Sarina Bowen's Blog, page 10

First Chapter: Counterpoint

That time Jeremy learned to adult (sort of)

“Good morning, honey bunches!” I fling open the door of Jamie and Briar’s apartment with as much flourish as I can come up with at 7:30 in the morning. Luckily, I’ve got skills in staying up all night and still functioning reasonably well the next day—and it’s a good thing I do. I completely lost track of time last night and ended up staying out until almost 2 a.m. Whoops. I promised Jamie I would be a good boy and get a full night’s rest before my first day at my new job. 

At least Jamie’s used to me breaking promises. Sometimes I’m amazed he’s still my best friend after living in the Burlington University dorms with me. Anyone else probably would have kicked my ass to the curb after the time I came into our room at 3 a.m. drunkenly singing “We Are the Champions” at the top of my lungs. But Jamie just rolled his eyes and joined in at the chorus. 

I’m still not sure how I got so lucky in the friend department.  

Briar Nord, Jamie’s boyfriend, looks up at me from the bowl of cereal he’s pouring. He grins wryly. “Morning, Jeremy. I had a feeling we were going to regret giving you that spare key.”

“Aww, sweetums, don’t be like that. I brought you a treat.” I whip a white paper bag out from behind my back. 

Briar’s eyes immediately light up. “Maple donuts? Gimme. And I take it back. You can have all the keys you want if you bring me donuts in the morning.”

I’m happy to pass over the bag. I had to go a little out of my way to get my morning coffee from The Maple Factory, Briar’s favorite bakery, but the look on Briar’s face right now makes the extra trip worth the trouble. Briar and Jamie have done a lot for me in the past month. After I got the phone call from my mom informing me that she was no longer going to “finance my playboy lifestyle,” as she put it, and that there was no way she was going to pay for me to stay in Vermont during the summer once I finished my junior year, I may have panicked a little. And by “panicked,” I mean I went on a drinking binge that ended with a lost wallet, a strained wrist, and a cute blond guy who kept trying to convince me we should get married. 

Again: whoops.

Jamie, Briar, and our friend Lexy were not impressed. But I maintain that my reaction was proportional to the problem. My mother was insisting I move back home to Connecticut for the summer. I’m pretty sure anyone faced with three months of Delia Everett’s disapproval and stern expressions would also start downing tequila shots.

Luckily, Jamie and Briar came to my rescue. Briar helped me land a sublet in the apartment above his and Jamie’s, and Jamie knew a law firm in Burlington hiring a receptionist and gofer boy. It doesn’t pay well, and since most of my money is going to go to rent, I’ll be a little more cash-poor this summer than I’m used to. But at least I’ll be in Burlington, VT, and not in Wellsford, CT, with a mom who thinks I’m wasting my life and never misses an opportunity to tell me so. 

“Good morning.” Jamie steps out of the bedroom and into the open living area of the apartment as he wipes sleep out of his eyes. He nods at me. “Oh, good. You’re up. I was going to run upstairs and knock on your door, just in case you stayed out all night or something.”

“Never,” I reply innocently, but Jamie knows me well. He just shakes his head and smiles.

“Well. You’re awake. And it looks like you’re showered and actually going to be at work on time for your first day. Frankly, Jeremy, I’m impressed.” He leans over to give Briar a good morning kiss on the cheek. 

“Plus, he brought donuts,” Briar replies with his mouth full. 

“And . . . .” I pull another bag out from behind my back and hand it to Jamie. “Crullers. Your favorite. Just for you, best bro. See how I stuck the landing there?”

Briar applauds. “Ten points from this judge.”

“Thank you.” I take a bow and pull out a chair to sit down at the tiny table across from Briar and Jamie. The two of them immediately start doing this thing I’ve noticed they do in the mornings. First, Jamie rubs at Briar’s hair a little while he kisses his cheek, and then Briar passes him a cup of tea that Jamie takes a sip of, and right after that, Briar nuzzles into Jamie’s neck again. Next, they kiss all gently before they nod at each other. Every morning I’ve seen them together since they moved into this apartment looks exactly the same. And somehow, I know they’re talking to each other the whole time, even though they’re not saying a word. 

I swore off committed relationships after my first and only real attempt at one went balls up during my freshman year at Moo U. (That’s what the locals call Burlington University—because of all the cows here. Not very original, but at least it’s accurate.) That choice was necessary and right, and, for the most part, I’ve never regretted it. Sometimes, though, Briar and Jamie make me wonder what I’m missing. They’ve been together for over a year now, since Jamie and I were sophomores, and they make being a couple look so easy. So good. Anyone who didn’t know the Netflix-level drama that came with them getting together would think they’ve always had the perfect relationship. They even met at a romance book club Briar started. Who actually meets the love of their life at a romance book club? 

Sometimes, it’s hard not to look at them and remember that I’ll never be able to have what they have. I can’t—it’s not possible. I’ve learned that lesson, and I mostly try not to dwell on it.  But whenever I see Jamie and Briar like this, I feel a tiny twinge in my stomach . . . and I can’t help wondering what life could be like if only things had worked out a little differently for me. 

“I’m proud of you, Jeremy,” Jamie tells me as he wipes cruller crumbs off his face. “That was a shitty bomb your mom dropped on you, but you handled it really well once we got the tequila bottle out of your hands. And maybe this will be good, you getting a real-world job and adulting with the rest of us this summer. Maybe you’ll like making your own money. Maybe you’ll even like working at the law firm.”

