinot grigio or getting myself in the mood for Halloween with a re-watch of Van Helsing followed by a binge re-watch of Castlevania, I’d decided to give this online dating thing one last go.
My date had not made a great impression thus far, and we hadn’t even met yet.
Timmy—the name alone was already a strike against him; any man over forty should have dropped such a diminutive nickname and used either his full name or just plain Tim by now—insisted that I be the one to drive over an hour to meet him in Beckford. And then, his choice of date venue was…well, not first-rate material. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with driving all the way to Beckford, but given the fact that Timmy (ugh!) was the one who asked me out first, shouldn’t he have been the one doing all the heavy lifting? I should have just said no.
Joe’s Steakhouse, really? I enjoy a juicy steak and baked potato as much as the next gal, but if he was trying to make a great impression, a rowdy family restaurant was not the way to go.
A sigh escaped me as I stared at my reflection in my compact mirror, trying to psych myself up for the night. Honestly, all I wanted was to go back home and relax. After being on my feet the entire day, forcing a smile on my face for customers, and getting my hands elbow-deep in dough, all I wanted was a quiet night in. I was fine with being a spinster—Oh, wait. Divorced women are not considered spinsters. But all the same, after my calamity of a marriage and track record of trainwreck blind dates behind me, I was content to have me, myself, and I for company until death do me apart. But apparently, my family and closest friends were not okay with this choice, hence me sitting in my car staring at the steakhouse with exhausted resignation.
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Hindi
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Already translated.
Translated by Chandrshekhar Shrivastava
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Eni Banda
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Joana Mendes
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Spanish
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Janire Asensio
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