by Tawna Fenske
PRAISE FOR TAWNA FENSKE
ABOUT THAT FLING
“Fenske’s take on what happens when a one-night stand goes horribly, painfully awry is hilariously heartwarming and overflowing with genuine emotion . . . 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 in this laugh-out-loud story with an ending that requires a few tissues.”
—Starred review, Publishers Weekly
MAKING WAVES
Nominated for Contemporary Romance of the Year, 2011 Reviewers’ Choice Awards, RT Book Reviews
“Fenske’s wildly inventive plot and wonderfully quirky characters provide the perfect literary antidote to any romance reader’s summer reading doldrums.”
—Chicago Tribune
“A zany caper . . . Fenske’s off-the-wall plotting is reminiscent of a tame Carl Hiaasen on Cupid juice.”
—Booklist
“This delightfully witty debut will have readers laughing out loud.”
—4½ stars, RT Book Reviews
“[An] uproarious romantic caper. Great fun from an inventive new writer; highly recommended.”
—Starred review, Library Journal
“This book was the equivalent of eating whipped cream—sure it was light and airy, but it is also surprisingly rich.”
—Smart Bitches Trashy Books
BELIEVE IT OR NOT
“Fenske hits all the right humor notes without teetering into the pit of slapstick in her lighthearted book of strippers, psychics, free spirits, and an accountant.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Snappy, endearing dialogue and often hilarious situations unite the couple, and Fenske proves to be a romance author worthy of a loyal following.”
—Starred review, Booklist
“Fenske’s sophomore effort is another riotous trip down funny bone lane, with a detour to slightly askew goings on and a quick u-ey to out-of-this-world romance. Readers will be enchanted by this bewitching fable from a wickedly wise author.”
—Library Journal
“Sexually charged dialogue and steamy make-out scenes will keep readers turning the pages.”
—Publishers Weekly
FRISKY BUSINESS
“Up-and-coming romance author Fenske sets up impeccable internal and external conflict and sizzling sexual tension for a poignant love story between two engaging characters, then infuses it with witty dialogue and lively humor. An appealing blend of lighthearted fun and emotional tenderness.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Fenske’s fluffy, frothy novel is a confection made of colorful characters, compromising situations and cute dogs. This one’s for readers who prefer a tickled funny bone rather than a tale of woe.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Loaded with outrageous euphemisms for the sex act between any type of couple and repeated near intimate misses, Fenske’s latest is a clever tour de force on finding love despite being your own worst emotional enemy. Sweet and slightly oddball, this title belongs in most romance collections.”
—Library Journal
“Frisky Business has all the ingredients of a sparkling romantic comedy—wickedly clever humor, a quirky cast of characters and, most of all, the crazy sexy chemistry between the leads.”
—New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lauren Blakely
ALSO BY TAWNA FENSKE
Making Waves
Believe It or Not
Getting Dumped
Eat, Play, Lust (Novella)
The Great Panty Caper (Novella)
Marine for Hire
Frisky Business
Fiancée for Hire
Best Man for Hire
Protector for Hire
About That Fling
The Fix Up
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2016 Tawna Fenske
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503949553
ISBN-10: 1503949559
Cover design by Shasti O’Leary-Soudant
To Dixie and David Fenske: for showing me what an amazing marriage looks like and then being my tireless source of love and support while I figured it out for myself.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Reese Clark ducked out of her house and made a beeline for the picnic table beside the winery barn. In one hand she held a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. In the other, a bowl of mealworms.
The magazine she’d tucked under one arm slipped a little, but Reese pinned it in place with her armpit. The movement made the small black bird on her shoulder ruffle his feathers and squawk as Reese squished across the damp grass. It had rained all night, but sunlight seeped through the clouds as Reese savored the hug of her comfiest jeans and the thrill of being blissfully alone with her breakfast.
“Here, try this.”
Reese jumped, losing her grip on the magazine but saving the mealworms and Cocoa Puffs. The starling on her shoulder chirped again and fluttered to perch on her head. Reese frowned at the man emerging from the winery barn with a glass in one hand and his ponytailed blond hair held back by a blue bandana.
“Dammit, Eric—why are you here so early on a Tuesday?”
“It’s not early, it’s six thirty.”
“That’s early. And it’s your day off.”
She plunked down on the picnic bench and set her cereal and mealworms on the table. Eric bent to snatch the magazine by its cover, keeping the wineglass clenched in one hand.
