by Tawna Fenske
“Whoa! Heads up, big guy.”
The female voice registers half a second before I crash into the female body. The very soft, very warm female body.
I whirl around, stumbling as I turn to face—
“Holy shit.” The words escape before I consider this is not the way to greet a total stranger.
But this stranger is the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. Hair the color of warm caramel is piled on her head in a swoopy, loopy bun. Eyes like blue sea glass spark with light from the porch, and there’s a dusting of cinnamon freckles on her nose. She’s wearing—clothes, I think. I can’t look away from her face to check out the rest of her.
She laughs and flips a stray lock of hair off her face. “Okay, not the greeting I’m used to, but hello.” Her smile is warm and there’s not a trace of makeup on her face. “Gretchen.” She extends her hand to me. “Sorry to startle you. I just came over to borrow dill.”
“Dill.” I pat my pockets absurdly like I might have some tucked away. “I—um—”
“I’ll get it.” Lily pivots away from us. “What are you making?” she calls from the kitchen.
“My famous salmon chowder.” Gretchen gives me that smile again, and my guts turn to chowder. “It’s a family recipe.”
I’m too dumbstruck to think of a response, so James comes to my rescue. “Gretchen is my brother Jonathan’s sister.”
“Your sister,” I repeat, only catching some of his words. Seriously, I had no idea sweatpants could be so sexy. How have I never met this woman?
“Not his sister.” Gretchen shoves her hands in the pockets of her blue hoodie, which matches her eyes almost perfectly. “The Bracelyn family tree is kind of a mess. Jon’s the second oldest, but we have different dads. I’m not a Bracelyn at all.”
Lily rushes back to us with a glass jar and presses it into Gretchen’s hand. “Gretchen’s been staying out here while she’s at OSU Cascades. She’s an adjunct professor and an absolutely brilliant researcher.”
“A researcher.” I look back at her, watching as her eyes scan my face. I brace for the flicker of recognition in her eyes. For what comes next. What always comes next.
Wait. Aren’t you the guy who—
Don’t I know you from—
Haven’t I seen you in—
“Want some soup?”
I blink as Gretchen holds up the glass jar of dill. “This is the finishing touch. I made a ton of it and I heard you say you were starving.”
I did say that.
But I also said I was leaving. Hitting the road, getting far, far away from here as soon as possible. I should definitely do that.
“I’d love some soup.”
What the hell?
“Great.” Gretchen grins. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. And I’m hoping you’re a friend of James and Lily and that I didn’t just invite a door-to-door salesman to dinner.”
“Gabl—Gabe,” I stammer.
God, that was dumb. Even with the abbreviated version of my name, she’s going to recognize me. Put two and two together and figure it out.
Weren’t you the one who—
“Gabe and I are friends from school,” James supplies. “And Gretchen—reads a lot.”
I’m trying to figure out what that has to do with anything when she laughs again. “That’s his polite way of saying I don’t get out much. Probably why I’m accosting strangers with dinner invitations. It’s okay, you don’t have to come in and sit there making awkward dinner conversation if you don’t want. I can package up the chowder for you to take wherever you were going.”
Where was I going?
Right. The cabin. The remote cabin in the woods more than an hour from here. I should be getting on the road.
“I’m not in a hurry,” I hear myself saying. “I’d love to join you.”
“Great.” She quirks an eyebrow at James and Lily. “You’d tell me if he was a serial killer, right?”
My gut twists at her words. I’m grateful she’s not looking at me. That she missed the wince, the flash of guilt I’m positive flickered in my eyes just now.
But James catches it. He’s staring at me, icy green gaze boring hard into mine. “Not a serial killer.” He speaks the words to me, like he’s willing me to believe them. “Not a murderer of any kind.”
Gretchen cocks her head, eyeing him curiously. “You know, it’s a little hard to take you seriously when your face is covered in lipstick.”
“What?” James swipes a palm over his face, missing the biggest smear by half an inch. “Where?” He turns and frowns in the mirror by the door, then makes an exasperated noise. “Was someone going to tell me?”
Lily shrugs and turns with her tissue to mop her handiwork off his face. Gretchen regards me with a curious look. “Not a very good friend, Gabe. Letting your pal walk around with lip prints on his face?”
“I’m kind of an asshole.” Might as well put it out there.
Gretchen smiles. “In that case, should I rescind my dinner offer?”
“No soup for you,” I quip, doing my best imitation of the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld.
Gretchen blows a strand of hair off her forehead with a vaguely sheepish expression. “Okay, I’m guessing that’s a movie reference.”
“Television, actually.” Wait, she’s never heard of the Soup Nazi?
“I don’t watch that, either.”
“What?”
She shrugs, hands fisted in her hoodie pockets. “Movies, TV—any of it. I don’t even own a television.”
