Page 1 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

Now

You’d think I was someone who didn’t get nervous anymore. You’d be wrong.

T he leather interior of the fancy two-door rental car clung to the backs of my thighs from my spot in the passenger seat.

I kept my eyes fixed out the window as we made our way through the turns and dips in the country road.

Rows and rows of grape vines and olive trees—some freshly harvested, others plump and ripe for the picking—filled the expanse of green hills.

Early autumn had begun to make its mark on Northern California.

The late afternoon was gorgeous from our vantage point, the sky barely fading from clear blue with puffy clouds to luxurious shades of purple, amber, and blood orange. Golden hour would settle perfectly by the time we arrived.

Perfect for photos. Perfect for wedding festivities.

According to Gemma, my best friend and bride-to-be, destination weddings in wine country were making a “huge comeback.” It also didn’t hurt that Gemma’s wealthy uncle was the co-owner of a five-star resort-slash-vineyard in the heart of the Californian countryside, making for the perfect wedding venue.

Kieran drove the car up the steep, winding road that led to Moncleith Mountain Resort, my stomach rolling in time with each dip and twist. I released a slow exhale, mentally counting to ten along with it.

Kieran’s hand came to rest easily above my knee, his pinky finger sliding ever so slightly under the hem of my sundress.

I smiled at the contact, loving the way his tanned hand looked against the freckled skin on my thigh, but I was grateful his eyes never left the road.

I didn’t want him to see the nerves bubbling just under the surface of my facade.

The flight from Boston yesterday was spent oscillating between excitement for my best friend’s big day, relief I had a few days away from work, and absolute dread at the mere possibility of seeing him.

Kieran squeezed my exposed thigh gently. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, Olive?” he asked, the soft timbre of his voice easing me out of my own head.

“Nothing,” I answered a bit too quickly. I gave him a tight smile and covered my hand with his, lacing our fingers together. “Just not looking forward to the crowd is all. I heard Gemma and Grant invited practically everyone they’ve ever known.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, giving me a look as he nodded.

Hmm, a classic Kieran-ism, also known as his way of saying he thought something was stupid, or boring, or sounded generally uninteresting and unimpressive, but he was too nice to say it directly. Or, in this case, Hmm meant Of course, Gemma invited everyone under the sun to her lavish wedding.

He’d never been impressed by her success on social media or her influencer status, but he knew better than to vocalize his complaints to me .

Gemma Clark, my fabulously beautiful, magnetic best friend, was getting married to the love of her life and one of our grad-school friends, Grant Christensen.

He was perfect for her, of course. She would have never in a million years agreed to marry someone who treated her even a fraction less than exactly what she deserved.

He complemented her in every way possible.

Where Gemma was always the life of the party, the deserving star of the show, the natural influencer who was always down to go out, Grant was her Star Wars -loving, house plant-growing, boy-next-door fiancé with an aeronautical engineering degree.

They couldn’t be more different, but they fit together like a glove. They had since the very beginning.

I turned back to the window and resisted the urge to chew on my bottom lip for fear of ripping the skin and making it bleed. Again.

Is he going to be there?

My thoughts had been constantly, uncontrollably, flashing to him in the six months since we received the save the date for the wedding, but more so in the last handful of days.

Memories. Some I’d all but forgotten about until I had the sickening realization there was no way he didn’t get an invitation to the wedding.

Since then, the memories lit up my mind like lightning in the night sky at the most inopportune moments.

Am I going to have to face him again?

I thought about the last time I saw him nearly two years before, how everything had ended.

Well, “ended” wasn’t the right word when things never really, truly began in the first place. As much as I tried not to think about it, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting, mentally preparing myself for what I would do if I saw him.

Or worse, if he saw me .

Or worse than that, if he saw me first and I didn’t see him at all until boom, he was right in front of me, giving me no time to think before reacting. What would I do? What would I say?

Is there even anything to say?

Kieran turned onto a freshly paved drive lined with pristine landscaping. Resort amenities passed as we ascended the hill—pickleball and tennis courts, private access pools, and hot tubs.