I tend to doubt that. Work and I have never had a very positive relationship. It gets in the way of play, and who wants that? I’m not a total asshole: I know I’m incredibly lucky and privileged to have gone this long in life without needing a real job beyond some temporary gigs here and there. My parents’ wealth isn’t something I don’t appreciate, especially since I spent the first two years of college watching Jamie work his ass off at multiple jobs while he was taking as many classes as I was. But there are so many beautiful things to see and experience out there in the world. Why sit behind a desk and miss out on them, I always figured, when I had the ability to enjoy them? 

I’m moving forward with a new outlook, though. I’ve got to hold down a job and pay my rent, and I still refuse to give up on all the wonderful experiences life has to offer. I made a promise to live my life to the fullest, and I’m determined to keep that promise. So last night, I stayed out until 2 a.m. and enjoyed the hell out of myself with some grad student I met at the Vino and Veritas bar, and I still got up when my alarm went off this morning.

See Mom? I whisper in my head. I know you think I’m a total fuck-up, but I can do this. 

At least Briar and Jamie like me the way I am. They always seem to. Even when they probably shouldn’t. 

Briar yawns and stretches. “Yeah. Maybe you’ll like this job, Jeremy. It’s cool that you get to work with Aaron.”

I choke on my sip of coffee. “I’m sorry? What the fuck did you just say?”

Briar looks concerned as he passes me a napkin to wipe up the liquid I just spit all over myself. “Uh, Aaron? Jamie’s brother? Who is also working at the law firm?” He and Jamie are both staring at me. I pull in a deep breath through my nose to try and quell the rising panic that’s circling in my chest. 

“Aaron?” I say as calmly as I can. “I thought he was in Boston. Isn’t he working at the same place he worked last summer?” Please let that be true. Please let me be misunderstanding something. 

Jamie shakes his head and pulls another cruller out of the bag I brought him. “No, everyone in our family thought that too. But then he surprised us. He said he’d rather be in Burlington this summer to be closer to us, and one of his friends at Harvard Law helped him get a clerkship here. That’s how I knew there was an opening for an admin position at his firm. He mentioned it to me.”

A million questions are swirling in my head. Does Aaron know I’m going to be working at his firm? Did he suggest this to Jamie? Will I have to see him a lot? Are we ever going to talk about that one night we never, ever talk about? Are things going to be as fucking awkward as they’ve been for the last fifteen damn months? 

Oh: and does he still remember all the things I stupidly told him that night? Those things I still can’t believe I let come out of my mouth? Those things that no one—not even his brother, my best friend—knows? 

I’m stuck on that question when Briar leans over to tap me on the arm. “Dude, are you okay? Does this have something to do with how weird you and Aaron have been around each other lately?”

The panic that’s been circling my lungs starts to do somersaults. “What are you talking about?” I ask, keeping my voice as even and cool as possible. “Aaron and I aren’t weird around each other.”

“Yeah, you are.” Jamie gets up to pour himself some more hot water before dropping another tea bag into his mug. “The three of us used to hang out all the time back when you and I were freshmen and Aaron was still at Moo U. And look, I know things got weird when he got into law school early and all that drama happened with my family. But that’s all been over for more than a year, and the two of you still barely even look at each other when Aaron’s home from Boston. What’s the deal?”

There are zero good ways to answer that question. I can’t blow Jamie off and tell him he’s imagining things, because he’s not. Aaron and I have been weird AF since he made up with his family last spring. I spend a lot of time with Jamie’s family, the Morins—partly because I’d rather be with them for holidays and weekends than deal with my mother, and partly just because I like them. They’re fun and accepting, and they’ve adopted me the same way they’ve adopted Briar. Being with them reminds me of what I left behind in Connecticut. They remind me of everything I lost, but usually not in a bad way. 

They remind me of the best days of my life. The days before everything went to shit and I resolved never to go back home. 

But whenever Aaron comes home for a family get-together or a holiday or whatever, he and I spend the entire time trying to look polite and chill and happy to see each other without actually having to get anywhere near each other. It’s a lot of work, honestly, and since work isn’t really my thing, I’ve started avoiding Aaron. I haven’t seen him since Christmas, when we both spent the day at the Morin farmhouse, and he nearly fell into the fireplace trying to get away from me during a game of charades.

I take one more breath and flash Jamie and Briar my best, most practiced smile. This is the same one I use when people ask me how my family is doing, or why I don’t go home very much, or tell me how nice it must be to have a trust fund and never have to worry about anything. Sometimes I see this smile in the mirror, and I wonder how anyone could ever fall for it: it doesn’t even look like it fits my face. But I’ve made an entire city believe it’s real, including my best friends. There’s no reason to believe it won’t work on Jamie and Briar now. 

“Aaron and I just aren’t as close as we used to be,” I say smoothly. “We haven’t talked that much since you two made up. It’s no big deal, okay? Working with him will be fine.” I make a show of checking my watch. “Better get going if I don’t want to be late.”

Jamie’s tilting one eyebrow at me, and Briar’s studying me a little more closely than I like as he takes another bite of donut. “Okay,” Jamie says slowly. “If you’re sure. But just so you know, I think Aaron’s a little nervous about this job. He tripped over the same bucket three times when we talked about it last night at the farm. And then he nearly brained himself with a milking machine.” 

