by DL White
A Thin Line
Second Edition
DL White
© 2016- 2020 DL White
ISBN 978-1-7334150-7-1
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All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Printed in the United States of America First Printing, 2019
Created with Vellum
As always for my family and the friends that I am blessed to call family. I love you all. Thank you endlessly for your constant support.
Contents
Foreword
a thin line
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by DL White
Foreword
Hello to my new and seasoned readers!
I always want to start my Author’s Note with “look here, now. This is my book and that’s the that on that,” but I’ve decided to act semi-professional for this release. I’ll save all the thanks and what-not for my acknowledgements (search for yourself at the end of this book), but first and foremost, I have to thank those who have picked this book out of the thousands, nay millions of books you could have chosen. I love and adore you for doing so and it is my sincere hope that you enjoy it.
If you’ve been reading me for some time, you will recognize this title and these characters. This book was originally published in 2016, shortly after I released my debut, Brunch at Ruby’s. It was originally a fan fiction story that I felt would translate well if I released it for a mainstream audience. Also, I wanted to have a backlist, and this was already written. However, 2016 DL White didn’t know as much as 2020 DL White. In no way did that title represent my best work and after a few years on the market, I delisted it. I had no plans to bring this book back.
But Preston and Angie stayed on my mind. I am in love with these people! The scenes that I cut, the meaning and nuance and the fun of this novel niggled at me. “You could do this and add this and change this and re-release it!” rolled through my head nonstop for over a year. Writers know—when an idea won’t leave you alone, you have no choice but to chase it. So, I chased it.
I tore this book apart. Deleted a lot. Added a lot. Rewrote a lot. Sent it to betas. Got some amazing (seriously, I learned so much) feedback and insight from betas and editors. What results is a book I am supremely proud to publish with my name on the cover and offer for sale.
If you read this book the first time around, I hope you’ll give Preston and Angie a second run. So much has changed, so much more has been added and the story extends past where the book originally ended. More than that, it’s a fun romp between two people that don’t know they love each other. Fortunately, everyone else in their lives does.
Some housekeeping:
•This book is a standalone novel. I will not be writing about any other couples in this book.
•This book is present tense, first person. I write books how they come to me and that’s how this book came to me. If that’s not your jam, return this title. Retailers make this very simple.
•This book is single point of view, from the heroine’s perspective. I attempted to write from Preston’s POV, but he didn’t talk to me like Angie talked to me and it wasn’t nearly as interesting. I also felt that Preston’s POV gives away too much. His arc was fun to write, specifically from the point of view of someone that hasn’t liked him in a long time.
I do hope you love this novel and that you’ll share your love in a review at your favorite retail site and Goodreads!
xoxo,
DL White
a thin line
Second Edition
by
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DL WHITE
1
The clack of Cole Haan oxfords announces Preston’s arrival over the din of hits from the nineties and bar conversation. He likes to make an entrance, and tonight is no different.
He struts through Prime, our hangout spot since college, in a grey and black Varvatos suit, simultaneously impeccable and understated. His pecan hue glows. Bushy but maintained brows frame whiskey brown eyes; the skin around them creases when he flashes a pearly white smile as he approaches our table. His goatee is neatly trimmed, his hair bearing the markings of his weekly cut. His barber spends a great deal of time with a styling sponge crafting perfectly formed twist curls.
Well-veined, manicured hands dwarf my shoulders as he bends to brush thick lips across my cheek. The aroma of Creed Aventus and minty Colgate breath waft over me.
“Evening, Evangeline.” Preston pulls out the chair next to me and settles into it, taking a longer-than-necessary glance at the wine glass in front of me. “Started early, did we?”
I shoot a pained look across the table at Morgan Davis, my oldest friend, and the only reason I put up with Preston Reid.
She doesn't see it. Or she sees it but ignores it because next to her is Nate, the love of her life.
When Morgan called earlier to ask if Nate could drop by, interrupting our standing Monday night date at Prime, I thought nothing of it. I've known him as long as I've known Morgan and he always buys a round of drinks.
But Nate is still dropping by, and now Preston is here.
“What's goin' on, man?” Preston greets Nate with a bump to the fist.
“All good. Thanks for coming,” Nate replies. "Order up."
Before he can summon her, the waitress appears.
Women respond to Preston’s vibe like Pavlov's Dog. She’s young and curvy, all of her parts perky, her tawny skin on display in a crop top and short skirt with a slit up the side. Her ample chest and silky blonde weave have his rapt attention. Her fake laughter at his jokes are the icing on the cake.
