Cherry Picked Sneak Peek
Relaunch Exclusive
Without giving myself a single second to overthink it—or to chicken out—I walked straight toward the fading brown loveseat where my girl was curled up like the world’s sweetest secret.
She didn’t see me at first. She was tucked into the corner with her knees pulled in, her worn copy of And Then There Were None perched delicately between her hands like it was something holy. Her lips moved silently along with the words. A little crease lived between her eyebrows, the kind of crease someone got when they were deeply invested, the kind of crease that made me want to kiss it away like I’d earned that right.
I stopped in front of her before my brain even caught up with the fact that I was moving. “One of us in this very room is in fact the murderer,” I half-whispered, dropping into the armchair across from her.
Smooth. Real smooth.
She jumped slightly—just a little startled inhale—and then her eyes lifted, locking onto mine with such intensity I swear I felt it physically, like a warm palm pressed against the middle of my chest.
Her round, smoky eyes smoldered as they connected with mine. Without missing a beat, she tilted her chin and replied, “Oh yes. I’ve no doubt in my own mind that we have been invited here by a madman—probably a dangerous homicidal lunatic.”
The way she giggled after delivering that line? I swear it rewired my entire soul. It wasn’t just cute. It was devastating. Bright and dimpled and warm, like laughter born from a place of genuine joy and mischief.
My heart didn’t stand a chance.
“I’m Chase.” I leaned in and extended my hand. She took it—and a shot of electricity raced up my arm so fast I nearly flinched. Her skin was soft, cool from holding the book, and her grip was confident in a way that told me she wasn’t shy.
“Nicolette,” she offered softly, “but everyone calls me Nikki. Nice to meet you, Chase.”
Nice to meet you?
No, ma’am. This was divine intervention.
Her smile spread slow and bright, crashing into me like a rogue wave. “You’re a Christie fan, I take it?” I tried to look relaxed—even though, inside, every cell in my body was vibrating. “You’re holding my favorite book.” I reached into my duffle bag, tugging out my own copy—held together with more scotch tape than dignity.
Her expression softened in a way I felt everywhere. “Isn’t it nice when a book recommends a person?”
My breath hitched.
Lord help me, she had a drawl. Not strong—just a hint. A whisper. Something familiar and warm. Something that tugged at my chest because it made her feel less like a stranger and more like someone I could’ve known in another lifetime.
“That it is,” I understood. “Not from around here, Nikki?”
Her pale lips puckered, eyes narrowing playfully. “Now, what could have ever given it away?”
I let my accent thicken, just a bit. “Ma’am, I think we’re both out of our element.”
She perked up, amusement dancing across her cheeks in a faint blush. “So, cowboy, what brings a Southern gent like you to the Big Apple?”
“Hockey.” The word hit the space between us, weighty and real.
I watched it register. Not judgment—just curiosity. Interest. Something bright flickered behind her eyes, and it wasn’t the kind I got when people recognized the uniform or the team logo. It was something softer. More personal.
“And what about you, darlin’?” I inquired, because I needed to know. Needed to hear her say it.
“Ballet.” The word slipped off her tongue with practiced ease, but the faint blush rising across her cheeks betrayed the confidence she was trying to project. She said it like she was confessing a secret—quiet, controlled, but hopeful I’d hear the soft pride tucked beneath it.
I swear time stuttered.
She didn’t see me at first. She was tucked into the corner with her knees pulled in, her worn copy of And Then There Were None perched delicately between her hands like it was something holy. Her lips moved silently along with the words. A little crease lived between her eyebrows, the kind of crease someone got when they were deeply invested, the kind of crease that made me want to kiss it away like I’d earned that right.
I stopped in front of her before my brain even caught up with the fact that I was moving. “One of us in this very room is in fact the murderer,” I half-whispered, dropping into the armchair across from her.
Smooth. Real smooth.
She jumped slightly—just a little startled inhale—and then her eyes lifted, locking onto mine with such intensity I swear I felt it physically, like a warm palm pressed against the middle of my chest.
Her round, smoky eyes smoldered as they connected with mine. Without missing a beat, she tilted her chin and replied, “Oh yes. I’ve no doubt in my own mind that we have been invited here by a madman—probably a dangerous homicidal lunatic.”
The way she giggled after delivering that line? I swear it rewired my entire soul. It wasn’t just cute. It was devastating. Bright and dimpled and warm, like laughter born from a place of genuine joy and mischief.
My heart didn’t stand a chance.
“I’m Chase.” I leaned in and extended my hand. She took it—and a shot of electricity raced up my arm so fast I nearly flinched. Her skin was soft, cool from holding the book, and her grip was confident in a way that told me she wasn’t shy.
“Nicolette,” she offered softly, “but everyone calls me Nikki. Nice to meet you, Chase.”
Nice to meet you?
No, ma’am. This was divine intervention.
Her smile spread slow and bright, crashing into me like a rogue wave. “You’re a Christie fan, I take it?” I tried to look relaxed—even though, inside, every cell in my body was vibrating. “You’re holding my favorite book.” I reached into my duffle bag, tugging out my own copy—held together with more scotch tape than dignity.
Her expression softened in a way I felt everywhere. “Isn’t it nice when a book recommends a person?”
My breath hitched.
Lord help me, she had a drawl. Not strong—just a hint. A whisper. Something familiar and warm. Something that tugged at my chest because it made her feel less like a stranger and more like someone I could’ve known in another lifetime.
“That it is,” I understood. “Not from around here, Nikki?”
Her pale lips puckered, eyes narrowing playfully. “Now, what could have ever given it away?”
I let my accent thicken, just a bit. “Ma’am, I think we’re both out of our element.”
She perked up, amusement dancing across her cheeks in a faint blush. “So, cowboy, what brings a Southern gent like you to the Big Apple?”
“Hockey.” The word hit the space between us, weighty and real.
I watched it register. Not judgment—just curiosity. Interest. Something bright flickered behind her eyes, and it wasn’t the kind I got when people recognized the uniform or the team logo. It was something softer. More personal.
“And what about you, darlin’?” I inquired, because I needed to know. Needed to hear her say it.
“Ballet.” The word slipped off her tongue with practiced ease, but the faint blush rising across her cheeks betrayed the confidence she was trying to project. She said it like she was confessing a secret—quiet, controlled, but hopeful I’d hear the soft pride tucked beneath it.
I swear time stuttered.
AUTHOR NOTE:
This new edition of Cherry Picked is part of my complete Shots on Goal relaunch—eight fully rewritten, expanded, and newly edited novels releasing together on January 30, 2026. All eight updated editions will be available for preorder as part of this special relaunch event. Thank you so much for being here and celebrating this next chapter with me.
This new edition of Cherry Picked is part of my complete Shots on Goal relaunch—eight fully rewritten, expanded, and newly edited novels releasing together on January 30, 2026. All eight updated editions will be available for preorder as part of this special relaunch event. Thank you so much for being here and celebrating this next chapter with me.