Page 28 of Iris Kelly Doesn't Date

“Damn right,” she said. “Now, a toast. To the most nauseatingly beautiful couple the Pacific Northwest has ever seen.”

“Should we be offended?” Jordan said to Astrid, who just laughed and kissed her girlfriend’s cheek.

“And to,” Iris went on, “a lifetime of happiness, joy, and enough great sex to keep Delilah from lighting the world on fire.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” Claire said, blushing.

Delilah just shook her head, but she tipped her glass to Iris.

Iris laughed, then drained her entire drink in three, nose-burning gulps.

AN HOUR LATER,Iris ran across the inn’s gravel parking lot back to her car. She’d started to feel better during talks of venues and dates, smiling and laughing about how she was going to throw the happy couple a sex toy shower—she absolutely was—but now her chest ached.

She found out why when she fell into her Subaru’s driver’s seat and immediately burst into tears again.

She wiped furiously at her face, berating herself for acting like such a baby. She washappyfor Claire and Delilah.

“I’m fucking happy!” she yelled and banged her fists on her steering wheel.

“Sure looks like it.”

She yelped at the deep voice, jumping so high, her head brushed the roof of her car.

Simon Everwood peered down at her through the window.

She exhaled, clutching at her chest. She should play this off, she knew. No good could come from her whining about beingsingle, for god’s sake, but her face was already a mascara-streaked, blotchy mess, and she didn’t have the fucking energy.

She lifted her hands and let them slap back down into her lap, sniffing snot back into her runny nose.

Simon rounded the car, opened the passenger door, and slid inside. Then he turned to face Iris and proceeded to simply stare at her with this expectant expression that made her want to smack his glasses off his face.

“I’m fine,” she said, wiping at her face again. “I’llbefine.”

“I know you will,” he said so softly, she nearly started boo-hooing again.

“I’m just... I’m restless.” She pressed her puffy eyes closed. “My book is a disaster, my mom is up my ass to fall in love and pop out a million babies.”

“Sounds like something you’d do.”

Iris snorted, but somewhere under the laughter, there was a sting of hurt. Even her best friends knew she wasn’t falling-in-love material.

“I just need to focus on my book,” she said. “But I’m totally locked up.”

“You sure that’s all this is?” he asked. “Writer’s block?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, I don’t believe in writer’s block. If you can’t figure out what to write about, it’s because you’ve gone wrong somewhere earlier in the book.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Iowa Writer’s Workshop.”

“Oh, I’m just naturally this brilliant.”

She flipped him off and he laughed, nudging her shoulder.

“Well, your theory doesn’t hold up,” she said, “because there is noearlierin my book. I don’t even have a first sentence.”

“You need some space togeta first sentence, then. Your agent’s right—you need to do something low stakes, something creative that’s not writing, to clear your head.”