Earn that tip, honey.
"I'll take another one, please.” I point at nearly empty wine glass.
“Pace yourself, Evangeline,” says Preston, leaning in, his tone low. “It doesn’t take long to get wine drunk.”
“If being drunk drowned out the sound of your voice, I’d do shots.” I twist my body to angle away from him so that we’re not close enough for him to mutter over my shoulder.
Preston laughs as if it’s the most hilarious joke he’s ever heard, and orders a bottle of I-4, an IPA brewed in Orlando from the cute, busty waitress. As she walks away, she glances back to see if he is watching her ass bounce.
He is.
Pig.
I turn my attention to the beaming couple across the table. "Date night has been derailed. I get one night a week with Morgan and I have to spend
it with…” I tip my head in Preston’s direction. “Him. I am not happy."
“I know! Sorry.” Except she doesn’t look sorry at all. “We have an announcement, and we wanted you both to be here.”
Morgan hesitates, glances at Nate, and then to the two of us.
“We’re getting married!"
She shoots her left hand out. Her ring finger sports a new addition, a sparkling oval center diamond mounted on a platinum band with half carat side diamonds all the way around. It is gorgeous, and knowing Morgan, she designed it herself so it was exactly what she wanted.
Morgan is a fresh-faced, caramel toned, spunky woman with a cheery and sunny disposition. The daughter of Kathryn Davis, an Orlando famous stage actress, literally a drama queen in high school, Morgan majored in Theater Arts at University of Central Florida, and currently casts productions at Universal Studios. Theatrics is in her blood.
Dramatic reveal aside, and not that I’m not overjoyed for them, this news is not…well, news. Nathan McCord, a pediatrician, and Morgan Davis have been attached at the hip since childhood. I’d forgotten that they weren’t already married.
“Wow, okay! That’s worth derailing date night. Let me see.” I grab her hand and spend a few moments admiring the ring before I release her hand.
Preston glances at it, then nods at Nate. “Congrats, man. It’s about time.”
“Oh, so let’s toast!” I raise my wine glass, but Morgan sits up, flipping waist-length hombre faux locs behind her shoulder.
“Hold that toast, best friend.”
Inwardly, I groan. I’m afraid to think about why this news involves Preston and me. There are eight of us in our group of friends. Some are family, like Preston’s brother, and some are friends we’ve picked up at college and the years beyond, but the group at this table is the original foursome. We’ve known each other for most of our lives.
“So, Angie, I’d love for you to be my Maid of Honor.”
“Oh my God, of course!” I beam and reach across the table, grabbing her hands.
“And Preston, if you would—” Nate begins, but Preston waves him off.
“Say no more. Best Man on deck.”
I’m already steeling myself for the time I will have to spend with Preston on this event.
“Good! That’s perfect, because we were thinking, and let us know what you think, but we were thinking..."
Morgan pauses, glancing to Nate for support. Nate chuckles, shaking his head, then leans in, resting a thick forearm on the table.
“We’ve been talking it over for a minute, and we want to go away for the wedding."
"Eloping?" I squeak. I pull my hands back. “You two have waited for decades to get married, and we don’t get to do the wedding thing with you? I know, I know. It’s about you, and what you want, and if that’s what you want—”
“Not eloping,” Morgan interrupts, cutting off my breathless rambles. “A destination wedding. Someplace totally cool, and everyone who can go can join us. Nate and I will split the cost with my parents and his, and make it a big event. We’ve never done a group trip— this would be the perfect excuse to do it. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Morgan stares with a pleading look that's so hopeful and beautiful. She’s the dreamer, the wisher, the one that hopes and prays. She wants me to not only love her idea but fall in love with it.
I’ve always been the bubble buster, the realist, the one who brings her down to earth.
But I can't find a bubble to bust. Time away in the sun, hopefully on an island makes my mouth water. Nate is part owner of a private children’s clinic that he took over when his father retired. He and Morgan live in Vizcaya, a gated community of retired athletes and musicians in an upscale suburb of Orlando.
If they’re treating, I'm in.
“Okay, now we’re talking. That sounds amazing, Morgan. What kind of trip are you planning, though? Mexico? Maybe the Bahamas?”
Nate glances Preston’s way with a look that turns my blood cold. I have an ominous feeling about why Preston and I, and none of our other friends have been invited to this announcement. I hope it is as simple as Nate and Morgan wanting to secure their Best Man and Maid of Honor first.
