Page 14 of 500 First Editions (The Romantics #3)

AUTUMN

FROZEN SALSA AND FROSTY HEARTS

“ H i!” Whitney squealed as she wiggled out of her booth at the bakery. The stack of empty mugs rattled on the table as it jostled. “You made it!”

“Three hours is nothing,” I said as I pulled her into a hug. “Especially when there’s you and pie at the end of it.”

Whitney owned a gorgeous little gem in Providence, Rhode Island, called Annie’s Pies.

It was nestled in a quaint college town and was the perfect place for remote workers.

Every detail was thoughtfully placed, from the walls of books for all ages to the coat hooks on the corners of the booths to the lightning-fast Wi-Fi.

Maybe Rhode Island should be my next stop. I could get a rental here and work from Annie’s every day.

But then I’d be close enough for Ryan to?—

My stomach sank at the thought of not being close to Ryan.

Even though I had been intentionally difficult about our deal, it was because I didn’t want to admit that he made me laugh.

He was easy to be around. I was sure all that was part of his carefully contrived plan, but I couldn’t help but crave it.

And I didn’t like admitting I was wrong.

“Okay. Wow,” Whitney said as she waved her hand in front of my face. “What just happened inside that brain of yours?”

I let out a sharp breath and wiggled out the tension from the drive. “I need pie.”

Whitney and I reconvened at her table with slices of pie the size of our heads. I fortified myself with an iced coffee while Whitney had yet another cup of herbal tea.

Her hair was in a soft brown braid today. Sometimes she wore auburn wigs that were part of her branding, but around Wander and me, she let her hair down.

“It’s my current craving,” she said as she blew across the top of her mug. “Which kind of sucks because we’re in the middle of summer. But I suppose it could be worse.”

“Herbal tea?” I stabbed my fork through my slice of pecan pie. “That’s the lamest pregnancy craving ever. What happened to tuna and chocolate cake? Or salsa and ice cream?”

She perked up. “Salsa and vanilla ice cream sounds kind of good . . .”

“Yep. You’re definitely pregnant. Because that was not a suggestion that a reasonable person would latch on to.”

But Whitney was already looking down at her phone, texting. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “My favorite Mexican place is by Miles’s office, and I want to see if he’ll bring me some salsa when they open. We have the best vanilla ice cream here.”

I heaved.

“Moving on,” Whitney said as she set her phone beside her mug. “How are things going with Ryan?”

“They’re not ‘going,’” I countered. “They’re?—”

“I saw the picture he posted,” Whitney said with a self-satisfied smirk. “So I know you two are spending time together.”

I groaned.

When we were waiting in line at the festival, Ryan snapped a photo of our shoes beside each other—my Converse and his sneakers. He posted on his social media pages without a caption or self-righteous commentary. He didn’t even use it as a chance to pitch his dating course.

I wasn’t entirely sure why I was so surprised. I was beginning to learn that, with Ryan Ford, what you saw wasn’t what you got.

“He’s different when we’re alone,” I admitted.

Whitney lifted her brows and sipped from her mug. “That’s very diplomatic of you,” she said calmly. “Blink twice if he made you say that.”

I laughed. “I’m serious. I don’t . . . I don’t like the man, but I don’t hate him. He’s easy to be around.”

“Oh my God!" she whispered with barely restrained excitement. “Are you banging him?”

I burst into a fit of laughter. “What? No. Of course not.”

“Uh, why not?”

“Because we’re not actually together.”

“So?”

I rolled my eyes. “You know we’re not going to magically fall in love, right? Three months isn’t long enough for anyone to fall in love.”

Whitney awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck.

“Well, except for you and Miles. But you guys are soulmates. I’m pretty sure he would have married you after the first day.”

“You’re not wrong,” Whitney said. “But what about Wander and Jack? They fell in love in just a few months.”

“Soulmates. They renovated a whole house together. Even married couples couldn’t do that without at least three threats of divorce.”

She propped her elbow on the table and dropped her chin into her hand. “And what if you and Ryan are soulmates?”

“Then that would be very unfortunate for me,” I clipped as I reached into my bag and pulled out my laptop.

Whitney’s laptop and plotting notes were already sprawled across her side of the table. I shuffled my empty plate to the side and made space to spread out.

“I’m choosing to look on the bright side. If I have to do PR and crisis management with anyone for three months, I’m mature enough to admit that it could be a lot worse.”

“Or you could admit that he isn’t the person you thought he was, and that you actually like him,” Whitney said as she typed away on her computer.