“Hey, the new Wine Spectator,” he said. “Mind if I—”
“Yes, I mind.” Reese grabbed the magazine back and flipped the end of her long, gold-brown ponytail out of her cereal bowl. The bird held his ground, its tiny claws anchored in Reese’s hair. “I haven’t read it yet. You’ll get it later, but only if you let me eat my breakfast in peace.”
He dropped onto the picnic bench beside her and scratched his chest through his SpongeBob T-shirt. He studied the two bowls.
“Which one’s your breakfast?” he asked.
“The mealworms. Bluebirds love Cocoa Puffs.”
He pushed the wineglass in front of her, knocking the spoon out of her cereal.
“Me
alworms go great with Viognier—come on, just a sip,” he urged. “I think it’s a bit too brassy, but I want your opinion.”
“Eric, I—”
“Don’t be a grump, Riesling. Drink the fucking wine.”
She slugged him in the shoulder. “Don’t call me Riesling.” She was more annoyed by the use of her full name than by the cursing or the suggestion she was the sort of girl who drank wine at seven thirty in the morning.
She was that sort of girl.
And truth be told, she didn’t mind the cursing.
“Go feed the bluebirds so they stick around and chase the damn starlings off the vines,” she said. “Then I’ll taste the wine.”
“You mean like the damn starling that just pooped in your hair?”
“Stumpy has an injured foot and isn’t a threat to our grapes. Besides, he’s being picked up today by a wildlife group that handles nonnative species.”
“You’d rescue a goddamn piranha if you found it swimming in the alpaca trough.”
Reese ignored him as she picked up the glass. She took a slow sip, swishing it over her tongue. She sucked in a little air and tilted her head to the side, contemplating the wine as she watched Eric walk to the bird feeder. He had one eye on her, which was probably why he didn’t see the alpaca until it head-butted him.
“Goddammit, Leon—not in the nuts again!” Eric doubled over.
Beside him, the shaggy, cream-colored beast with random patches of caramel fur made a wark-wark sound and twitched his ears. Reese tasted the wine once more before she set the glass on the table. Eric limped back over with Leon ambling cheerfully behind.
“Why can’t you have a dog like normal women?” Eric muttered.
“At what point did you mistake me for a normal woman?” Reese reached up to scratch the alpaca behind the ears. The starling chirped and fluttered away to perch on Leon’s back. Reese took another sip from the glass. “The wine’s great. Seductive. Is this the one you blended with Muscat?”
Eric nodded, looking pained but pleased as he dropped onto the bench beside her. Leon rested his head on Reese’s shoulder, and she reached for her cereal spoon.
“I’ve got most of the Viognier in steel like usual,” Eric said, “but I added the Muscat to this one and kept it in oak for a little while just to experiment.”
“Not bad. Maybe another week or so, but I think you’re on to something.”
Eric took the glass back, sipping in thought. “You know what this wine reminds me of?”
“What?” she said around a mouthful of cereal. Leon hummed softly while Reese chewed.
“The Grüner Veltliner we served at the wedding.”
“That wasn’t a Grüner. That was a late-harvest Sauvignon Blanc.”
“No, not our wedding—and that was a late-harvest Gewürztraminer anyway—my wedding to Sheila. The good wedding.”
Reese rolled her eyes, not insulted by the wedding slight or the reminder he’d moved on to a new wife, but damn sure she knew her wines. “That was not a Gewürztraminer at our wedding, it was a Sauv Blanc—a nice one.”
“It was not a Sauv Blanc. Remember? You wanted a late-harvest Gewürz because your parents ordered that pork dish.”
“We were not serving Gewürztraminer—we changed that at the last minute because your mother wanted that crappy chicken.”
“Right, but we kept the Gewürztraminer because it went with the lemon buttercream cake you just had to have.” He frowned. “I never did get a piece of that cake.”
“No one got a piece of that cake. Your best man passed out on it, remember?”
Eric grinned. “Clay didn’t pass out at my wedding to Sheila,” he pointed out.
Reese dug into her Cocoa Puffs. “One of seven hundred and eighty-three signs that your present union is a vast improvement over our ridiculous excuse for a marriage.”
“Are you going to read that magazine? Because there’s an article about winemaking in Rioja and—”
“Go away, Eric.”
He didn’t budge. Instead, he looked up at Leon.
Leon spit on him.
“Damn animal,” Eric muttered, wiping his arm on his T-shirt. Reese resisted the urge to remark that now it looked like SpongeBob was drooling.
Eric picked up the wineglass and stuck his nose in again, pondering the aromas. Or pondering something. Reese watched him as she took another bite of cereal, wondering what was bothering him.
“You worried about the expansion?” she asked. “It’s a lot of pressure on you as the winemaker, and I know the jerk at Larchwood says it’s too much to take on, but—”
“Worried? No, it’s great. This place is about to hit it big time.”
