Page 1 of Rumor Has It

Prologue

In entertainment news, pop superstar Kylie Montagne died early this morning, succumbing to injuries she sustained in a motor vehicle accident. Authorities say Montagne’s vehicle failed to negotiate a hair-pin turn near the Nashville home she shared with her husband, country singer Isaiah Roomer. The car veered off the road, sliding down an embankment, and hitting a tree.

In a statement issued by Isaiah Roomer, he thanked Kylie’s fans for their continued prayers and asked for privacy during this difficult time.

Roomer, whose latest single from his newest album is already climbing the country charts, has postponed announcing the dates for his highly anticipated upcoming Rumor Has It tour.

The celebrity duo dated for half a decade before marrying in a lavish ceremony three summers ago.

We’ll bring you more updates as they become available…

Chapter One

CASSIDY

“Is it so wrong to want to be swept off my feet?” I lean my elbow on the window and place my head on my fist, staring out the windshield.

The headlights of my cousin-slash-best friend’s car illuminate the sign for Kingsbrier. Not much farther along the dark county road, the gates for the bed-and-breakfast come into view.

“I’m the wrong person to ask,“ Rhiannon deadpans from the driver’s seat.

Rhiannon gave up on love in high school when her boyfriend passed away. I feel for her, but rejecting the idea that lightning can’t strike twice is a foreign concept when, unlike Rhiannon, love hasn’t struck me once.

“Want me to come in?” She turns the wheel, guiding me home. “We could make popcorn.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’m not hungry anymore.” I appreciate the ride, but I’d rather lick my wounds in private. That’s why I left before I had to eat alone.

“What are you doing the rest of the night?”

“Starting Aunt Brier’s book club selection.”

“Way to kick yourself when you’re down,” she scoffs. “You read romance books for the wrong reasons.”

“Please, you like the journey. The self-discovery. The realistic way they tackle social issues,” I argue, unbuckling my seat belt.

“I like the sex, Cass,” Rhiannon interrupts. “Everyone likes the sex. Don’t kid yourself. Even the pearl clutchers prefer the steamy bits. If they didn’t, the ratings for gratuitous TV wouldn’t be as high as they are. Reality shows? People tune in to see who bonked. Nobody cares what happens after the rose ceremony unless there’s dirt to dish at the reunion show. It’s all about who wore a rubber and then rubbernecking.”

“Thank you for reminding me why I prefer books over television.”

Minus streaming a good rom-com. Those are cute.

Although I’m bitter at having wasted my evening, I take Rhiannon’s cynicism in stride. She’s protective of her heart to the point she even shut me out after Jordy’s funeral. Photographing weddings and other large events, she has more experience meeting men than I ever will. Yet she won’t get involved in a relationship.

Compared to me, Rhiannon can handle a guy who talks non-stop about himself the way my date, Rudy, had from the second he honked the horn on his flashy new BMW to alert me he was in the driveway. She’d toss a glass in his face if he took a call from his ex-wife during the salads. She wouldn’t sit politely, refusing to make a scene when Rudy shifted in his seat and flipped his phone screen over to hide the suggestive text messages. Or when he tossed his half of the bill on the table prior to the main course being served because he had an “emergency”.

Which was probably a boner.

Does the fact that I’ve just thought I should’ve doused Rudy’s shirt with red wine mean I’m callow?

God, I hope that isn’t the case. Not every man I’ve been out with behaves like this. Though most of them need a life coach on speed dial rather than their exes or mothers.

“Thanks for the ride.” I say, getting out of Rhiannon’s car. “I appreciate you saving me from my latest dating fiasco by driving halfway across the county to pick me up.”

“Anytime,” she replies, waving goodbye out the window.

I sigh, watching the taillights vanish into the distance before hitting the granite steps.

With Christmas and New Year’s approaching, the inn is closed to guests. I have two blissful weeks to myself to look forward to. While I wasn’t inviting my date in, I’ll admit I was expecting a kiss at the door and the possibility of another night out.

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