I wince. Unfortunately, I am very familiar with Aaron’s ability to completely lose his coordination when he’s nervous. I’ll never forget the incident with the lamp on The Night We Do Not Mention. “So maybe help him out if you can,” Jamie adds. “I know this is your first job and all, but it’s not like you’re going to be nervous about work today.”

“Of course not,” I agree. Because he’s right. Why would I get nervous about the first day at a new job? Who cares? It’s just a job. Life’s too short to worry about impressing people, especially people you don’t know or care about. I’ll show up, I’ll answer phones, and I’ll play fetch for everyone in the office. The only thing that matters is that the lawyers like me enough to pay me. “I’ll do my best,” I add as I send Jamie and Briar another beaming smile. Briar’s still giving me that look he gives me sometimes, like he’s peering deep into my soul. I always have to make sure I’m not squirming in my chair when he stares at me like that. 

“Have a good day, Jeremy,” Briar finally says. “Good luck.”

“Thanks!” I grab a donut for the road and jet out of the apartment. My stomach’s swirling, though, and I end up having to set the donut down in the passenger seat of my car. 

Jamie’s right: I don’t get nervous about things like jobs. That’s not me. 

Unless I’ve just found out that my new job includes working with my best friend’s brother, the guy I had a one night stand with fifteen months ago. 

The only one night stand I’ve ever regretted. 

Once again: whoops.

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First Chapter: Wildfire

Kai

Then

The rain sizzles on the roof of the wrecked car. It’s a dark fall night on the deserted trail road, only fire from the burning Jeep lighting the inky sky.

Fire that grows with every step I take toward the edge of the steep hillside.

Every breath as heat burns my face, my shoulder, and the tips of my fingers as I stretch to reach the hand flailing from the smashed window. 

I’m not going to get there. And it’s not my fault, or even theirs, despite the stench of liquor staining the air. Sometimes bad choices are split-second decisions that last forever. But it’s not going to be that long for the three men trapped in this car. 

The Jeep starts to tip. 

I shout and move faster, feet slipping on the storm-soaked ground. Slimy grass and mud. I struggle for purchase. For balance. But I don’t find it. I trip and my knees hit the dirt, bone crunching rock. Another shout tears from my chest, but it’s drowned out by the groan of struggling metal. 

By screaming. 

The car falls. I watch it tumble and flip, taking the sound of rain on the rooftop with it, and the eyes of the souls I can’t save.

In a split second, they’re gone, and I don’t think. I don’t breathe.

I jump.

And I land in a hell pit that will last me a lifetime.

* * *

Now

I’ve always been good with my hands. Better than I am with my brain, which is just as well, as my brain’s been kinda broken for a while.

“Not broken, dude. Just tired.”

Thanks, Tanner. But my newfound BFF isn’t here right now. It’s just me and the poky kitchen in V&V, the bougie wine bar he runs. The kitchen I’m rushing to get finished for a chef he’s yet to employ.

Either way, I push on, and my hands seem to work of their own accord, hammering, tiling, sanding. Maybe I’m not good with them at all. Maybe they’re just better than me, and I got lucky at creation. They didn’t have the crappy ones I deserved, and I got a fuckin’ upgrade.

Strange thoughts for a Wednesday afternoon, but I’ve accepted that life is a strange thing. A year ago, I spent my summers with the wind in my face, dirt beneath my fingernails, and the Vermont sun beating down on my bare skin. 

These days, I prefer the dark. Except at night, when I’m supposed to. Because, you know, that would be too convenient.

Too normal.

Stop it. I take a breath, inhaling the familiar scent of the construction I’ve immersed myself in since Tanner gave me a job to get me off his couch and back into the real world. The land of the living. The land where people leave the house every day and walk down the street without their fucked up brain transporting them somewhere else.

You’re not fucked up. 

True story. 

Deep down, I know there’s nothing unique about what happens to me on a daily basis. I’m not ashamed. If anyone asks me why I’m shaking as I push through the crowds on Church Street, I’ll tell ’em. But the trouble with being Mr. Open About My Mental Health is that people talk to me like I’m made of fuckin’ glass.

Or they hide from me. I’m a big, brawny dude. I’m not supposed to cry when I can’t sleep. Or cry when I do. Whatever. My honesty trips people out.

All except a handful of freaks and geeks like me.

“There you are.” My favorite bartender skips into my peripheral, all bouncy curls and huge eyes. 

Molly. 

Man, I love this chick. She’s better than a Xanax any day of the week.

I sit up from the sink pipes I’ve been working on all day. This building is old. Some days it seems like I fix one thing and another breaks, and I feel that shit. The symbolism. The irony. But none of it matters while Molly’s dancing in front of me. She’s so fuckin’ cute. In another life, I’d have dated the shit out of her. But she’s twenty-one and full of life, and I’m careening towards thirty with nothing but insomnia for company. “What’s cookin’, sweetheart?”

She grins. “You’re a charmer, Fletcher.”

“I try. You need me for something?”

“Just your pretty smile.”

“Now who’s the charmer?”

“I’m practicing,” Molly tells me seriously. “I have a date tonight, and I’m trying to flirt without blushing.”

“How’s that going for ya?”

“You tell me, hot stuff.”

She almost pulls it off. Then she giggles, the flush comes in hard, and we both laugh, because this chick is ditzy sunshine in a Moo U hockey jersey, and whoever lucked out to score a date with her had better give her the damn moon.

