The Fashionista and Her Lumberjack (Romance on the Go Book 0)

by Larissa Vine

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2017 Larissa Vine

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-504-3

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: M. Allison Lea

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Mark

  THE FASHIONISTA AND HER LUMBERJACK

  Romance on the Go ®

  Larissa Vine

  Copyright © 2017

  Chapter One

  April hurried toward Whispers in a denim jacket and a faux vintage lace top. Underneath it, her bra was visible—not obviously visible like she was offering up her cleavage for the whole of London, but accidentally visible like she had no idea that people could see the outline of her bra. She called this look the accidental bra.

  It was Friday and she couldn’t stop smiling to herself because she’d survived another week at work. She’d gotten great feedback on all of her fashion columns—there had been no soul-destroying comments from trolls. The number of her Twitter followers was up to 25,107. And now she was about to meet her best friend and most favorite person in the entire world—Miranda.

  April stopped past the door and scanned the room for Miranda. The music was so loud, everyone shouted to be heard. Men in suits, probably from the City, stood clutching Long Island Iced Teas and flashing their platinum Amex cards at bored-looking servers. Candles flickered on the tables even though it was several hours before dark.

  At last, April spotted Miranda, perched at one of the tall, chrome tables. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail. Her earrings were so long, they almost brushed her collarbone.

  April came up to her and kissed her on both cheeks. “Sorry I’m late … the Tube.”

  But Miranda didn’t seem to be listening. “Sit down,” she said. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Curious, April clambered into a seat. Miranda’s face was flushed pink with excitement. She had the classic English rose complexion of blond hair and pale skin. In summer, she always burned.

  “I’ve met someone,” she said.

  April squealed. “Really? Wow, that’s amazing. I’m so happy for you. What’s he like?”

  A dreamy look washed over Miranda’s face. “His name’s Dan. He’s a fireman and he’s twenty-eight. Though I don’t know what his star sign is. I never thought to ask. I met him at Helen’s housewarming party. Did you know that she’s bought a place in Ladbroke Grove? God knows how anyone can afford to live there these days.

  “So I arrive at the party,” Miranda continued. “And it’s the usual scrum of people, and I don’t want to be there at all. I tell myself that I’ll stay for an hour. One hour to support Helen, then I’ll get a taxi home. But it’s boiling, and the whole place stinks of curry from the apartment next door. So I escape onto the balcony. It’s tiny, one of those Juliet balconies with just enough room for two people and he—Dan—is there. We start talking, and the air is hot and summery and it feels … well, it feels magical. And do you know what he said to me? He said that he’d never met anyone like me in his whole entire life. And it sounds stupid, but I really think I’m in love with him.”

  April clapped her hands. Miranda had been single for what felt like forever. She never got excited about men.

  “So when are you seeing him again?” April asked. “You could wear this on your first proper date.” She peeled back her denim jacket and gave Miranda a flash of the accidental bra.

  Miranda looked thoughtful. “There’s a problem.”

  “Oh?”

  “He lives in Canada.”

  “Oh.”

  “He flew back the day after the party.” Miranda sighed. “It’s typical. I never have any luck with men.”

  The server arrived bearing a tray with two amber-colored cocktails.

  Miranda nodded at the drinks. “I bought us Mai Tais to celebrate.”

  April frowned. She wasn’t sure whether falling for someone from a different country was cause to celebrate and besides, Miranda knew that she’d stopped drinking.

  April hadn’t drunk since the office party at Christmas, when she’d had too much wine and tried to kiss one of the semi-famous guests. She hadn’t known he was married, and she’d been so persistent that he’d had to hide from her in another room. It had been mortifying. Everyone had laughed about it for weeks.

  The server put the Mai Tais on the table. April eyed them warily. How many shots were in them? Was it two or three? She would just have a sip, she decided, then, when Miranda went to the toilet, she would pour some of her drink into Miranda’s glass.

  April pushed the mint garnish to the side with a straw and had a sip. It was deliciously fruity, almost healthy. The citrus flavors masked any hint of rum. She had another sip, then another. Then she watched Miranda get up, her ponytail swinging, and head toward the washrooms. This was her chance to offload some of her Mai Tai, but for a reason she couldn’t pinpoint, she didn’t.

  She stared at herself in one of the mirrors on the wall. At least she looked okay. She’d put her hair up into a bun to go with the outfit. Some of the strands had escaped from the bun and framed her face in flattering ringlets. Her eyes looked bigger than usual, and her skin seemed to glow. Maybe it was the golden, evening light that was making her look so good. Or, perhaps it was the effect of the Mai Tais.

  Miranda came back and began to talk about Dan again—it was hard to get her off of the subject. As April listened, she kept sipping her cocktail. She realized she was laughing a lot and tapping her nails on the table to the beats of the songs. When the server arrived, April, much to her surprise, found herself ordering two more Mai Tais and side of chicken wings.

