Page 1 of Single Chance

Chapter One

Rowan

As I opened the door to the noisy, crowded ballroom of the Honeysuckle Inn on New Year’s Eve, a seed of optimism took root in me for the first time in more than two years.

I needed this. So badly. Needed to have fun, forget reality for a few hours, and immerse myself in happy people.

The beat of the music pounded through me. Shimmers of light from a disco ball shifted over every person and surface. The energy of the party enveloped me, making me feel alive even before I fully entered the room.

“Hello. Got your ticket?” a guy in a Luigi costume asked as my eyes adjusted to the dimness.

“Oh,” I said. “I just checked into the inn tonight. Ava invited me. She loaned me this costume.”

He looked me up and down briefly and tilted his head.

“Claire fromThe Breakfast Club,” I told him.

“I was getting there,” he said with a smile. “Red hair would complete it.”

“Last minute,” I explained. “Do you need to talk to Ava?”

“Nah. Welcome,” Luigi said. “Happy New Year, eighties version.” He gestured me past him.

I stepped to the left, where I spotted a bar. I’d need a drink—actually I was overdue for one hell of a bender—but first, a moment.

Taking in the scene, I breathed. Like, took a chest-lifting inhalation that filled my lungs fuller than they’d been in…months.

There was a live band at one end, playing a Culture Club song. People were stacked about fifteen deep around the stage, dancing and giving the musicians their full attention.

In one corner was a neon-green sign that said Arcade and several full-sized arcade games, each of them in use. In the center of the ballroom was more of a traditional dance floor with a few couples and a group of women on it. Opposite of where I stood, a neon-orange sign said Trivia.

Every corner was filled with people. People who didn’t know me, didn’t know what I’d been through. People who wouldn’t scrutinize me to figure out whether a sympathetic look or a hug would be better received.

I was so tired of needing sympathy. Of my eyes filling with tears at an empathetic smile.

Even when I’d met Ava, the inn owner, at the check-in desk, more damn tears had threatened. The upside was that, as soon as she noticed, she’d stopped asking conversational, well-meaning questions about where I was from and what I was doing at the inn.

I sucked in another life-affirming breath.

Festive people. Upbeat music.

Freedom.

I needed all of it even more than I’d realized.

In the next second, a pang of guilt jabbed at me, but I shook it off.

Tonight was about looking ahead, not mourning the past.

This town might turn out to be my future, at least my short-term future. My respite. My chance to rediscover myself and focus onmylife.

Drink, Rowan. You need a drink, girl.

At the bar, I ordered one of the eighties cocktails, a Blue Lagoon. It tasted like a blue vodka lemonade and had a festive curl of lemon peel floating on top.

It’d been months since I’d dared to try to relax with anything alcoholic. Now I carried my drink to a spot along the wall and took a sip. I let the sweetness and the distinct taste of alcohol sit on my tongue for several seconds. My eyes fluttered shut in appreciation.

When I opened them, my attention caught on a guy at the bar whose gaze was on me. He smiled, and I felt a pulse of something I hadn’t felt in ages.

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