“That’s the hope,” Reese agreed as she shoved cereal into her mouth and studied her ex-husband. “You and Sheila doing something fun for your anniversary?”
“We’re having dinner at Subterra, and I got her a jacket she’s been wanting.”
“The purple suede? Excellent, she said I could borrow it for the Memorial Day event.”
“And I got her this cool lacy thing at Victoria’s Secret.”
“I won’t be borrowing that.”
He grinned. “You know, you could be happy again, too.”
“I wasn’t happy the first time I was married,” she pointed out. “No offense. But you were there, and you hated it, too. We’re excellent friends but lousy spouses.”
“No offense taken. Clearly I ruined you for other men.”
She laughed, spilling milk on the table. “Yes, Eric, that’s exactly it.” Leon leaned down to sniff the milk.
“Seriously, you should get over your issues,” he said.
“My issues?”
“Issues,” Eric repeated. “Your parents have the most perfect marriage on the planet, so you got this idea love was easy. When you realized it wasn’t—”
“Gee, this therapy session is fun. Weren’t you leaving?”
He shrugged. “Look, I’m just saying you seem sort of miserable lately. All you’ve done since college is work at the vineyard and fix broken animals—there’s been no excitement, no change, no passion, no—”
“Drama? I hate drama, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Eric sighed. “You just seem stuck. Stagnant. That’s all. It wouldn’t kill you to date or something.”
Reese bit her tongue and reminded herself not to be bitchy. He was trying to help. She reached up and scratched Leon again, earning a contented cluck from her pet.
“As much as I enjoy having my ex-husband advise me on my love life, I’m fine. Really. I’m happy.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
Eric buried his nose back in the wineglass and Reese watched him warily. So it wasn’t the expansion, and it wasn’t anything with Sheila. But something was definitely on his mind. She’d known Eric for fifteen years, and with the exception of the year they’d been married, they’d always been good friends. People were always surprised when Reese told them her ex-husband was the winemaker for her family’s vineyard—a vineyard she’d been managing for almost a decade. Truthfully, the arrangement had never bothered either of them.
But something was definitely bothering Eric now.
“What’s wrong?” she blurted.
Eric sighed. “Look, there’s something I’ve gotta tell you.”
Reese felt a slither of something cold run down her spine. Dew from the overhanging tree, but still, it didn’t seem like a good omen.
“What?”
He looked at her, his hair flopping over the bandana and his expression somewhere between beaten puppy and morose hippie. Behind them, Leon hummed again.
“It’s something big,” Eric said.
Reese set her spoon down and braced herself. “Let’s hear it.”
Ten miles away, “something big”
was eating an omelet at Crescent Café.
“Clay? Clay Henderson, is that you?”
Clay looked up to see June and Jed Clark headed toward his table. Jed had his hand in the back pocket of June’s jeans, while June had her arm slung around her husband’s waist like a beaming cheerleader laying claim to the quarterback.
They’d been married—what?—thirty-five years? Clay watched with a mixture of admiration and nostalgia as Jed paused to kiss June’s temple en route to Clay’s side of the restaurant.
“Haven’t seen you for ages, son,” Jed said once they arrived at the table. “Eric said you’d moved to Idaho.”
Clay nodded, swallowing a bite of omelet. “Boise. I’ve been there more than three years.”
“You still doing that environmental building stuff?”
“Yes, sir. Still with Dorrington Construction. They’ve had me working out of southwest Idaho until just a couple days ago.”
Clay watched their faces for a reaction, for some sign that Eric had told them the news. There was nothing.
Then again, they weren’t paying much attention to him. Jed was busy trying to look like he wasn’t intentionally grazing the side of his wife’s breast with his arm, while June brushed a strand of salt-and-pepper hair from his temple.
Some things don’t change, Clay thought, trying to decide if that was a good or a bad thing.
“So we hear you, uh—made some changes in your life,” Jed said.
June shot an uncomfortable grimace at Jed. Jed met his wife’s expression with an apologetic eyebrow lift, and Clay watched as June’s frown softened. It dawned on Clay that he’d just watched an entire conversation between two people who didn’t require a single word to communicate, and he wondered what it would be like to have that connection with another human being.
He also wondered whether he should just go ahead and address the elephant in the room. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I went to rehab. I’ve been clean and sober almost four years now.”
Jed smiled. “Sir? I’m not used to hearing you be so polite, son. Is that the sobriety talking?”
“Something like that,” Clay agreed, fighting the familiar sensation of feeling awkward in his own skin.