I’ve never heard of such a thing. “Are you Amish?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I’m a research scientist. And a PhD candidate. And a professor. Not a lot of time in there to add TV junkie to the list.”
Lily finishes swiping the lipstick off James’s face and turns to join our conversation. “We’re sort of hoping once she finishes her dissertation, she’ll become one of us,” she says. “Binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy and Stranger Things over large quantities of wine.”
“Dare to dream.” Gretchen holds up the dill and takes a step back. “I’d better finish my chowder. Gabe—come on over when you’re ready. It’s the cabin next door. Jon and Blanka’s place.”
I know I should get on the road. I’ve got a ninety-minute drive ahead of me. This is my chance to back out. To be alone. To get in my car and drive far, far away.
But as I look at Gretchen, I know I’d walk on my lips across crushed ice to eat a bowl of cold oatmeal with her.
“I’ll be right over.”
***
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Acknowledgments
Thank you to everyone who had a hand in educating me about kidney donation. What an amazing, terrifying, heartwarming world this was to learn about, and I owe all of you a debt of gratitude. I’ve taken a few liberties throughout, but I hope most of the details ring true.
Big thanks to Fenske’s Frisky Posse for helping me kick ideas around and for being so badass with early reviews, proofreading, brainstorming, and moral support. Thanks especially to Jen Williams, Nicole Westmoreland, Adrienne Bird, and Regina Dowling for your eagle-eyed reading of the ARC, and your willingness to help me avoid looking too much like an illiterate moron.
Extra-huge thanks to Samaya T. Young for the balloon idea (and apologies to my kiddos, who were appalled to learn those fun things they’d been playing with were purchased for sex scene
research).
Thank you to Skye Fitzgerald for creating the incredible documentary film Lifeboat, and for reminding me that everyone can do something to bring awareness to human tragedy—even with a romantic comedy novel. For readers who want to learn more about the very real crisis that captured my fictional ship captain’s heart, visit www.lifeboatdocumentary.com, or watch the 30-minute film in its entirety at the following link:
https://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-screening-room-lifeboat
Endless gratitude to Michelle Wolfson, my agent of 11+ years and 30+ books. Thanks to you, the Ponderosa Resort series will be making its way to audiobook. Thanks also to Taryn Fagerness for expanding the Ponderosa world into foreign markets.
Huge thanks to my agency sistah and critique partner Linda Grimes, for endless last-minute read-throughs and amazing insights. Thanks zillions to Wonder Assistant Meah Meow for keeping my shit together both on the home front and in the author world.
Big hugs and sloppy smooches to Susan Bischoff and Lauralynn Elliott of The Forge for the amazing editorial work. I couldn’t do this without you! I’m also immensely grateful to Lori Jackson Design for the fantastic teaser graphics, banners, and bookmarks.
Love and gratitude to my family, Aaron “Russ” Fenske, Carlie Fenske, and baby Paxton, plus Dixie and David Fenske. Everything I know about warm, loving family dynamics I learned from you guys, and from Cedar and Violet, my amazing stepkids.
Most of all, thank you to my own romance novel hero, Craig Zagurski. You float my boat, hot stuff.
About the Author
When Tawna Fenske finished her English lit degree at 22, she celebrated by filling a giant trash bag full of romance novels and dragging it everywhere until she’d read them all. Now she’s a RITA Award finalist, USA Today bestselling author who writes humorous fiction, risqué romance, and heartwarming love stories with a quirky twist. Publishers Weekly has praised Tawna’s offbeat romances with multiple starred reviews and noted, “There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand.”
Tawna lives in Bend, Oregon, with her husband, step-kids, and a menagerie of ill-behaved pets. She loves hiking, snowshoeing, standup paddleboarding, and inventing excuses to sip wine on her back porch. She can peel a banana with her toes and loses an average of twenty pairs of eyeglasses per year. To find out more about Tawna and her books, visit www.tawnafenske.com.
Also by Tawna Fenske
The Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedies Series
Studmuffin Santa
Chef Sugarlips
Sergeant Sexypants
Hottie Lumberjack
Stiff Suit
Mancandy Crush (novella)
Captain Dreamboat
Snowbound Squeeze (novella—coming January 17!)
Dr. Hot Stuff (coming soon!)
* * *
Standalone Romantic Comedies
At the Heart of It
This Time Around
Now That It’s You
Let it Breathe
About That Fling
Frisky Business
Believe It or Not
Making Waves
* * *
The Front and Center Series
Marine for Hire
Fiancée for Hire
Best Man for Hire
Protector for Hire
* * *
The First Impressions Series
The Fix Up
The Hang Up
The Hook Up
* * *
The List Series
The List
The Test
The Last
* * *
Schultz Sisters Mysteries
Getting Dumped
The Great Panty Caper (novella)
* * *
Standalone novellas and other wacky stuff
Going Up (novella)
Eat, Play, Lust (novella)
