Beauty and the Mustache
by Penny Reid
Publication Date: August 28, 2014
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Synopsis
There are three things you need to know about Ashley Winston: 1) She has six brothers and they all have beards, 2) She is a reader, and 3) She knows how to knit.
Former beauty queen, Ashley Winston’s preferred coping strategy is escapism. She escaped her Tennessee small town, loathsome father, and six brothers eight years ago. Now she escapes life daily via her Amazon kindle one-click addiction. However, when a family tragedy forces her to return home, Ashley can’t escape the notice of Drew Runous— local Game Warden, bear wrestler, philosopher, and everyone’s favorite guy. Drew’s irksome philosophizing in particular makes Ashley want to run for the skyscrapers, especially since he can’t seem to keep his exasperating opinions— or his soulful poetry, steadfast support, and delightful hands— to himself. Pretty soon the girl who wanted nothing more than the escape of the big city finds she’s lost her heart in small town Tennessee.
This is a full-length novel, can be read as a standalone, and is the fourth book in the 'Knitting in the City' series.
Former beauty queen, Ashley Winston’s preferred coping strategy is escapism. She escaped her Tennessee small town, loathsome father, and six brothers eight years ago. Now she escapes life daily via her Amazon kindle one-click addiction. However, when a family tragedy forces her to return home, Ashley can’t escape the notice of Drew Runous— local Game Warden, bear wrestler, philosopher, and everyone’s favorite guy. Drew’s irksome philosophizing in particular makes Ashley want to run for the skyscrapers, especially since he can’t seem to keep his exasperating opinions— or his soulful poetry, steadfast support, and delightful hands— to himself. Pretty soon the girl who wanted nothing more than the escape of the big city finds she’s lost her heart in small town Tennessee.
This is a full-length novel, can be read as a standalone, and is the fourth book in the 'Knitting in the City' series.
Review Re-View
I loved this book so much I couldn't wait for the blog tour to review it. I loved this book so much I'm going to repeat my review here.
It shouldn't surprise me anymore when I read the latest book by Penny Reid and I love it. Beauty and the Mustache, even by Penny Reid standards, is something extraordinarily special. This book is a romance in the true sense. We get to see two people fall in love with each other and we fall in love with them in the process. There are definitely moments of the humor that fans of the Knitting in the City series have come to expect so I did get to laugh out loud with the ladies from the knitting group. But this book is different from the first four. It may sound twee but I laughed, I cried, I had all the feels.
This is Ashley's story. Just as she did with Janie, Elizabeth, and Sandra, Penny writes amazing women. All too often at the end of a romance novel it's the guy who really stands out, that readers talk about. That's not to say that I don't adore the men in the Knitting in the City books, but the women are wonderful, smart, funny, fully realized characters in romances in a way that we don't find as often as I wish we did. Ashley left her Tennessee home 8 years ago to escape her family and the small town in which she grew up. She has made a life for herself she is rightfully proud of in Chicago. Having to return to Tennessee to help care for her ill mother, she reconnects with her brothers and meets Drew, who has become an honorary member of her family. The beauty of this book is how Penny has layered all the aspects of Ashley's return home - the relationship with her mother and emotional struggle of dealing with a dying parent, learning about the men her brothers have become and rebuilding those neglected relationships, dealing with the memories and emotions of coming home to a place she was so desperate to leave 8 years before, recognizing, processing and accepting the complicated feelings she develops for Drew - and dealt with all them to perfection.
Ashley has always been one of my favorite members of the knitting group. I can't really say why, but I am always happy when she shows up in a scene, so her book was one I was really looking forward to. Penny's choice for making Ashley's story more serious than the previous books worked perfectly. Ashley has the soul of a poet and the depth of her story is a wonderful fit.
Drew. I love Drew. A Viking philosopher poet mountain man. Ok. That sounds like it couldn't really work but it just really, really does. He's a reader, deep thinker, Nietzche quoter, soulful, poetic to his core, fictionally handsome good guy who loves Ashley the way she needs to be loved. He's the kind of hero that makes a romance novel an actual romance. The desire, the internal struggle, the doing-the-right-thing-for-the-woman-you-love. Classic romantic hero.