Molly’s laughter fades. “I came to tell you there’s a delivery here, actually. The flirting was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“Delivery?” I eye the door. I’m not expecting anything else for the kitchen. Most of the equipment is already installed. It’s just the plumbing I’m wrestling with. Or maybe I’m stalling. I don’t know where life is gonna take me when the work at V&V is done, and I like it here.

“It’s a smoker,” Molly says.

“Barbecue?” That perks me up. I’ve spent nine hours a day in this kitchen for weeks now, and yet somehow, my fragmented mind still drifts through mealtimes like a maple leaf in a breeze. I forget I’m hungry till I’m pass-the-fuck-out ravenous.

“It’s not that big.” Molly peers back through the open door. “You’d never get a whole hog in there.”

Couldn’t swing a hog in this kitchen either, so I’m relieved about that. I scan the space, already redesigning the layout to fit whatever’s about to come through the door, but as it turns out, the mental effort is unnecessary. Molly disappears and comes back with a box that’s heavy enough to bend her slender arms, but barely big enough for a pork butt.

I take it off her and set it on the counter, kind of disappointed that Tanner isn’t morphing this place into a beer and ribs shack. I mean, I drink the wine he passes across the bar sometimes, because booze is booze is booze, but given the choice, I’d rather drown myself in Goldenpour. “Damn, that really isn’t big enough for a whole hog. What’s it for?”

“Ask the new guy.”

“What new guy?”

“Tanner found a chef.”

News to me, but I’ve been busy. So busy. Building the kitchen, avoiding my meds, and losing staring competitions with Tanner’s living room ceiling when I have a perfectly good bedroom in the apartment next door. Trying to stay sane is a full-time job.

You are sane. Just sick. Be kinder to yourself. It helps, I promise.

Tanner’s voice has been a constant in my brain for months now, even when he’s not in the room, and I love him for the brick wall of support he’s been since he scraped me from my own kitchen floor, but heck, I wish I didn’t need his semi-regular pep talks to survive.

A heavy sigh escapes me.

Molly slips her arm through mine. She doesn’t say anything, and I’m grateful, but the silence gets under my skin too. I drop a platonic kiss to her auburn curls and pull away. “Guess I should go meet this chef dude. Check I’ve put all this stuff in the right place.”

“He’s not here yet. Jax bought him the smoker as a gift for when he comes tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe you should go see Tanner anyway, though.” Molly’s round-eyed stare intensifies, and I swallow another sigh big enough to turn my belly into a hot-air balloon. Lord only knows what my face is doing to make her say shit like that to me.

Me? I don’t want to know. I want a shower and an evening that doesn’t end in me creeping across the hall to sleep on my buddy’s couch because my empty apartment scares me.

Damn it, I want a life.

I need a life.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

I brush Molly off and make for the door. “Nah, Mols. I’m good. Have fun on your date, yeah? But tell that dude I’ll kick his ass if he’s not the perfect gent.”

“You think I can’t kick a man’s ass, Kai?”

“No, sweetheart. I think you shouldn’t have to.”

I leave her and hurry through the bar, already busy with the happy-hour crowd. No one notices me, and I’m glad of it. Once upon a time, I was a people person. Now it feels like every pair of eyes can see into my soul, sense the phantom burning in my chest, and I hate it so fuckin’ much. Tanner says it passes, but it’s been months. Sooner or later, it’ll be a year, and then what?

Keep going. One day at a time.

Easy for him to say, he’s got Jax, and it’s his voice I hear first when I finally reach the stairs and hightail it to the top. He’s laughing, and Tanner is too, and I gotta tell you, my guy didn’t laugh that much before his Cornish husband swept him off his feet.

Their apartment door is open, and I walk right in, drawn to them, as ever, because they’re in love, and it’s beautiful, and I like beautiful things. Also, I’m fairly sure they’re not boning right now. I learned that lesson the, uh, hard way.

More than once.

Tanner pushes Jax onto the bed, face down, caging him with his ripped thighs and—

Nope. Not today, you strange and fucked up brain.

I push the image away and catch their words instead. They’re still laughing, but Tanner seems exasperated, the beginning of a scowl twisting his handsome face. “You already told me all this. You don’t have to remind me he’s a bit fucking different every time he comes up in conversation.”

“I’m not reminding you,” Jax argues. “Just making sure you know what’s coming. I know it’s worth the crazy days and broken crockery, but you gotta see it to believe it.”

Tanner makes a disgruntled sound.

I pick my moment and rap my knuckles on the door to the living space. “Knock-knock.” 

They’re in the kitchen. Tanner is at the stove and Jax is leaning over the counter, disguising how tall he is. As tall as his husband, though Tanner has twenty pounds on him. The guy is stacked. Honestly, if I wasn’t six-four, these bros would make me feel small. “Your smoker arrived,” I tell them. “I left it downstairs, but I can bring it up if you want.”

Tanner and Jax exchange a look, and Tanner kills the flame beneath the burner. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“The smoker?”

“No, the kitchen it’s going in.”

“You want a progress report, boss?”

Tanner grins a little. “Not unless something dramatic has happened since we spoke this morning.”

“You’re shit out of luck if you were relying on that for entertainment.”

“He’s got me for entertainment,” Jax banters. “He’s the unluckiest bloke in the world.”

Tanner rolls his eyes. “All right, all right. Can we cut this short by agreeing you’re both idiots?”

Pigs will fuckin’ fly before Tanner says those words and means them. About Jax, at least. And I’d rather he thought I was an idiot than a basket case, so I let it slide and give him my full attention.

