Beneath the Cedar and Ivy: Love & Secrets of Asheville, Book 4

With Christmas around the corner, Isabella Vandermonde discovers a stack of hidden letters in her grandmother’s attic, drawing her into a century-old rift that could finally heal her family’s scars.

But as she’s pulled closer to a dangerously irresistible man her family forbids, she must decide if the truth is worth the sacrifice it demands.

When Keanu Villarreal learns of her discovery, old rivalries ignite — and so does an undeniable attraction.

Drawn together by the need to understand their families’ past, Isabella must choose between settling the score for generations past or risking everything for a future she never imagined.

• Holiday
• Forbidden Love and Family Loyalties
• Tradition vs. Modernity
• Enemies to Lovers
• Opposites Attract
• Forced Collaboration
• Historical Mystery and Revelations
• Romantic Suspense
• Family Legacy and Heritage

A holiday market. The thought dug in, refusing to let go no matter how I tried to dismiss it. It felt alive, a spark waiting for a match, something bold and maybe a little audacious. And, if it happened to ruffle some Villarreal feathers in the process, well… all the better.

Just as I turned toward the curb where I’d parked my car, I collided with something — no, someone, warm and solid as a stone wall. My shoulder jolted, my footing wobbled, and I let out a soft gasp before finally steadying myself. I looked up, startled.

Keanu Villarreal.

There he was, standing in front of me like stepped out of some rugged movie scene, his broad shoulders swallowing the narrow doorway, his dark brown eyes meeting mine with the kind of calm you’d expect from a mountain, solid and unwavering. Those eyes, deep and earthy, held mine a moment too long, scanning my face as if measuring my reaction.

Up close, he seemed taller than I remembered from our rare encounters around town, his olive skin warm under the sunlight. His dark hair was a little tousled, as if he’d just come from that sleek motorcycle of his — the black BMW R 18 that, for all its sleek aggression, probably purred like a well-trained beast under his command. He wore a leather jacket, the sleeves pushed up to reveal a leather bracelet snug around his wrist, an unexpectedly soft detail against all that rough, broad muscle.

“Vandermonde,” he greeted, his voice low and steady, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk — not friendly, not hostile, but something in between. More like a challenge, something he was daring me to respond to.

I stiffened, finding my voice and willing it to sound unaffected. “Villarreal.” My fingers tightened around the handles of my bags, and I forced myself to step around him, my heart hammering as I brushed past his solid frame. I didn’t dare look, but I felt his gaze trailing me.

“Excuse me,” I managed as coolly as I could, aiming my focus on my car and the promise of forgetting all about this little encounter. But the image of him, standing there with that unbothered confidence and that faint, teasing smirk, lingered at the edge of my thoughts.

I marched to my car, determined to ignore the way my pulse was racing. As I tossed the bags into the passenger seat, I remembered Julie’s encouragement, and maybe even saw everything in a new light. A holiday market could be more than just a business move. It could make a statement, one as bold as Keanu Villarreal and his smirk.

Back in the attic, I looked at the scattered letters with new eyes. Something about this project felt right, as if the pieces of a long-dormant plan were finally falling into place. I carefully gathered the letters, knowing they’d require closer examination.

“Well, Grandmother,” I said to the quiet attic, “I think I’ve found my next challenge.”

The dust motes continued their dance in the fading light, and somewhere in the distance, I could have sworn I heard the echo of my grandmother’s approving laugh.