“Maybe. We started looking, and then got overwhelmed at the possibilities. So, we have an idea. Why not leave venue research and planning up to our Best Man—” He winks at Preston.
"And Maid of Honor," he finishes, flashing that friendly smile that children of all ages have come to trust, but I hate right now.
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “No.”
“Angie—”
My brows shoot up and I feel as if my eyes are comically huge, like a cartoon character. “Morgan! No! Not with—”
“Why do you think we’ve been together for decades, but we haven’t gotten married yet?”
Nate’s tone is low, but his espresso brown eyes are even darker. His words are clipped in a way that snaps my mouth shut.
“We’re together, whether we have that piece of paper or not. We don’t need a wedding, so if we’re doing this, we’re doing it big, the way we want to do it. We want fun, unique, different. You know Morgan and me. We’re… boring.”
Nate grins as if his self-deprecation, however accurate, will win me over.
“You both know us better than anyone,” adds Morgan. “I’m dreading having some stranger plan my wedding, having to answer a lot of questions when my best friend can practically read my mind. I don’t want formal fancy. I want an occasion to remember, and you two will come up with ideas that we wouldn't even dream of.”
“You don’t have to sell me on it,” chirps Preston. “I’m in. How about Hawaii? Right on the beach. A sunset luau, pig roast, hula girls, grass skirts, big loud drums in the background—”
“Fuck. No!”
Half of Prime's patrons turn to stare at the screeching woman in the corner near the bar. My face flushes while I gather my emotions.
“I don’t know about your best friend, but my best friend is not getting married on a beach mere feet from a roast pig with a fucking apple stuck in its mouth, while I wear a cheap grass skirt. You're crazy if you think I’m helping you pull that off.”
"Hey, I’m throwing out ideas, not whining about a wedding that’s not even mine, Evangeline.”
"Stop that!” I slap my palm on the table and harden my glare at Preston. “You're the only person that still calls me Evangeline. You know I hate it.”
My hackles are up. He knows it; that was the goal. Preston and I can’t be in the same room longer than a few minutes without bickering. This is our dance. This has been our dance for the past two decades.
Morgan reaches across the table to lay a hand on mine. I snatch my arm back and pick up my wine glass, tipping it back. The last of the liquid barely splashes down my throat before I shoot my arm into the air, waving at the waitress from across the room.
“Look, I won't say money's no object.” Nate looks at Preston, shaking his head. “But Hawaii will kill the budget. Besides, that’s not the vibe we want to go for. Let’s go somewhere elegant for a wedding but a fun spot for a vacation. Keep it laid back. Rule number one."
"I know this is a lot to put on you.” Morgan sighs, her eyes matching her tone. "If you help us with this, we'll never ask you to work with each other again."
"Promise?" Preston and I ask at the same time. I cut my eyes at him; he glares at me.
The waitress brings fresh drinks. Nate's on call, so she refills his glass of iced tea. I slurp a mouthful of Pinot Noir. It’s warm going down, and I’m trying to remember if this is my second or third glass. The last thing I want is for Preston to see me wine-drunk, as he put it, so I decide to cut myself off.
But then Preston begins to flirt with the waitress, pulling gems from his collection of jokes. Long, obnoxious peals of laughter roll from her throat.
Nothing soothes the irritation like alcohol. I order another glass.
I hate him.
2
"Then Preston threw out that Hawaiian wedding idea. A pig roast? Gross."
My mother’s laughter is tinny on the other end of the line. She’s on speaker so that my dad can chime in, too. We live fifteen minutes apart, but I talk to her every day on my way to work.
Nate bought a round of shots to celebrate when his on-call shift ended, so I'm dragging ass. Unfortunately, I have to be in the office and I'm praying that I don’t pick up anything new. I'm overloaded.
Flanning & Rourke, LLP is a law services firm, providing legal counsel in civil and commercial litigation. The bulk of my work falls squarely into the civil matters column.
Preston’s uncle, Wayne Reid, is well-known around Orlando. Though he’s been consulting for a Wall Street firm for a number of years, he had enough ties back home to make sure that Preston summered with big name firms right after his first year of law school. He snagged a clerkship with a US district court judge, after which he was handpicked by Perry Law Group, a prestigious downtown law firm offering a wide array of legal services.
I couldn’t get Perry to look at the bottom of my shoe.
