Page 36 of Hot Mess Wedding

Clay, of the dad bod, exhales loudly. “They were sold out at the last two stores, Nancy. I’m allowed to get nervous. I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

It’s the senator’s wife, I want to tell him. She’s the murderer. I roll my eyes at the predictability of it all and head over to the snack aisle, where I’ll be safe among friends. And people say romance is formulaic. I’ve already packed an entire bag of my favorite writing snacks, but it doesn’t stop me from grabbing a few more bags of gummy worms and spicy cheese curls.

This is the first time I’ve actually been on this writing retreat when I haven’t had a deadline looming over my head and crimping my fun. The opportunity to actual relax at this writing retreat is one of the perks of currently being without a contract. I walked away from my most recent contract offer because I’m tired of writing what I’ve been writing and my publisher won’t entertain the idea of me doing anything else. But after fourteen medieval knights, I’m ready for something different, something challenging, and they said no. So, after carefully considering my finances, I walked.

My agent is still not speaking to me. Whatever. It was the right choice. And this week is the perfect scenario for me to research my newest idea.

The girls and I—that is, my best writing friends, Cassia Murphy, Zoey Hart, Mina Chance, Clover Thompson, and Emerald Lee, have been meeting in person for one week a year for the past three years. Though before that, we did online retreats. We brainstorm and write and drink too much and laugh until we cry and it is literally the best week of the year.

This year we’re descending upon a mountain resort in Lake Tahoe that Cassia found for us and I’m thrilled. As a Texas girl, I don’t really get a lot of real winter, so coming here and having a week of it will be nice. Then I can go home and it’ll nearly be spring. After I pay for my snacks, I leave the bookstore while Clay and Nancy continue to argue by Rex’s book display.

I pass by a wall of televisions airing a morning news program advertising an upcoming segment for tomorrow’s show featuring an interview with none other than Rex Harrison. I keep walking and on my ride down the escalator, the electronic ad at eye-level projects the book trailer for Rex’s book.

“Oh my God, I cannot get away from that man,” I mutter to myself. How is it possible that I’m seeing more of him now than when we dated?

A cabin in the mountains is exactly what I need right now. I check the time on my phone and I’m pleased to see that Emmy should arrive any minute. I go find my luggage, then sit near where she should come around.

Twenty minutes later, I’m lost in a book on my Kindle when I hear her squeal my name. I look up to see her long dark hair swishing around her shoulders, a wide lopsided grin on her face as she heads towards me. I stand and we embrace in the middle of the luggage area, not caring at all that people are staring at us.

“I’m surprised you recognized me with my hat on,” I say. I tap my tie-dyed Keep Austin Weird baseball cap that’s currently corralling my wild blonde curls. “It was too early in the morning to get up and do the whole make-up and hair thing. So I came incognito. You look gorgeous, as usual.”

She waves away my compliment and rolls her eyes before saying, “Oh my God, I am so excited. I’ve been looking forward to this for so long!”

We link arms and head outside, and the cold air literally steals my breath. I suck wind and shiver. “Wow, that’s invigorating,” I say with a giggle.

“Oh geez, we’re not cut out for the cold, are we? But hey, I booked a ride share while I was in the bathroom. So it should be ready for us.” She taps the screen of her phone. “Our driver’s name is Steve.”

I follow Emmy around a mob of people waiting for the crosswalk to clear of cars so they can walk across.

“Steve?” she asks.

I look up and find a four-door sedan literally wrapped in the cover of Rex’s book. “Are you kidding me right now?” I ask.

“I get paid extra for tricking my ride out with ads. Normally I go for power drinks, but this publishing company paid me a load.” Steve nods. “Cool, right?”

“Super cool,” I say.

Emmy’s eyes narrow while she stares at me.

I roll mine. “Long story. I’ll tell you on the drive.”

Steve loads up our luggage, and we get into the backseat. The inside of his car smells like patchouli and citrus and it’s a little overwhelming, but it’s clean.

Emmy sneezes as we pull away from the airport, and we exchange a look and a giggle.

“Okay, spill it, lady. What’s the deal with the book wrap?” she nods her head to the window indicating the outside of the car.

I blow out a breath, then I turn in my seat and face my friend. “He’s my ex-fiancé. Three years ago, we were meant to marry and, well, that didn’t work out.”

“You were engaged to another writer?” Emmy asks.

“When we were engaged, he was a law professor who was working on what he was sure would be the next great American novel.” I shrug. “Though I’m not sure he considers what I do as being ‘real writing,’ despite the fact that this is his first book.”

Emmy frowns. “Is he one of those?”

“Yep, a total romance hater. He used to tell me all the time that his work was ‘more important’ and that the only reason I could write books faster than him was because I just made everything up and didn’t have to do real research. And let me tell you, he might think his book is all literary genius, but that’s just packaging. It’s still a political thriller, and it’s predictable at that.”

“Don’t worry, honey. His loss. The top four titles in the world right now are romance, so he can go suck on that. We don’t care, we’re on vacation,” she squeals.

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