The Winston Boys, Ashley's six bearded hillbilly brothers. Another aspect of Penny's writing that can be taken as a given is that her secondary characters ... well, they don't seem secondary. It's easy to give someone six brothers, give them similar physical descriptions and populate the story with them and some hijinks. By the end of the book you may not be able to really tell one from the other except by describing what they look like. Penny loves us, and her characters, too much to do that. Ashley's brothers, Jethro, Billy, Cletus, Beauford, Duane, and Roscoe, are all fully realized, unique characters. You know them by their personalities, their different reactions, their ways of speaking. They don't feel secondary. There is nothing filler or fluff about Penny's writing. Each character brings something necessary to the story and this includes each one of the Winston boys, all of whom I want to hang out with. I want to populate my world with the characters in Penny Reid's books!
The knitting ladies can't be left out of this because just as her brothers and her momma are her family, so are the ladies from Chicago, and their husbands. The ladies in the knitting group are, as always, there for each other. What we see now is how their spouses are really part of the mix as well. I think Quinn talks more in this book than in Friends Without Benefits and Love Hacked COMBINED! And Fiona's husband, Greg, even makes an appearance. Yay! There really are no secondary character, just characters who may not be at the center of things at the moment.
Beauty and the Mustache is a beautiful book - the writing, the story, the characters. I know it will be one of those books I go back to again and again to lose myself in it. Penny Reid as outdone herself with this one, and proven that she is a consummate story teller.
An Excerpt!!!!
I began bellowing as soon as I crossed the threshold. “I swear to the
god of moonshine, I am going to pinch your nipples straight off your chest!”
Without a second thought, I reached my hand in the open driver’s side
door of the charger and twisted the nipple within reach. I did this with
relish, the gleefully vindictive kind, not the pickle kind. I also gripped the
roof of the car with my other hand for leverage in case Cletus tried to push me
away.
“Ow! What the…?”
A string of impressive expletives arose from the car. A large and
powerful hand gripped mine and ripped it away from the male chest.
I gasped. This was for several reasons, not the least of which was that
Cletus didn’t know the equivalent word for fuck
in Latin, nor did any of my brothers.
Therefore, this person whose nipple I’d just assaulted was most
definitely not my brother Cletus.
A shot of adrenaline coursed down my spine, my eyes widened with shock,
and I tried to unsuccessfully wrench my hand away. The fingers that held me
were punishing; with one fluid motion the occupant stood from the driver’s
seat, twisted my arm behind my back, and brought my body flush against his.
He was breathing hard.
I was breathing harder.
I stared at him.
The occupant stared back.
Gray-blue eyes, almost silver, held mine in a vice grip of anger and
surprise. I felt an electric bolt, like I’d been tazered in the stomach. Other
than a very slight shadow of wonder, he wore an expression that would have made
a thunderstorm proud.
As well, he was so ruggedly sexy I’m sure my mouth fell open to protest
the unfairness of his existence. Luckily, no sound emerged. I was too busy
oscillating between stunned, mortified, and turned on.
This man was definitely not one of my brothers.
Another Excerpt!!!
“Go on then.” Elizabeth’s mouth hooked to the side. “Dig in.”
I opened the mouth of the bag wider and began pulling out items.
I found the pillow from my bed, candles, chocolate, tea, wine, more
wine, my two favorite paperback romance novels, new yarn—and a vibrator.
“What…?” I looked at the vibrator; blinked at it, and I lifted my eyes
to Sandra’s. “What’s this?”
“It’s a vibrator. Haven’t you ever seen a vibrator before?”
“Yes, Sandra, I’ve seen a vibrator before. Why in tarnation did you
bring me a vibrator?”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?”
“No.”
“It’ll help,” she said simply.
I stared at her for a long moment then rolled my eyes. “It figures that
you would bring me a vibrator. You are completely wack-a-doodle-doo.”
“Wait a minute, if you must know, it was Janie’s idea.” She raised her
hands in surrender like she wanted to keep me from launching into a tirade.
Sandra was referring to our mutual friend and knitting group compatriot, Janie
Sullivan. Janie was an Amazonian Princess-sized walking, talking version of
Wikipedia. She was also completely oblivious to the obvious. This combination
made her infuriatingly endearing.
