by kc dyer
Praise for
Eighty Days to Elsewhere
“For anyone who’s ever longed to travel the world in search of adventure, love, security, danger, mystery—or themselves. A wild and wonderful journey in the company of the most engaging pilgrim since Phileas Fogg.”
—Diana Gabaldon, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Outlander novels
“Dyer keeps readers engaged with scenic descriptions and a sweet, slow-burning love story. This is a delightful romp.”
—Publishers Weekly
“This inspired series launch from Dyer (Finding Fraser) offers readers a journey around the world that is both entertaining and enlightening. Fans of new adult romance will enjoy watching Romy discover not only new landscapes but herself in the process.”
—Library Journal
“Dyer takes readers on a journey of self-discovery that spans several continents, engages with various cultures, and touches on urgent sociopolitical issues. . . . A charming story detailing a woman’s self-discovery through travel.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“I enjoyed Eighty Days to Elsewhere immensely and would highly recommend it to anyone looking for an entertaining adventure.”
—The Bookish Libra
“A thought-provoking journey around the world.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A very entertaining and fun book while still being thought-provoking and smart. I highly recommend for anyone who is a fan of travel and romantic comedies.”
—Smitten by Books
“A book you’ll devour in the weekend sunshine. . . . Dyer’s examinations of race, culture, and the implications or consequences of travel were surprising and welcome. It is not enough for books to bury themselves in fluff anymore; we must accept that our lighthearted stories take place alongside the realities of the world we live in, and Dyer has started that trend here.”
—Nuvo Magazine
Praise for
Finding Fraser
“Jamie Fraser would be Deeply Gratified at having inspired such a charmingly funny, poignant story—and so am I.”
—Diana Gabaldon, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Outlander series
“A must-read for Outlander fans eagerly awaiting their next Jamie fix.”
—Bustle
“A humorous yet relatable self-discovery tale.”
—Us Weekly
“I loved this book. It transported me to a Scotland I wished I’d grown up in. Everything about it is a delight, and it’s all authentic—the environment, the characters, the dialogue, and the sheer enjoyment of it all.”
—Jack Whyte, bestselling author of the Guardians of Scotland series
“For everyone who ever fell in love with a fictional character. Dyer blends humor, a love of Scotland, and romance into a page turner that will keep readers cheering on the main character and turning pages.”
—Eileen Cook, author of You Owe Me a Murder
“An absolute must-read for any Outlander fan. The story is both hilarious and romantic, as well as guaranteed to have readers turning the pages until the wee hours to discover if the heroine finds her very own Jamie Fraser.”
—Laura Bradbury, bestselling author of the My Grape Escape series
“Hilariously funny and insanely enjoyable. . . . If you’re looking for a break from your usual genre picks, you will absolutely enjoy this funny, fast-paced romance with its delightfully quirky characters.”
—YA Books Central
“Fans of the books, the TV show, and romantic comedies should definitely pick this up!”
—BookBub
“Finding Fraser is a humorous tale of finding yourself in the Scottish Highlands.”
—Harlequin Junkie
TITLES BY KC DYER
Finding Fraser
Eighty Days to Elsewhere
An Accidental Odyssey
A JOVE BOOK
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2021 by kc dyer
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
A JOVE BOOK, BERKLEY, and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Dyer, K. C., author.
Title: An accidental odyssey / kc dyer.
Description: First edition. | New York: Jove, 2021. | Series: An ExLibris adventure
Identifiers: LCCN 2021031410 (print) | LCCN 2021031411 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593102060 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593102077 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PR9199.4.D93 A63 2021 (print) | LCC PR9199.4.D93 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021031410
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021031411
First Edition: December 2021
Cover illustration and design by Vi-An Nguyen
Book design by Kristin del Rosario, adapted for ebook by Cora Wigen
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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CONTENTS
Cover
Praise for kc dyer
Also by kc dyer
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Acknowledgments
Readers Guide
About the Author
For Finlay Mae
A most treasured artifact, brilliantly unearthed by my two favorite hot archeologists.
>
chapter one
FRIDAY AFTERNOON
New York Fries
Gia Kostas, NOSH staff writer
I like my fries like I like my guys—a little greasy, a lot salty, and soft on the inside. This recipe tastes hot off the street cart . . . and if you’re a purist, I’ve got a quick and dirty ketchup concoction waiting for you in the sidebar.