He takes a breath. “We found a chef.”

“Molly told me.”

“She did?”

“Yup. When the itty-bitty smoker arrived.”

“What else did she tell you?”

A frown pleats the skin between Tanner’s dark brows.

I match it. Not on purpose, it just fuckin’ happens. My grandma says I’m an empath like her. I say she’s cray-cray with a side of too much blow in the seventies, but still. Tanner is an emotive guy. It’s hard not to absorb his moods. “Something I should know about this dude?”

“Only good things.” Jax straightens and slides into Tanner’s orbit, nudging him. “Tanner’s freaking out because Joss is gonna need somewhere to live while he’s here and I kinda told him he could live with you.”

“You did?”

Jax winces a little. “Remember that night a couple of weeks ago when Molly cracked the IPA keg and we had to drink it all before it went bad?”

“Your wedding party?”

“It wasn’t a party,” Tanner gruffs. “You guys have no fucking chill.”

“Anyway,” Jax continues before Tanner can get pissy that his staff went on a bender to celebrate the fact that he eloped on the other side of the world. And that a whole keg of craft IPA paid a price that Jax enjoyed a little too much. “I was talking with Harrison that night about the remodeling, and I had a world-changing idea. I called an old mate and blurted out that he could be your roomie before Tanner had a chance to talk to you about it.”

“So it’s a done deal?” My voice sounds distant, and it’s my turn to cringe. I’m not upset that they made a decision without pandering to me. Me living here…it was a favor from Tanner in the first place. A fuckin’ lifeline. I can’t be mad that the earth keeps turning.

“It’s not a done deal.” Tanner rounds the counter and gets all up in my space. “It’s an idea that makes sense on a practical level since the renovations gave your place an extra bedroom. It doesn’t have to happen. He can live with us for the summer.”

“The summer?”

“It’s not permanent,” Jax says. “Joss never stays in one place longer than a couple months. Gets itchy feet and fucks off into the sunset.”

Joss. I file that away and try to catch up with everything else they’re saying. Match it to the reality of how we all live.

I focus on Tanner. “You only have one bedroom, bro. You’re gonna make this guy sleep on your couch?”

“It’s not the worst place to kip,” Jax says. “I spent a few weeks on it before Tanner cast his spell on me.”

He doesn’t need to tell me how the lumpy couch in the undecorated living room is a sanctuary. I know it. I slept on it last night. And that’s why Tanner’s staring a hole into the side of my head. He knows wherever this arrangement lands it’s gonna fuck with me, because I’m such a messy human that my bullshit stretches over two apartments. “It’s fine.” The words rush out. “He can sleep wherever he wants. It’s not like I don’t have other options if it doesn’t work out.”

Tanner shakes his head. “You aren’t ready to hole up in your fucking wilderness shack, Kai. If you and Joss don’t mesh, we’ll figure it out. This is your home as long as you need it to be, and that isn’t going to change.”

Sweet of him to say, but the cheap apartment above V&V isn’t my home. It’s a care package he pulled together when he caught my mental-health implosion before I did. “It’s fine, dude. Honest. Maybe we’ll become BFFs enough that you don’t have to babysit me anymore.”

“Kai—”

“It’s fine.” I’m not a snappy kind of guy. Call me lazy, but I’ve never seen the point when a smile is so much easier. But I haven’t been myself for a while and the Fletcher growl falls out of me before I can stop it. Fuck, I sound like my dad. Ergo, I sound like an asshole. “Sorry. I mean, it’s fine. Of course it is. It’s your apartment.”

“It’s Harrison’s, technically,” Tanner says. “But it is your home as long as you want it to be. How you feel is important.”

“I—”

“To me, Kai. I’m aware you don’t give enough of a shit about yourself.”

Ouch. I sink onto a nearby stool and dump my elbows on Tanner’s breakfast bar. 

Jax rubs my back. “You know he’s trying to be nice when he rips you a new one, right?”

“Yeah.” Underneath the gruff, Tanner is the sweetest dude in the world. “But it’s okay, really. I don’t like being alone, and maybe having someone else around will stop me barging into your place every night.”

“You don’t barge, mate. I never know you’re here till I fall over your feet in the morning, and I’d take that a thousand times before I could live with you being on your own when you’re upset.”

“Yeah, but I must be on, like, seven hundred and forty-two times by now.”

“You’re far less trouble than you think.”

“Amen.” Tanner goes back to the stove and relights the flame. “Why don’t you trial it with Joss, okay? Day at a time.”

I’m beginning to think I need that phrase tattooed somewhere I can see it. Like my dick. Or your hand, jackass. Unless you plan on jerking off every ten minutes. Tempting, but…no. It’s been months since I had a sexual thought about myself. That part of me feels dead, and I’m okay with it. Can’t think of a single reason a girl would want to date me right now, and trying too hard zones me out while Tanner and Jax discuss my new roommate over my head.

I come back in time to learn his name is Joss—which I kinda knew already—and that he’s British as fuck, like Jax. “Is he a surfer too?”

“Nah, that’s how I met him, though. Crazy bastard used to cook at a clifftop burger shack in Fistral Bay. Nothing but an oil drum and a spatula to his name. It was just one summer, but, fuck, we ate well.”

Jax slaps his ripped stomach. His T-shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of the scars he bears from a legit shark attack. The kind of scars that put everything in perspective. Jax and Tanner. Tanner and Jax. They both went to hell and back before they found each other.