“She read a study—which she shared with me—about how going through the
death of a…of a parent is less stressful for people who are married or in a
serious relationship, presumably because of the comfort they receive from their
significant other. Part of that, Janie reasoned, and I agreed, is definitely
orgasms. Also, I packed you condoms—lots of them, all different sizes. Believe
me when I say that having the different sizes comes in really handy. No pun
intended.”
I sputtered for a few seconds then managed to finally say, “You’re off
your rocker, and Janie is nuts. You’re both cracked nuts.”
“I would have brought a life-sized cut-out of Charlie Hunnam, but this
one,” Sandra indicated to Elizabeth with her head, “thought it would be
awkward.”
I interjected, “Wack-a-doodle-doo!”
Just then, a rooster crowed in the yard, as though to echo my insult. We
ignored it.
Elizabeth crossed her arms in a defensive stance. “It would be awkward.
And, technically, it was larger than the allowable size for checked bags and
carry-on luggage.”
And A Third Because I Like You!!!!
“Fine. You want to know my type?”
He half nodded, half shrugged, but his eyes were bright and betrayed his
interest. “Sure.”
“Okay.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “My type has a romantic soul.
He’ll make my brain and my heart fight over who gets him first. He does what’s
right, even when it’s not easy—actually, especially
when it’s not easy. He knows the value of discipline, education, honor, and
restraint. And his strength of character is the only thing that outweighs the
strength of his love for me.”
Drew’s eyes flickered across my face as I spoke. The earlier sobriety in
his gaze sharpened; otherwise, he held perfectly still.
I readied myself to be mocked. But it didn’t come.
Several seconds passed during which we regarded each other like two wary
statues. The air grew thick and my neck itched; it felt like a pressing weight
on my shoulders. But the heaviness was weighted with a meaning I was likely too
tired and aggravated to process.
When I could take no more of his steady silent stare, I added, “That’s
my type. You know, fictional.”
I didn’t miss his wince or the way his shoulders bunched at my use of
the word fictional, which he found so offensive. I surmised fictional was his least favorite f-word.
In response, I gave him a rueful smile.
“Fictional,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone.
I nodded. “That’s right. Fictional.”
“You think no man exists who has honor?”
“You tell me, Nietzsche.”
He wrinkled his nose as though my words gave him a bad taste in his
mouth. “Nietzsche wasn’t opposed to honor. He wanted people to challenge established
societal norms that suffocate individuality and freedom.”
I shook my head, annoyed that I was now forced to quote Nietzsche.
“Okay, you give me no option, Drew. Here’s Nietzsche, and I quote: ‘To strive
for honor means to make oneself superior and wish that that also be publicly
evident. If the first is lacking and the second nevertheless desired, one
speaks of vanity. If the latter is lacking and not missed, one speaks of
pride.’ Nietzsche equated honor with pride and vanity.”
Drew stared at me, his eyes filled with wonder. “How did you…?”
“Of course you’re surprised.
You think women are cows.” While he was distracted, I picked up my fork and
nabbed a large bite of his pecan pie. It was good pie, and if he wasn’t going
to eat it then I would.
Just for fun, I said, “Moo.”
At length Drew released a long-suffering sigh that ended with a laugh.
He shook his head, staring at me like I was a fascinating new species. I liked
how his white teeth were framed by his lips and beard when he grinned. I hated
that I noticed.
“Your ability to quote Nietzsche verbatim is incredibly annoying,” he
finally admitted.
“Is it?” I lifted my eyebrow and stole another bite of his pie, pausing
before I stuffed my face to say, “Or is it fantastic?”
“It’s fantastic…” he mumbled, his eyes lowering to my
mouth, “…and sexy.”
Also in the Series:
About Penny Reid
SEX! It all started with sex, between my parents. Personally I don’t like thinking about it, but whatever works for you is a-ok with me. No judgment. The sex happened in California and much of my life also occurred in that state until I moved from the land of nuts (almonds), wine, silicon… boobs, and heavy traffic to the southeast US. Like most writers I like to write, but let’s get back to sex. Eventually I married and gave birth to 2 small people-children (boy-6, girl-4 as of this writing).
By day I’m a biomedical researcher with focus on rare diseases. By night I’m a knitter, sewer, lino block carver, fabric printer, soap maker, and general crafter. By the wee hours of the morning or when I’m intoxicated I love to listen to the voices in my head and let them tell me stories. I hope you enjoy their stories.