To feed four, all you need are six large potatoes—Yukon Gold, if you can get ’em—five cups of avocado oil, and a whole lot of finely ground sea salt.
To begin . . .
Reaching across my keyboard, I click the return button, and my piece shoots off with a tiny, audible zing into cyberspace. In reality, this means it only travels to the far end of the floor and behind a closed door before landing safely inside my editor’s inbox. It’s got the most smart-ass tone of any of the articles I’ve ever submitted—especially that opening line—which could not be further from the truth. But real journalists are always a little bit sassy, right?
Still, I can’t suppress a sigh as I lean back in my chair. My final assignment submitted. I should be celebrating.
As if on cue, a head pops up, appearing through the smudgy plexiglass above the cubicle wall. The wall is one of those soft, grey fabric jobs; easily moveable and designed to absorb sound in an open-plan office. The grey color is soul-crushing on the best of days, and I’m not sure the things do much for absorbing sound either. In any case, mine is covered in recipes, mouthwatering food shots destined for Instagram, and a map of Manhattan with pushpins indicating all the places I’ve written pieces about. The plexiglass is left over from the company’s social-distancing efforts. Even though the worst appears to be over, nobody seems willing to take these ugly things down just yet.
The head belongs to my cubicle neighbor, Janelle. She beams at me, her face poised above the shot of a beautifully plated selection of sushi that adorned an article I submitted last week.
“Drinks at five?” Janelle says and waggles her key chain at me. The key chain bears a little martini glass, complete with tiny olive. “Billy Rae’s has two-for-one Fridays for the whole month of May.”
In spite of my interior gloom, I can’t help grinning back at her. Janelle’s smile is infectious, her wide mouth bracketed with a pair of dimples on the left and a single on the right. The effect is just off-kilter enough to charm the hardest heart. She jingles the key chain again, plainly not convinced by my expression, and steps around the wall into my cubicle.
“I heard your story go through,” she says, tapping my monitor with her pen. The pen, I can’t help noticing, exactly matches the shade of lipstick she’s wearing. Which, in turn, perfectly complements the blouse beneath her neatly tailored suit. “That means you’re done, right?”
Janelle’s ability to look uncreased at the end of her workday is a skill I’ve not managed to master in my time here. I sigh again and reflexively run my palms across my own crumpled skirt.
“Yeah, that was the last piece. Apart from edits, I guess I am done.”
Janelle’s grin widens. “And I’ve just finished the last of my three-parter on this year’s local Michelin stars. So it’s a celebration, then. Excellent.” She perches on the corner of my desk, scrolling through her phone screen. “They do a classic Gibson too. Perfect for a rainy Friday.”
My neck crackles as I push back my chair and stand up. “I’d love to, but I can’t,” I reply, averting my eyes. “I promised Anthony I’d meet him at Hudson Bakes. Cake tasting.”
“Hudson Bakes? Cripes, Gia—that’s the most expensive place in the city.” Janelle, shocked out of her menu scrolling, drops her phone on the desk. “Forget drinks. I’ll come with you. I’d give my right arm to taste their chocolate raspberry truffle cake again.”
I contemplate Anthony’s reaction to me showing up with a work colleague. Considering he’s already vetoed me bringing Devi—my maid of honor—I don’t think it’ll go over very well.
“This is special, Gia,” he’d told me on the phone that morning. “We’re never going to have a day like this again. Who cares what everyone else thinks? Let’s choose something we both love.”
And so it was decided.
“I’d really like to,” I tell her, entirely honestly. “But he’s planned a special date night for us, with the tasting as the centerpiece. Sorry.”
Janelle leans forward and puts a hand on my arm. “God, Gia—you’re so lucky. When I got married, it was all I could do to get Mitch to show up for the ceremony. ‘It’s your day,’ he’d say every time I asked for help making a decision. ‘You just need to tell me where to stand, and I’ll leave the rest up to you.’ ” She sighs. “I’d have done anything to have such a supportive partner.”
There’s a fine line between supportive and bossy, I think, and then clamp my lips shut on the thought, guiltily.
“You’re right. I am lucky,” I reply instead.