  Chapter Two

  April locked her flat and stepped onto the High Street. Sunlight sliced into her eyeballs. Wincing, she held a shaking hand up to her face. For a second, she considered going back to get her sunglasses, but she decided she couldn’t risk being late.

  She set off down the road toward her yoga class. She was wearing her lululemon leggings—the cool ones with the mesh inserts—and a Sweaty Betty tank top. Her old-school Adidas trainers rubbed her heels, but it didn’t matter because she didn’t have to walk that far.

  It seemed like the whole of East Dulwich was out enjoying the sunshine. in designer jeans strolled past pushing buggies their lattes balanced in the cup holders. The window of the butcher’s shop brimmed with lovely things—strings of organic garlic and artisanal sausages at four pounds each.

  April had grown up in East Dulwich long before it became posh and people had started referring to it as a “village.” Back then, it had been made up of pubs, low-income housing, and gambling houses. The stores sold Mr. Noodles and single cigarettes. But dig beneath the surface, and the old East Dulwich was still there. It was still that same stretch of gritty road that led out from Elephant & Castle. East Dulwich felt like her, she thought. In a way, they were both pretending.

  She remembered when she’d understood this—the need to pretend to make people think more of her. It had been the morning of her fourteenth birthday. When she’d woken up, her present had been sitting at the foot of her bed. Her mom had bou
ght her the top that she’d been talking about nonstop for ages. It was a Jean Paul Gaultier junior cropped vest in white denim with metal buttons. The cut, the positioning of the breast pockets, they were all so perfect. The top had been on sale in TK Max.

  She’d been so happy that she hadn’t minded when her mom had sent her to the convenience store for milk even though it was her birthday. She’d floated along in the vest, admiring her reflection in the windows of the shops.

  Mr. Henderson’s son Ben worked at the convenience store. He’d been there full time since he’d left school in June. He had intense eyes and a lip ring. April felt fluttery when she was near him, but he always acted like she was invisible.

  But on that day, he’d looked her up and down. He was frowning slightly like he recognized her but couldn’t place from where.

  “Hey,” he’d said. “That’s a cool top.”

  April flushed.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She told him.

  “Cool,” he said. “I guess you were born in the spring.”

  They both grinned.

  “See you around, yeah … April.”

  And that was when April had discovered something—a truth that had cut to her very core. The message in all those films she’d watched and all those books she’d read was rubbish.

  It’s not what you’re like on the inside that counts. What matters is how you look.

  She walked on, craving bacon. That was another problem with drinking and another reason why it had been good to give it up. She always ended up eating junk the next day. And she needed to stay thin and toned, so she could be the best vehicle possible for the clothes. It was part of the deal of being a fashion journalist.

  Thin and toned. She repeated the phrase to rally herself. Thin and toned. Maybe if she said it enough times, it would become her personal mantra.

  She staggered on, still dreaming about bacon—bacon sandwiches, rashers dipped in ketchup. Her head throbbed. It felt like all the saliva had been sucked from her mouth. She stopped, leaned against the side of a shop, and pressed her cheek against the cool brick wall.

  Her phone vibrated from inside her bag. She pulled it out and checked the display. Miranda.

  “Hi,” she said. “Did you get home all right? I was worried when I put you in that taxi.”

  April frowned. Up until that moment, she’d had no idea how she’d gotten home. It had seemed like she’d woken up magically in bed.

  “I’m fine,” she said in her breeziest voice. “I’m just about to do a Flow class.”

  “Yoga? Are you crazy? Aren’t you hungover? Guess what?” Miranda continued. “I hopped onto the Transat website first thing this morning, and they had these amazing deals. It’s part of their summer promotion or something. Anyway, I didn’t know how long they were going to last for, so I just went for it and booked the flights. I still had your passport details from Paris.”

  “The flights?” April leaned heavily against the wall, seriously considering going back to bed. “What flights?”

  “Haha. Very funny.”

  A chill traveled up her body. “No, I’m serious.”

  “You know, silly,” Miranda said. “For our holiday … to Canada.”

  April closed her eyes and squeezed the phone. Images reared up in her head, one after the other. They were so clear and bright, it was like they’d been shot on a GoPro. She and Miranda clinking glasses. Miranda holding up her phone while “O Canada” played on YouTube.

  “How many Mai Tais did we have?” April asked.

  “Four.”

  “Altogether?”

  “No, each.”

  April’s legs felt weak. For a second, she wondered whether Miranda had deliberately gotten her drunk, so that she’d agree to go on vacation with her. Then she dismissed the idea. Miranda was her best friend, and besides, she was incapable of being manipulative.

  “When are we going?” April asked.

  “The second of July,” Miranda said. “The first is Canada Day, which Dan always spends with his family.”

  April almost dropped the phone. July first was only two weeks away. She doubted she could she even get the time off work.

  “We’re flying to Vancouver, remember?” An edge had crept into Miranda’s voice. “Then Dan and his mate Rory are going to meet us at the airport and drive us to a beach resort on Vancouver Island. Dan and Rory do this trip every year. It’s their thing, their little bromance.”

