Page 118 of Last Call at the Local

I hang on to her every word until the anxiety eases into something tolerable, until so many cherry blossoms get caught in her hair that if they really granted wishes, we’d have more than a person could ever need.

Acknowledgments

This book would not have been possible without the love, support, and hard work of so many. Thanks to my agent, Wendy Sherman, for always telling it like it is. To my brilliant editor, Kerry Donovan, who I wholeheartedly trust to understand my vision and guide me in achieving it. To my entire team at Berkley, especially Mary Baker, Kristin Cipolla, Jessica Mangicaro, Christine Legon, George Towne, and Alaina Christensen. Thank you to Colleen Reinhart and Guy Shield for a gorgeous cover.

To my dearest friends, Raven, Danielle, Emelia, and Krystal, who read my work when it isn’t pretty and put up with my constant voice notes. A special thanks to Kelly MacPherson for her insight on the sensitive matters in this book. Thank you to the friends and family who shared their experiences with me. Any errors in my portrayal of OCD and ADHD are my own.

Thank you to the Berkletes and all the wonderful authors who have supported me, not just in publishing, but also in the ups and downs of life. You mean so much to me.

To the staff and supporters of my favorite place in the whole world, the Weymouth Center for the Arts & Humanities, thank you for all you do. My time at Weymouth each summer refreshes my soul and my creativity.

Huge thanks to all the lovely influencers and readers who helped to reveal the cover for this book. To anyone who has read, loved, andshared my books: Thank you, thank you, thank you. I can’t express what you mean to me. You’re why I love this business.

Thank you to the lovely and generous people of Cobh, especially the kind folks at the Cobh Tourist Office and Steve from Kelly’s Bar, who may be the most delightful bartender in all of Ireland.

To Marco, Carolina, and Nicolas, I am grateful to so many, but most of all to you. If it weren’t for your love and support, I wouldn’t be chasing my dreams. There is no one else I’d rather have by my side.

Keep reading for an excerpt from

Luck and Last Resorts

by Sarah Grunder Ruiz.

Available now from BerkleyRomance.

June

Returning home from months at sea is like waking up from one dream right into another. Charter season is four months of sunshine, the bluest water that has ever existed, and lots and lots of money. But it’s also sixteen-hour shifts, sleep deprivation, and late nights scrubbing the vomit of hungover billionaires from white carpet. At the end of the season, we always come to Mitch’s, an Irish pub that puts thedivein dive bar. Mitch’s is dirtier than someone who cleans a twenty-million-dollar yacht for a living would like, and the dust on the bookcase beside our table is likely a health violation, but seeing as it’s the first mess in months that isn’t my responsibility to clean, I couldn’t care less.

Some people never experience déjà vu, but I feel it all the time. More and more as the years pass. Every time I slip into this booth at Mitch’s, for instance. Jo, theSerendipity’s second stew and my soon-to-beformerbest friend, says I’m just bored. But I disagree. How can I be bored when I work on a giant boat and run away to theCaribbean four months a year? How can I be bored when I get paid to see the places most people only dream of? As Jo’s nieces would say, I amliving the dream.Usually, I don’t disagree.

Usually.

But as I stare across the table at Jo,nightmareis the word that comes to mind. I can see her mouth moving, but I don’t hear a word. I’m distracted by the ache in my bad knee, which, after the last four months working barefoot, is aggravated by even the lowest of low-heeled wedges. In a few days, my knee will adjust to life on land along with the rest of me. All I have to do is ignore the pain until it fades. But what Jo’s just told me? I won’t adjust to it. I refuse.

“Nina?” Jo’s voice comes back into focus, and the feeling of déjà vu slips away. Her gaze darts from me to her fiancé, Alex, beside her.

“It’s an awful idea.” It’s all I can manage, because this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Jo quitting the yacht? To help Alex run a restaurant?

Jo frowns into her drink. “That’s all you have to say?”

“You can’t even cook, Josephine. They don’t pass out Michelin stars for knowing how to operate a microwave. How are you going to help this man run a restaurant? Sure, he makes a good cheese Danish, but the sex can’t be that good.”

“I’ll try to focus on the part where you compliment my cooking,” Alex says.

I shoot him a glare. “Don’t.”

Jo twirls the straw in her glass. “I won’t be cooking. I’ll help manage the place,” she says.

Alex puts an arm around Jo’s shoulders, and though I love him for loving Jo, I also want to punch him in the ribs. Not hard enough to break one, but enough for him to understand how all this is making me feel.

A better friend would smile, buy a round of shots, celebrate this new phase of her friend’s life. But I am not Jo’s better friend. I’m herbestfriend. And as such, I can’t help but think of all the things I’m losing.You’re upset because she’s choosing him over you, the voice in my head says. The voice isn’t wrong. Of course Jo is choosing Alex over me. He’s the fiancé. I’m the best friend. That’s what happens when people get engaged, or land their dream job, or find something else they can’t resist.

“This is worse than a secret fetus,” I whisper into my drink.

Alex tenses. “A what?”

I wave a hand at Jo. “I thought you may have impregnated her. She’s been acting weird all week.”

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