If they can survive it, maybe I can too.

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First Chapter: Love Lessons

Vera

July

“THE DRESS HAS to be exactly right,” my client says. Even though we’re on a Zoom call, I can see that she’s wringing her hands.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask, my pen poised above my notebook.

“My stepdaughter’s wedding. And, well, it’s complicated. Even after five years, her mother’s family is openly hostile to me.”

“Oh, ouch.” I set down my pen. “So your dress has to walk a fine line. Beautiful but understated.”

“Yes!” Her eyes light up. “It has to be classy but not dull. I need to look stunning but not flashy. And it can’t be too young or too sexy, because the bride’s mother makes me out to be some kind of slutty Cruella de Vil.”

“So I shouldn’t show you anything in a Dalmatian print, then?”

“Thanks, but no.” She laughs. “My friend told me you would make this fun. I dread this wedding, if you want the truth. The only part of it I’m looking forward to is a new dress.”

“We got this,” I tell her. “I realize an outfit won’t make years of trouble go away. But if the dress is just right, it can change your whole outlook. It can bring you a few hours of much-needed magic.”

“So where do we start?” she asks. “And money is no object.”

I can’t imagine ever using those words. But it doesn’t hurt her choices. “I’m going to ask you a few questions about your preferences, and then I can gather some photos to show you. What color are the bridesmaids’ dresses? We don’t want to match them, but we don’t want you to clash, either.”

“They’re light pink.”

“And—” That’s as far as I get before the noise starts up outside. Nrrr-nrrr! Ngggn-ngggn. It’s a deafening buzz—the sound of metal teeth tearing through a piece of lumber.

Oh no. Not again.

My head gives a throb, and I feel like crying. I’ve been subjected to this all day, on and off—the buzz saw of death—and it’s right outside my Brooklyn window.

On the computer screen in front of me, my client flinches on Zoom. She can’t hear my apology, so I mime one moment and mute my microphone. At least one of us doesn’t have to listen to the sound of her own head splitting open.

Oh God. Our meeting was going so well. Not only is this loud and inconvenient, but it’s stressful. My personal-stylist business is still in the fledgling stages, and every client counts. If I can’t make this work, I’ll burn through my savings. Then I’ll end up begging for my old job back at the Midtown department store.

Who could build a tiny but stylish empire under these conditions?

The moment the awful sound stops, I unmute myself and smile tightly. “Sorry about that. We were talking about sleeve length. You said this wedding is in September?”

“That’s right. It’s indoors, so I could really go either—”

Nrrr-nrrr!

God, she can’t even get the sentence out of her mouth before the sound starts up again. Panicking, I hit mute again. I’m so frustrated I could throw my computer across the room.

I smile instead. This is a new client—a referral. And I desperately need her to think of me as a professional.

“You know,” she says when it’s finally quiet. “Maybe we should do this another time?”

“Anything you need,” I say quickly. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Yes! You could meet me in my office,” she suggests. “Ten thirty?”

My heart drops. “Absolutely,” I agree sweetly, even though her office is on the Upper East Side and a forty-five-minute commute away. I don’t really have the time for that meeting. But I also don’t have the time to drive her away before my first sale to her. “Tell me your address.”

AFTER WE SIGN OFF, I pop out of my chair, throw my keys in my pocket, and stomp out of my first-floor unit. I already know who is causing me all this trouble—my new neighbor. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.

And I’m not going to get distracted by his biceps, either. Or his broad shoulders.

I fly out the front door and jog down all seven steps to the sidewalk. I live in a brownstone building on Hudson Avenue, and I used to consider this the perfect apartment on the perfect block. My cozy one-bedroom has an original prewar fireplace in the living room, and a bow window that faces the street. I’ve lived here for four years, and I never want to leave.

Now that I’m starting my own business, I spend a lot of time at home. That fireplace in my living room makes a great backdrop for the photos I often send to clients. It’s classic and stylish—all the things my new business is trying so hard to be.

And yet one muscular hockey player in ripped jeans and safety goggles is ruining the whole neighborhood.

He doesn’t even look up as I park my seething self on the sidewalk in front of his godawful saw. Instead, he runs a rugged hand over the beam he’s just cut.

I wait. I fume. And I also mentally restyle him, which is kind of an occupational hazard. But nobody needs a glowup quite so badly as Ian Crikey. His brown hair is in need of a trim. He’s wearing a threadbare Metallica T-shirt that ought to look like trash. It practically is trash—I count three holes along the side seam. Yet it hugs his powerful chest so perfectly I really want to kick something.

This is the other problem with Ian. I’m secretly, uncomfortably, outrageously attracted to him. And it makes no sense to me. He makes no sense. The man has enough money to buy the building next to mine, which is more money than I’ll ever have in my lifetime. The place was listed for over three million dollars.

He’s a highly paid famous athlete, and yet I don’t think he owns a comb or any clothes without holes in them. It’s ridiculous. Bearded men are not my type. And don’t even get me started on those tattoos peeking out of his T-shirt sleeves. That’s not my thing, either. But they work on him somehow. I can’t stop staring at them.

It’s horrible.

Finally satisfied with his handiwork, he looks up and removes his safety goggles.

Yikes. Now I’m confronted with his cool blue eyes. Their pale, luminous hue is just too pretty for that rugged face. And nobody who’s ruining my day should look that good. It’s unsettling.

“Something I can help you with, countess?” he asks.

