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About Keep My Heart In San Francisco
Product Description Sparks fly when two ex-best-friends team up to save a family business in this swoon-worthy and witty debut perfect for fans of Jenn Bennett and Sarah Dessen. Caroline “Chuck” Wilson has big plans for spring break—hit up estate sales to score vintage fashion finds and tour the fashion school she dreams of attending. But her dad wrecks those plans when he asks her to spend vacation working the counter at Bigmouth’s Bowl, her family’s failing bowling alley. Making things astronomically worse, Chuck finds out her dad is way behind on back rent—meaning they might be losing Bigmouth’s, the only thing keeping Chuck’s family in San Francisco. And the one person other than Chuck who wants to do anything about it? Beckett Porter, her annoyingly attractive ex-best friend. So when Beckett propositions Chuck with a plan to make serious cash infiltrating the Bay Area action bowling scene, she accepts. But she can’t shake the nagging feeling that she’s acting irrational—too much like her mother for comfort. Plus, despite her best efforts to keep things strictly business, Beckett’s charm is winning her back over...in ways that go beyond friendship. If Chuck fails, Bigmouth’s Bowl and their San Francisco legacy are gone forever. But if she succeeds, she might just get everything she ever wanted. About the Author Amelia Diane Coombs writes books for young adults. Back in the day, she majored in English and went on to receive her MFA in Creative Writing. Now Amelia writes unlikable female protagonists, positive mental health representation, and swoony romances with soft boys. She's a Northern California transplant living in Seattle, Washington, with her partner and their Siberian cat. When she isn't writing or reading, Amelia happily fills her days beekeeping, playing card and tabletop games, hiking, and volunteering with cats. KEEP MY HEART IN SAN FRANCISCO is her debut novel. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One One I’M ELBOW-DEEP IN some dead lady’s clothes when a customer bowls a perfect game. Hidden from view, I’m kneeling behind the register as I finish cataloging my latest estate-sale finds, but I can hear the players whoop and holler. I take a deep breath, and the smell of Chanel No. 5 mixed with lavender-scented mothballs tickles my nostrils. My shift ends in five minutes, but now I have to run interference with a cocky high scorer asking for a free game and his name on the wall of fame. Okay, fame is pushing it, but people love having their name displayed for the world to see. Normally not an issue, right? Except a bowling alley like Bigmouth’s can’t go comping games. I sweep the vintage threads into the garbage bag and pop up just as the winner, a regular named Marty, saunters over from the lanes. I drop-kick the bag beneath the counter. “Congrats on the three hundred.” “Thanks. Sign says perfect games are on the house.” He slaps down the scored transparency. Three feet of counter stretch between us, yet my eyes water from Marty’s stale nicotine breath and criminal lack of deodorant. Ah, the aroma of Bigmouth’s remaining patrons. I side-eye the sign hanging crooked on the wall beside me. We really should’ve taken that down years ago, because Marty isn’t wrong. The refund is for the winning player’s entire group, which is a problem. My brain churns for another option because there’s not enough in the register to cover the sixty-two dollars the men paid for their games and shoes. Thursdays are league night at Bigmouth’s, but they’re only the second group of customers we’ve had all day. Before his break, Dad grabbed money from the register’s drawer for dinner. A lowly twenty-dollar bill remains in the drawer. Bigmouth’s is hemorrhaging cash. “We can give you a voucher for a free game next time,” I offer, grinding my molars. Technically, a voucher is an option. Not the most lucrative one. But Marty’s a regular, and I cross my fingers that he’ll just take the
