Excerpt Lost and Found by Elle Casey

Aug 192019
 

Lost and Found (Love in New York #1) by Elle Casey

Sometimes engagement rings can get lost and then found. Sometimes people can too. All it takes is a heavy-duty dose of karma and the magic of Manhattan to make it all come together.

Leah is a financially destitute new age hippy. James is a wealthy surgeon with a trust fund. She’s awkward, he’s poised. She’s completely crazy, he’s way too sane. People might say they have nothing in common, but they’d be wrong. They both live in Manhattan, they both have no idea how to change a baby diaper, and they’re both lost … until they find one another.

Excerpt Lost and Found (Love in New York #1) by Elle Casey

Leah.

I’m still feeling like a Disney princess when I leave the store mid-afternoon and head to the subway. I only work half-days because that’s all Belinda can afford, and usually that stresses me out on account of the fact that I make almost no money, but today, I’m perfectly fine with it. The sun is shining, my favorite fountain is working and sending white water splashing all over the place, and …

“Shiiit!” I yelp, slipping on the sidewalk and nearly busting my ass in the process. I’m saved by my ninja-esque skills as I grab the edge of a garbage can affixed to the concrete next to the street. I hang there for a couple seconds until I can get my feet under me again.

“Oh, man, that’s some bad luck right there,” says a guy who’s walking past and looking at the reason for my near-fall.

I cringe as I stand up and realize I’ve slipped on a dog turd. Literally. It’s a poop right there on the ground.

“Who didn’t clean up after their dog?!” I yell, for some reason imagining that the perpetrator is still hanging around the scene of the crime, when I know perfectly well he stopped, plopped, and ran. “This isn’t Paris, you know!”

I’ve heard there’s dog poop all over the sidewalks there, but here in New York, people usually take care of their doggie-business. Unfortunately, my head was too full of dreams of re-designing Belinda’s place to realize where my feet were placing themselves.

“What the hell am I going to do now?”

I look down the sidewalk and notice a man with a hot dog cart up ahead, and an idea-lightbulb goes on above my head. Hot dog carts have lots of napkins. Score.

As I start to hobble over, an alarmed expression comes over the vendor’s face and he starts shaking his finger at me.

“Oh, no, lady, no no. No doggy stuff for me. No, not for me. Not for you. No, no.” For some reason his horrible accent is making this worse. His hand becomes a stop sign. “You go away!”

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