“Are you kidding me right now?” My voice is already high and hysterical. “It’s the middle of the workday. I’m trying to do calls with clients, but we can’t hear each other talk. At all. You’ve basically shut down my livelihood. There are probably regulations against making so much noise.”

He gives me an irritating smirk. “Regulations, huh? This neighborhood is big on those.” He wipes the sweat from his forehead with a muscular arm that I’m absolutely not admiring right now. “Somebody called the cops last night on me and my teammates. Said we were a nuisance.”

“Well? Were you?” I demand, trying to keep the guilt off my face. I’d called the precinct last night at midnight, but I probably hadn’t been the only one. All I’d wanted was for someone to knock on his door and tell him to turn the music down a little. It had worked—a cop car had pulled up outside, lights flashing. A few minutes later—while I hid in my bathroom, brushing my teeth—everything had gone quiet.

“We weren’t that loud.” Ian adjusts the Brooklyn Bruisers baseball cap on his head and sighs. Who looks good sweaty and covered with sawdust? It’s just not fair. “Would have been better if the neighbors knocked on my door and just asked me to be quiet.” He smiles suddenly. “But I guess that’s what you’re doing right now, yeah? I ’spose the saw is pretty loud.”

“Horribly loud,” I agree. “You could do this work inside, you realize.” I point toward the open door of the building he’s purchased.

He laughs. “I’m not standing here on the sidewalk for my health, countess. The lumberyard dropped off these posts at a length too long to fit around the corner in there.“

“Oh.” My face reddens. “Is it going to be like this all summer, though? I’ll have to find somewhere else to work.”

“Nah, once I demo that awkward entryway, fitting stuff through the door will be easier.” He lifts his square chin to indicate what is indeed a narrow doorway with a claustrophobic little hallway beyond. “Live and learn. But after one more cut, I’ll be out of your very carefully styled hair.”

One of my hands flies up to the chic waterfall braid that keeps my dark hair looking tidy. “What’s that supposed to mean? If we’re comparing hairstyles, I have a few thoughts on your sawdust look.”

He shrugs. “Real work is messy. You should thank me. This building was an eyesore. I’m gonna make it look good again. So thank you for welcoming me to the neighborhood with a whole lot of attitude.” He pauses to allow those blue eyes to do a slow scan of my body. “Although, the view sure is nice.”

And, wow, I am not a fan of the way his hot gaze makes me feel so reckless inside. I let out a squeak of irritation. “Thank you for making my workday excruciating and not caring all that much.”

He shrugs. “You seem a little wound up, countess. How about I make this up to you? We’ll go out for a drink tonight and then work out our differences.” A smug smile lights his face as he says this, and somehow it comes out sounding dirty.

I give a slow blink, and for half a second, I try to picture it—sitting on a barstool right beside him. He’d prop an elbow on the bar, his big hand cupping a pint glass.

Then I also imagine his devious smile and the swimmy, off-kilter feeling I get when those blue eyes focus on me.

Nope. That’s not going to happen. I’m not exactly famous for letting go and having fun. The last guy I tried to date told me in no uncertain terms that I was hopeless.

Besides, it’s probably not even a real invitation. He’s just trying to throw me off my game. “Even if you were serious,” I say swiftly, “I’m sure I’m not your type.”

His smile fades. “You’re sure, huh? Because I don’t use hair gel? Because my shoes aren’t shiny?” He takes an exaggerated glance down at the dusty work boots he’s wearing. “You don’t swipe right on guys like me?”

“I’ve never swiped right on anyone,” I admit, and immediately my face feels hot. That’s too much information. If he knew what a prude I was, he’d laugh his muscular butt off.

I’ve seen the crowd of women hockey players gather—women who know how to do shots and play darts and flirt like it’s a professional sport. That will never be me.

“How many more of those do you have to cut?” I ask, getting down to business. “Is it really only one?”

“Yeah, that one.” He points at a board lying between the saw and the building. “You want to do the honors? It’s kinda satisfying. Seems like you need to work out your aggressions.” He snickers.

“No!” I say quickly. “Not really my thing.”

“Suit yourself, countess.” He picks up the safety goggles. “Cover your ears.”

I do one better. I sprint back to the stoop of my building and leap up the steps, ready to salvage my afternoon. And I swear I feel his eyes on my backside as I go. But it’s probably only my imagination.

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Announced for 2023: a Chicago reader event

Just announced: Wild and Windy in the City

Hi readers! I’ll be heading to Chicago in May, 2023 for Wild and Windy!

Tickets go on sale June 10. You can get more information right here.

See you in Chicago!

Tickets

What am I writing and researching in May?

World of Magic at Unsplash

Greetings from the writing cave!

I’m busy writing A LITTLE TOO LATE this month. This book takes place at a beautiful ski resort in Colorado, called Madigan Mountain.

That means deep thoughts about the hospitality business, about snowmobiles and candle torches and room service menus! And cosy fireplaces and employee housing. (Think Dirty Dancing… but with skiing.)

Reed Madigan is a broody hero who left the love of his life when they were only twenty-two.

And now here Ava suddenly is, looking sexy and determined not to stay in his presence one minute longer than absolutely necessary.

Reader, he regrets all his life choices.

Credit: Unsplash

I’ve given this book a fun cast of secondary characters, and I can’t wait to hear what Rebecca Yarros and Devney Perry will do with them in the next book! There are hot tubs, heated pools and mouthy bartenders in this book.