Reaching into a dark corner, I haul out an old box I’ve been hoarding from under my desk and start loading my things into it. In spite of the fact that the clock has just ticked past five, my boss’s office door remains firmly closed. Charlotte Castle, my no-nonsense, incredibly organized editor, gave me a warm farewell when we passed in the hallway just after lunch and wished me luck. But she didn’t offer me a contract.
“Last day and no job to come in for on Monday,” I add gloomily. “I kinda wish I’d made a better impression on the powers that be.”
Janelle folds her arms across her chest, and a careful look comes into her eyes. “Listen,” she says. “It’s not just you. It’s a rough time for journalists everywhere. NOSH is a small company—one of the last independents. And we’re only now getting back up to full speed after having to work from home for so long. Anyway, Charlotte has nothing but good things to say about you—you’ll get a fantastic reference, for sure.”
I step around her and begin pulling recipe cards off the wall. “I know. It’s just . . .”
“Besides,” she says, capturing my left hand as I reach for the last card, “you’ve got cake to look forward to, right?”
She turns my hand so the diamond catches one of the last rays of the setting sun gleaming in through the window.
I slip my hand out of hers and shoot her a wry grin. “The wedding’s not until the summer. And I’d rather be thinking about my next story here, to tell you the truth. This whole ‘big wedding’ thing has me a bit freaked out.”
“Girl! Anthony Hearst is one of the city’s most eligible dudes. I wouldn’t give working another thought if I were in your shoes. I’d be sitting back, drinking a Bellini, and leafing through Billionaire Bridal.”
Rolling my eyes, I jam the last of my tear sheets into the box. “Janelle Olsen, you’re the last person I thought would tell me to quit work because I’m getting married. What is this, the 1950s?”
As I say this, I collect the last item from my desk—a framed photo of Anthony and me from the day we got engaged. I drop it into the top of the box. With all personal traces removed, the cubicle looks like what it is. Empty desk space for a temporary intern.
Janelle’s dimpled smile flashes as she plucks my coat from the hook and hands it to me. “Don’t look so gloomy! All I’m saying is that you don’t have to worry financially. You can take some time, plan the wedding, and keep an eye on the job market for when your schedule lightens up.”
I’m just about to nail her again for her weirdly archaic attitude when my phone rings. It’s slipped down inside the box, and I need to pull out my stapler and the framed photo to get to it. The photo is a little out of focus since it was taken from the Jumbotron at a Yankees game. It shows me standing on the infield looking stunned—and with one eye half closed—as Anthony beams straight into the camera from his position down on one knee.
Dropping the photo, I grab the phone, which is displaying a number I don’t recognize, and answer it
.
“Gia Kostas.” I hold a finger up to Janelle to let her know she’s not off the hook with me just yet. But every cogent thought vanishes in the next moment.
“It’s Beth Israel ER, Ms. Kostas,” a voice says through the line. “Your father has just been admitted with symptoms of stroke.”
* * *
—
The NOSH offices are just off Union Square, so it’s actually faster to run to the hospital than taking the L line. Janelle scoops up the box for me, offering to drop it at my place on her way home. I give her a quick squeeze before tossing my heels into the box and slamming my feet into Nikes. Charlotte’s office door is still firmly closed, so I make an executive decision to call in my goodbyes and then bolt for the stairs. This building was renovated some time before the turn of the last century, and a person can age out before the elevator arrives.
As a native New Yorker, I am nothing if not an expert at typing on the fly, so by the time I hit Fourteenth Street, I’ve already left an e-mail for Anthony and a voice mail for my best friend. Anthony keeps himself on a strict communications schedule, so even though he doesn’t reply, I know he’ll be checking his e-mails on the hour. My friend Devi’s residency is in the Emergency unit of the same hospital I’m running toward. So, while I don’t expect her to pick up either, it’s a relief to know she’ll be nearby. It’s not until I jog up to the front of the building that it occurs to me to call my mother, but the sight of an ambulance unloading pushes the thought out of my mind. I can call her when I have actual news. For now?
I just want to see my dad.
* * *
—
So. My dad.
Professionally, Dr. Aristotle Kostas is a well-regarded academic. He’s got a string of initials behind his name and more degrees—earned and honorary—than I’ve ever actually counted. He’s retired now, but since he’s still technically professor emeritus at NYU in the Classics department, they let him keep an office there. Which mostly means he hangs out on weekdays, puttering around and giving the graduate students grief.