“This place has everything,” Kieran said, his eyes wide. “Wanna play pickleball sometime this weekend? It’s a great workout.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled, keeping my eyes trained out the window. “I’ll be pretty busy helping Gemma with wedding stuff, remember?”

Even though the actual wedding wasn’t for another two days, it was incredibly on-brand for Gemma to ask all her friends and family to “ Make the trip worth your while !” by hosting an entire weekend-long wedding extravaganza at the venue.

Air conditioning blasted across my face despite the balmy autumn breeze outside, but the sting of nervous sweat still gathered under my arms the closer we got. Tonight was just the welcome party.

It’ll be fun, I reminded myself, everyone will be there.

Well, hopefully, not everyone.

When the road evened out to a wide drive that led to a towering, Italian-style stone and terracotta building, a breathtaking expanse of vineyards came into sight just behind it.

Before I could even open my mouth to gawk, the view was obstructed by two valets hustling to open our car doors.

As quickly as we could get our bags out of the trunk of the rental, a third valet pulled up next to us in a golf cart, promptly loading our things into the back.

Beyond, the resort grounds were full of bricked trails leading to rows and rows of private, cabin-like suites .

I guess that explains the escort.

“I’ll go get us checked in,” Kieran murmured with a kiss to my temple. “Be right back.”

October air caught my hair as it whipped through the gentle hills and valleys of the property.

I admired the vineyard’s sheer beauty and breathed in the smell of freshly harvested sweet grapes and autumn leaves while I waited.

Distant, acoustic music swelled from the far side of the building, out of view.

Must be where the welcome party is.

Is he here?

The thought involuntarily jumped to the front of my mind. I couldn’t resist it if I tried.

What does it matter if he’s here or not? He might not have even come. The likelihood of him being able to make the trip is slim to none with how busy he must be now. Gemma said so herself, his RSVP was still very much TBD.

I shook my head as the familiar anxiety I’d been battling crept up again. No, I refused to allow myself to fall down a mental rabbit hole thinking about him. This weekend was about supporting my best friend.

No drama.

“Okay, all set!” Kieran jogged over, handing me a heavy-looking canvas bag—welcome gifts for the friends and family of the bride and groom as they checked in. Only this bag was considerably heavier than welcome gifts I’d received at any other weddings I’d attended.

“What the hell?” I snorted. Peeking inside, I found an arsenal of goodies preparing us for the weekend ahead, along with the source of the hefty weight.

In addition to some wedding weekend essentials, there was also a bottle of expensive-looking white wine and a Polaroid photo of Gemma and Grant smiling broadly at the camera with the words Let’s Get Ready To Party! printed on the bottom.

“I’m glad they’re taking such an understated, demure approach,” Kieran grumbled, guiding me to the waiting golf cart with a hand on my waist.

The cart hauled us up a shallow, winding path to a circle of cabins that resembled a cul-de-sac. Snagging the room key from Kieran, I let myself in while he and the valet ushered our bags inside.

The suite was ginormous, with high ceilings and wide French doors that led out to a balcony at the back of the bedroom. A California king bed took up most of the space; the fluffy white duvet beckoned me to curl up and take a nap after our long drive.

I turned in place to explore and gasped when my eyes landed on the bathroom. It was breathtaking. White marble countertops, lights lining the giant vanity, and a glass shower with one of those hanging rainwater showerheads. I sighed with bathroom envy.

The door closed with a thud , followed by a whistle as Kieran took in the suite for himself.

“Damn,” he whispered, though probably more to himself than to me.

“Not too shabby,” I confirmed.

He appeared in the bathroom doorway and leaned against the frame.

“What?” I asked, already reading the look in his eye.

“That’s an awfully big bed in there.”

“Is it?” I leaned close to the mirror to splash water on my face.

He watched my reflection. “Should we test it out before the party?”

I laughed and nudged him in the ribs as he drew closer to guide his hands around my middle .

“We have to get ready!” I tried to ease away from him, but he only backed me into the vanity, humming his protest against my neck. “Kieran, the party starts in less than an hour, and I still need to shower.”

“That’s plenty of time.”

“No, it isn’t.” I craned my neck away. With a kiss on the lips and a pat on the shoulder, I shooed him away. “Now go.”