I glared at her. “Let’s not get crazy. He’s still following his method to a T . This is a game to him. But at least I got some good food out of week two’s core memory moment.”

The two of us sat in companionable silence for hours, working diligently. Whitney’s fingers never stopped moving as she raced toward her deadline. I got caught up on all the things that would keep me from writing when I picked it back up—emails, social media posts, and ads.

While Whitney dabbled in all different publishing routes and Wander went the traditional way, I was a one-woman show.

Shep liked to say it was because I didn’t trust anyone to do things the way I wanted them done, and he was right.

But it worked for me.

I made my own schedules and wrote whatever the hell I wanted to write. I loved the autonomy of it all.

Still, part of me felt unsettled. I loved a plan and, right now, I didn't have one. I didn’t know what I was writing next or where I would write it.

Instead of finishing the last of my emails, I logged onto the rental website and started browsing.

I must have completely lost track of time, scrolling through the listings, because the next thing I knew, Miles was strolling in.

His bright yellow Crocs squeaked across the cobblestone floor of the dining room.

“There’s my beautiful mother duck,” he said with a cheery lilt to his voice. “And my favorite bubblegum baddie. How’s it hanging, Willow?”

“Like a pinata. One whack away from falling apart,” I muttered as I typed away at yet another email.

“Nah. It can’t be that bad,” Miles said as he started unloading the pockets of his swim trunks. They were fuschia with yellow ducks wearing sunglasses all over the fabric. One by one, he pulled out little plastic cups full of salsa.

Whitney’s eyes went wide, and she looked like she was about to cry. “I love you,” she blubbered as she wiggled out of the booth and dashed to the bakery’s kitchen.

Miles settled into Whitney’s seat and started to arrange the salsas by color: green on the left and red on the right. “So, how’s your enemies-to-lovers romance going?”

I groaned. “Not you, too.”

His grin was blinding. “Good news travels fast. Jack and I have a little wager on whether you two will actually fall in love. He’s a little new to the wonderful world of romance and said no. But me? Believer in love all the way.”

“Then it’s official. Jack is my favorite,” I deadpanned.

Miles groaned and pressed his hands to his chest like he had been shot. “You wound me, Willow.”

I snickered under my breath as Whitney came skipping down the row of booths with a giant bowl of ice cream. “Best day ever,” she sang as she squeezed in beside Miles and started taking stock of the salsas. “All my favorite people. We just need to get Wander and Jack up here.”

“Good luck with that,” I said as I cracked my knuckles. “I think they’re enjoying their time in their little love nest.”

She snickered as she popped the top to one of the portion cups and gave it a sniff. “They’re so cute together.” Her nose wrinkled. “What is that?”

“Mango salsa,” Miles said.

Whitney quickly snapped the lid back on and shook her head. “The baby hates mangoes.” She opened a green container and sniffed once, then twice, then poured it all over her vanilla ice cream.

I grimaced. “Really? Tomatillo salsa? That’s the one you went with?”

She jabbed her spoon into the scoop of ice cream, making sure to get a healthy amount of salsa on top, then ate it.

I cupped my hand over my mouth and dry-heaved.

Whitney groaned in delight. “The garlic really complements the vanilla.”

Even Miles looked a little green. His complexion matched the ice cream concoction.

“You’re not doing bakery stuff while you’re pregnant, right?” I hedged. “You’re letting the bakers come up with all the pie flavors?”

Whitney nodded as she shoveled in another bite. “I don’t do much around here anymore. I just mooch off the Wi-Fi.”

Miles and I let out a relieved breath. “Thank God," I whispered.

As much as I wanted to stay and watch Whitney eat disgusting combinations of food, I needed to hit the road to get back to New York. The break had been just what I needed to get Ryan out of my head. The drive up here had me itching for long stretches on the road full of daydreaming and plotting.

I wanted to go somewhere far. I wanted to be on the road for days. I wanted the challenge of the trip. I wanted to go somewhere that felt like I was in another world.

I had gotten too comfortable in New York.

I said my goodbyes to Whitney and Miles, then grabbed a few slices of pie for the road.

My silver sedan was nothing fancy, but she got great gas mileage and had enough space for the few belongings I traveled with. She had gotten me across the country many times and never let me down.

That was, until I heard the ominous ker-thunk .

The tire light on my dashboard immediately lit up as a grotesque whump, whump, whump echoed along the highway. I put on my flashers and eased onto the side of the road.

My phone lit up as soon as I put the car in park.

Ryan