Contents
Also by Shari L. Tapscott
27 Ways to Find a Boyfriend
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
Epilogue
Letter From Shari
Also by Shari L. Tapscott
Newsletter
About the Author
Also by Shari L. Tapscott
CONTEMPORARY FICTION
Glitter and Sparkle Series
Glitter and Sparkle
Shine and Shimmer
Sugar and Spice
If the Summer Lasted Forever
Just the Essentials
27 Ways to Find a Boyfriend
FANTASY FICTION
Silver & Orchids
Moss Forest Orchid
Greybrow Serpent
Wildwood Larkwing
Lily of the Desert
Fire & Feathers: Novelette Prequel to Moss Forest Orchid
Eldentimber Series
Pippa of Lauramore
Anwen of Primewood
Seirsha of Errinton
Rosie of Triblue
Audette of Brookraven
Elodie of the Sea
Grace of Vernow: An Eldentimber Novelette
Fairy Tale Kingdoms
The Marquise and Her Cat: A Puss in Boots Retelling
The Queen of Gold and Straw: A Rumpelstiltskin Retelling
The Sorceress in Training: A Retelling of The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
WRITING AS SHANNON LYNN COOK
Obsidian Queen
Guild of Secrets
Princess of Shadows
Knights of Obsidian
27 Ways to Find a Boyfriend
Copyright © 2019 by Shari L. Tapscott
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.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editing by Z.A. Sunday
Cover Design by Shari L. Tapscott
Special Thanks to Christine Freeman and Leah Feltner
For Tara
Thank you for your encouraging words; thank you for reading!
1.Take a cooking class. Meet a man who’s good in the kitchen!
2.Feign car trouble and ask a cute guy to give you a jump.
3.Be adventurous. Men like women who try new things.
4.Visit local dog parks. (Don’t be afraid to borrow a dog if you don’t have one!)
5.Let him teach you something.
6.Stock your fridge with his favorite drinks and snacks.
7.Wear high heels. They give you confidence!
8.Play a game. Men like a little friendly competition.
9.Set up an easel in the park near the baseball fields.
10.Rent a room to a handsome young doctor paying off his med school bills.
11.Sew your own dress. (Show him you’re thrifty!)
12.Wear a pin that says you’re single. (Don’t make him guess!)
13.Let him fix something. Men like to feel needed!
14.Wear fitted sweaters. (They make your figure look great!)
15.Learn all his favorites. (A good girlfriend knows these things!)
16.Pay a Ferris wheel attendant to stop the ride while you’re at the top.
17.Bake him cookies. Show off your kitchen skills!
18.Be assertive. Men like women who are confident.
19.Show a genuine interest in his career.
20.Go on a double date. Show him how fun life as a couple can be.
21.Write him fun, sassy notes. (Keep them short!)
22.Accidentally-on-purpose stumble into his arms. He’ll feel like a knight in shining armor when he catches you.
23.Try online dating!
24.Remove overly feminine décor in your living room.
25.Scout out his favorite hang-outs!
26.Make him think you’re in high demand. Men like a challenge.
27.Kiss him and see what happens. Surprise is the spice of life.
1
I’m a walking, talking cliché. You know the story—average girl, big heart, a bit lonely, always a bridesmaid but never a bride. It’s a tired old tale, am I right?
Well, that’s me. The tired tale.
The hot morning sunshine beats down on me as I stand in a pair of too-small, turquoise-dyed heels, wearing a tea-length satin dress in a shade of yellow that’s somewhere between sunflower and brand-new school bus. My best friend stands across from her high school sweetheart, a vision in Vera Wang, vowing to have and to hold and all of that. You know the rest—I have no doubt you’ve heard it too.
My stomach rumbles because all I’ve eaten today is a bite of an English muffin, three grapes, one strawberry, and some random cubes of cheese that claimed to be cheddar but tasted like Swiss. This is the fifth wedding I’ve been in this last year—that’s right, the fifth—so I’ve gotten pretty good at keeping a serene look on my face even while I wonder if there’s any nutritional value in the trendy succulent bouquet I’m holding.
I catch random people in the crowd subtly checking their phones. Like me, they’re questioning whether the ceremony will ever end. We’re heading into an hour now—the home stretch, or at least it better be. My best friend’s wedding has been quite the affair. For our nuptial enjoyment, we’ve had one soloist, a string quartet, a poem reading, the lighting of a unity candle, an interpretive dance, and a partridge in a pear tree.