  “And this Rory—he’s okay with us gate-crashing the holiday?”

  Miranda made an impatient clicking sound with her teeth. “Dan hasn’t told him yet but he’ll be fine. He has to be.”

  Chapter Three

  Rory collapsed, panting, onto the sand. He had another half hour before their next game of volleyball. He leaned past Dan and pulled a beer out of the cooler, dripping icy water onto his leg. Then he poured the beer into a Starbucks tumbler, took a sip, and sighed. Ah, a cold IPA on a hot summer’s day. Right now, life was pretty awesome.

  He glanced past the nets to the ocean. Beyond it, the sun sank behind the mountains. Sunsets meant danger. It was peak time for the cops, who patrolled the beach on quad bikes checking for liquor, issuing fines, and ordering pour-outs.

  “You’re not working next week?” Dan asked. He was stretched out beside Rory.

  Rory shook his head. “No, the whole area’s still under evacuation orders.” He turned to Dan. “So wassup, bud? You’ve been quiet all afternoon.”

  Dan sighed. “It’s this girl.”

  “A girl … sweet.” Rory reached out and gave Dan a fist bump.

  Dan hadn’t had a girlfriend for two years since that Amber bitch had left him after she’d let it slip that she’d been sleeping with half of Kitsilano.

  “So what’s she like?” Rory asked.

  “She’s a Brit.”

  “Cool. I dig the British accent. That’s if you can understand her.”

  Dan laughed. “I met her in London.”

  “Oh. So you’re going to do the long distance thing?” Rory wasn’t sure exactly what this meant, but he tried to sound positive for his friend.

  Dan hesitated. He seemed to be working up to something. “Don’t get mad,” he said at last.

  “About what?”

  “I asked her to come to Tofino with us.”

  Rory sucked through his teeth. Holy hell. Was Dan serious? Tofino was their thing. They’d been going there every July since high school. It was their time to surf and drink beer and generally kick back.

  “Can’t she come another time?” he asked.

  Dan shook his head. “Sorry, bro. She’s already booked her flights. She’s bringing a friend, a fashion journalist for a newspaper. She’s supposed to be hot.”

  Rory frowned. He didn’t care whether the friend was hot or not. The last thing he wanted was a couple of stuck-up British girls ruining his only vacation of the year. He took another chug of his beer then ground the can into the sand.

  Suddenly, it didn’t taste quite so awesome.

  Chapter Four

  April peeled back the lid of her suitcase and, reverently, placed her boyfriend shorts from Whistles inside it next to another pair of shorts. Next she put in her American Apparel swimsuit. Not only was it made from gold lame but—joy!—it also had a hood. She kept her Stella McCartney running shoes out because she was going to wear them on the flight. They were so white and so amazing that they were worth nearly a whole month’s paycheck.

  Smiling, she stepped back from the case, which was bursting with so many goodies. After two weeks of packing, then repacking, then packing again, she was finally ready. She’d assembled the perfection collection of clothes for the trip. She was as prepared as Princess Kate had been for her royal tour of Canada.

  ****

  The next day, April sat on the plane in coach, shoehorned next to Miranda as they headed out from Heathrow to Vancouver. April was sure Princess Kate had flown to Canada in a private jet, but
she decided to overlook this fact because nothing was going to ruin the first day of her holiday.

  She was dressed in a black V-neck t-shirt, over which she wore a corset. It was made of cotton but had proper laces in the back. It fit her to perfection. She felt amazing in it, and, judging by the sideways glances she was getting from the other passengers, everyone thought she looked amazing, too.

  She sat in the corset, sipping Evian because it was important to stay hydrated on flights. Beside her, Miranda was working her way through a package of Ready Salted chips. April tried not to shudder every time that she heard a crunch or to stare pointedly at Miranda’s thighs. But honestly, had she no idea how many grams of fat were in that package?

  She turned to Miranda. She needed to think about something other than the chips. “So what does Dan look like?”

  Miranda’s eyes lit up. “He’s gorgeous. Haven’t I shown you a photo?”

  She unstrapped her seat belt, reached down to the foot well, and fumbled around for her bag. Then she got out her phone and switched it on. April craned her neck toward the screen. She let out a shriek and cracked up laughing. It was photo of Dan’s dick.

  “Wow,” she said. “He really is pleased to see you. So you’re at the sexting stage already?”

  Miranda closed the picture. Her face and throat were red. “Here—here he is.” She clicked open another photograph of a man in his mid-thirties with short, curly brown hair and sleepy golden brown eyes.

  “He looks nice,” April said honestly.

  Miranda nodded. “Did I tell you he’s a fireman? It sounds cheesy, but I really think he might be the one. We’ve been emailing and texting constantly. It feels like I’ve known him forever—like he’s my soulmate. He’s just so … nice. I want this holiday to be perfect, so that he’ll fall in love with me. I couldn’t bear it if anything went wrong.”