Today I had to watch a few YouTube videos about how snowmobiles work. I love my job!

More soon,

Sarina B.

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Throwback: Sure Shot

Things you may not know about Sure Shot:

Bess had already appeared in Bountiful, so I knew I wanted to write a book for her! And given her reaction to her brother’s child, I knew that motherhood had to figure into it.

It was really refreshing to write a book about older characters for this series—people who had lived their lives and made mistakes.

There is an infertility story in this book, and I’m glad I did a good job with the research, because I got a lot of reader mail afterwards. People were moved by this book in a way that I hadn’t fully anticipated. We talk a lot about how much representation matters in books, but usually with regard to race, or sexuality, or even body image. But here was a moment of representation that mattered to readers that I hadn’t anticipated. It was humbling.

I got to play with Brooklyn’s rivalry with Dallas in this book. Recall that in Brooklynaire, they lose the cup to Dallas. Well, guess where Tank is from? 😊

I always say that I hate to write weddings. And it’s mostly true. But there is a wedding in this book, and I really enjoyed writing it! Especially this lovely thing that is said to the bride as she is “given away” in the aisle. I still tear up when I think of it. Basically, if you can make yourself cry while writing a scene, it’s probably a good scene.

The audio recording for this book, with Jacob Morgan and Emma Wilder, was poised to happen just as the whole world was shutting down in the spring of 2020. All the audio studios where Jacob Morgan works were shuttered. Emma, who was the book’s producer, told me not to panic. And she was right! I think this book was the very first one that Jacob Morgan recorded in his home studio. And it was on time.

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Cover Reveal! Love Lessons...

This cover really needs no introduction. Isn’t it terrific?

Photo by Wander Aguiar, design by Hang Le!

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Throwback: The Shameless Hour

Bella might be the heroine who’s the least like me. She was a challenge, but I enjoyed every minute of it. Bella is the young woman that I might have been if I were less fearful at 21.

Sometimes I would look up from the keyboard and shake my head like did I really just write that sentence? For example, in one chapter Bella says: I’m supposed to be writing a paper about women’s subjugation, but all I want is for someone to come along and give me a good pounding.

So that was different.

Even if her personality isn’t mine, I’ve always been interested in perceptions of femininity. At its core, this is a book about slut shaming. And I’d been wanting to write about that for a long time.

Every book I write tramples on some little convention in romance, but this one tramples on a bunch. Bella has some things happen to her in this book that you aren’t “supposed” to do to a heroine in romance. But I did it anyway.

True fact: The Shameless Hour was on the syllabus for a University of Michigan English Department seminar! The seminar covered modern romance novels. Also on the syllabus were Alexis Hall and Tiffany Reisz.

Rafe and Bella take a city planning course that’s a lot like one I took in college! #writewhatyouknow

The Ivy Years was the series where I finally figured out how to write a series. So I did a nice job of introducing Lianne for The Fifteenth Minute.

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Throwback: The Year We Fell Down

This is a big anniversary for me. The Year We Fell Down came out this week in 2014. It was my second romance ever published. (Just a month behind Coming In From the Cold.) But it’s the first one that really took off. Here are a few things you may not know about The Year We Fell Down.

When I wrote this book, I’d been reading a lot of college romance featuring girls that were broken on the inside. They had invisible scars. I wanted to write something a little different that dealt with body issues. And then Corey sort of announced herself in my mind, and I knew I had the character I was looking for.

This may be my most intensely researched book. I spent months reading about spinal cord injuries. I haunted forums, and read everything on the Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation site. I wanted to get Corey right. What I learned, though, is that spinal cord injuries really are like snowflakes—no two are the same. I watched YouTube videos of therapists working with patients, and settled on a realistic profile for her injury.

I did so much research, in fact, that I realized how differently this might affect a male character. And that’s how Falling From the Sky was born.

The most gratifying thing about publishing this book was the reader mail from people who identified with Corey’s physical challenges. One physical therapist gave copies away to her female clients.

... But then I spent most of the writing time on the friendship and romance, of course. That’s what readers are here for. And I wanted to make you ache. 😊

The Year We Fell Down is one of my most translated books, into German, Italian, Russian, Dutch, Danish, Czech, French, etc.

I wrote parts of Bridger’s book—The Year We Hid Away—before The Year We Fell Down was published. But I decided that Corey and Hartley deserved to go first!

The book did well from the start, but a few months after publication, both Tammara Webber and Colleen Hoover recommended the book during the same week. Those ladies helped me and this book so much, and I will be forever grateful. 🙏

New This Week: Shenanigans!

What happens in Vegas…Makes for a great story!

Now live in paperback, audio & ebook formats! The audio is narrated by Jason Clarke & Vanessa Edwin, and wait until you hear their Brooklyn accents!

See: Amazon | Apple | Kobo | Nook | Google | Audio

What I meant to do in Vegas: Let my hair down for once and celebrate winning a medal at my first women’s hockey all-stars competition.

What I actually did: Got senior prom drunk and woke up married to Brooklyn’s star winger, the great Neil Drake. 

He’s the heir to a billion dollars, and I barely survived my childhood. Our friendship is based strictly only on hockey, takeout food and smack talk. 

And now holy matrimony. Although we both know it can’t last, especially once his evil family gets wind of our Vegas shenanigans… 

Contains: Meddling teammates, meddling parents, ugly jewelry and a pretend-kiss that nearly sets the world on fire.

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