All right, Jessa didn’t go that crazy—there was no interpretive dance. The flowering tree behind us is an ornamental pear though, and the bird sitting on the limb above my head just might be a partridge. I wouldn’t know, seeing as how I’m more of a botanist than an ornithologist. And by botanist, I mean I sometimes water the potted plants in front of my dad’s shop.
Oh, look at that. We’re almost to the end. The pastor is winding down, getting ready for the finale. He pauses for dramatic emphasis, and then…
“You may kiss your bride.”
The crowd goes wild. Not only are Franklin and Jessa sharing their first kiss as husband and wife, but we’re free. Well, the people out there are free.
I still have to get through the reception in these heels.
The music crescendos right on cue, and Jessa and Franklin walk down the aisle, laughing as Mary the Photographer crouches in front of them, snapping photo after photo. Other people have their phones raised, taking videos of the blessed day.
Jessa’s younger sister (official maid of honor) links arms with Franklin’s brother (official best man), and they follow the bride and groom. Then I (unofficial maid of honor and best friend who stayed up until three in the mor
ning planting mini wedding favor succulents into teeny tiny terracotta pots) meet Carter, Jessa’s brother (doer of absolutely nothing). He literally showed up five minutes before the wedding started, threw on his tux, flashed a smile that’s been breaking hearts since he was fourteen, and waltzed to his spot like he owned the place.
He’s obnoxious like that.
I mean, I want him. But he’s still obnoxious.
Everyone wants Carter, though, so it’s not exactly a thing. It’s more like a constant buzz in the back of my head. It’s definitely there—but it’s more a nuisance than anything.
“Looking good, Addison,” he says as he offers me his arm. “Yellow’s a good color on you.”
No one looks good in yellow, at least not this shade. Jessa calls it sunny. I call it rubber duck. And judging from the wicked tilt of Carter’s light brown brow, he knows how I feel about it.
“Fishing for compliments?” I ask, running my eyes over him as we make our exit, smiling at the exact moment Mary snaps our picture for Jessa’s album. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to tell you how good you look in a tux?”
Dang it, he does too. That buzz becomes just a tiny bit louder.
“Nah.” Carter’s cocky smirk grows, dancing into wicked territory. “I already know I look good.”
“Humble.”
He nudges my side with his elbow, stepping just a bit closer. “You know you want me.”
“Oh baby, oh baby,” I deadpan.
He’s teased me since we were young. He’s twenty-eight to my twenty-four, and when we were kids, I thought he hung the stars. I’d like to say I fell for the captain of the lacrosse team or our student body president, but no. I wanted the guy in the parking lot who was ditching class and talking motors with a bunch of guys who barely skated to graduation.
Maybe it’s in my blood.
Maybe it’s the fact that Carter was in my father’s restoration shop every single day after school.
Maybe I just like guys with light brown hair, chocolate eyes, and broad shoulders, who are often covered in grease. It’s hard to say.
But no matter what it is, it doesn’t matter. Carter was off limits in high school, and he’s off limits now. Dad has one unbreakable rule: stay away from the “good for nothing” guys in his shop. “Players, all of them,” he says. “Addison, pumpkin, find yourself a nice guy.”
And ladies and gentlemen, let me assure you, Carter is not nice. Nice to look at? You betcha. Nice to kiss? Most likely, though I wouldn’t know. But nice to date? Well, no one knows that because Carter doesn’t do serious.
We walk down the makeshift aisle of white folding chairs and around the corner of the barn/reception hall. This venue looks like a ranch, but it was specifically built for special events. The seemingly ancient barn is actually three whole years old, constructed of aged wood that was brought in for the project.
The minute we’re out of sight, Carter drops my arm and produces a phone—from where, I have no idea. Do tuxes have pockets?
I peer over his shoulder, although I know what he’s watching. We have a ‘50 Chevy pickup in the Barrett Jackson auction, and it’s due to be up any minute. “Well?”
He flips through a few pages. “Not yet.”
This is the first spring either of us has missed the Florida auction since Carter got back from WyoTech at nineteen years old with a bunch of shiny automotive certifications, and I know it’s killing him. It’s killing me too—do you have any idea how many hot, off-limits guys grace that auction? I’ll give you a hint. A lot.
And who wouldn’t want to go to Palm Beach?
“Addison!” Jessa appears out of nowhere like a wedding-gown-bedecked apparition. She pulls me into a tight hug, nearly bawling. “I’m married!”
“I know.” I laugh as I choke on her veil. “I was there.”
“Congrats, monkey,” Carter says to his sister when she finally lets me go, smoothly pocketing his phone so she won’t catch him with it.
Jessa narrows her eyes. “I saw that.”
Carter looks about as repentant as a lion after it eats a particularly tasty tour guide. “If you hadn’t planned your wedding in the middle of the auction, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Ignoring him, Jessa whips around. “Bustle me, Addison.”
We’ve practiced with the train a dozen times over the last two weeks, but it’s go time. I only have a few minutes before Jessa and Franklin need to greet their guests.
“Time me,” I instruct Carter as though we’re at the Daytona Five Hundred. Like a good lackey, he instantly obeys.
Seven ties and two buttons later, I step back, throwing my hands in the air. “Done.”
“One minute, three-point-five seconds,” Carter says.
Jessa swings around, her brunette curls bouncing around her shoulders, and holds up her hand for a high five. “Best time yet.”
She then spots one of her friends from college and takes off trotting, catching her new husband by the arm as she passes, pulling him with her.
Carter stares after them and shakes his head.
“I’m going to get something to eat before there’s nothing left but those nasty candy-covered almonds,” I say. “You coming?”
“I gotta find my date.” Carter looks around, his brow wrinkling as if he forgot about the poor girl.
“I’m surprised she let you out of her sight—don’t most of your dates cling to you like koalas?”
Let’s face it—Carter goes for those girly, vapid, breathy types.
“Ha ha,” he says absently, reaching over to ruffle my hair and chuckling when I duck out of the way. He then ambles toward the barn, where the guests are headed.
“Let me know when the truck is up,” I holler, opting to take the route around the side and in through the back entrance—closer to the food.
“Will do,” he calls back, and then he disappears into the crowd.
* * *
The reception goes by in a blur of dinner, speeches, dancing, and cake. It’s almost the end, and there’s just one more tradition to check off that list.
“It’s time for all the single ladies to make their way to the center of the floor,” the DJ calls through the sound system. Jessa’s already waving people over, her cheeks flushed from all the excitement. She’s a pretty bride—joyful, radiant. I smile, loving that this day has been everything she dreamed. I don’t, however, leave my hiding spot.
I sit at a back table, partially hidden by a petite potted tree. I stretch my legs out, counting down the minutes until I can take off these awful heels.
“Aren’t you supposed to be up there?” Carter says from behind me, taking a seat to my right.
“I’m going to sit this one out.” I toe off one heel and then the next. “These shoes are killing me.”
“And miss your chance to catch the bouquet?”
I shoot him a look. In response, he grins, crossing his arms as he slouches in the chair, making himself comfortable.
“Where’s your date?” I ask as I watch a dozen young women and Jessa’s eighty-four-year-old aunt line up for the toss.
“She ran into her ex. They ended up chatting for a bit, and then they took off.”
I turn to him, shocked. Carter got ditched at his sister’s wedding? That’s got to sting. Oddly, he looks rather unfazed.
When he feels me staring at him, he looks over and frowns. “What?”
“You don’t care?”
“Should I?”
“A normal person would.”
He studies me for a moment. “You don’t have a date, and you seem all right.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not by choice.”
Any minute now Jessa’s going to realize I’m missing. If I don’t get up there, she’ll coax me in front of everyone, creating an embarrassing scene. I should go now just to avoid it. But there is that teeny, tiny chance she’ll forget.
As I watch her prepare, my eyes slide over the full tables. There are so many couples
here. People I’ve known all my life are married now, as are many of Jessa’s cousins. Now that I’m nearing my mid-twenties, it feels like I’m quickly becoming the minority. People I went to high school with are in serious relationships, many promising forever and having babies, and I don’t even have a boyfriend.
I see them all moving forward, everyone on an escalator, heading up the automatic staircase of life, and I’m on the other side, running to catch up but always sinking down.
Wow, weddings make me philosophical.
I can tell the moment Jessa realizes I’m missing. She stops suddenly and stands straighter—not unlike a prairie dog peeking from its hole. She glances first to the right and then the left.
“Addison?” she calls, turning to find me. Then to her sister, she asks, “Where’s Addison?”
“Best get it over with,” Carter advises, staring at his phone.
“Is the Chevy up?”
“Yep.”
Dang it, I’m going to miss it.
I paste on a smile—I can do this—and slide my feet back into the miserable shoes, wincing as I stand.
I’m barely out of my seat when Carter catches my arm and grins up at me. “You want out of it?”
“Well, yeah.” I roll my eyes. “But—”
“Sorry, Jessa,” Carter calls out, making sure everyone in the barn hears him. He then clasps me around the middle and pulls me onto his lap. “Addison is busy.”
Then he tips me back and kisses me square on the lips.
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