by Tawna Fenske
“Giving you a ring felt sorta creepy, but you’re part of this proposal, and I wanted you to have something.” I slide to one knee, taking the necklace out of the box. “Libby, would it be okay if I asked your mom to marry me? If I promised to be your stepdad forever and ever, and to love you even more than your mom’s gingerbread cupcakes with candied orange and molasses?”
Libby laughs, pigtails swaying as she nods. “Yes!” she says, bouncing a little as I clasp the necklace for her. “I say yes. I love you, Mark.”
I half expected questions about what stepdad means, but she’s paid attention. We’ve talked a lot these last couple months about families and how they all look different. She’s only recently learned about her biological father, and how he’s chosen not to be involved.
We’re probably a few years away from the more detailed explanation that includes details like Senator Assgrab’s wife in prison for attempted murder, or how he halted his presidential run to focus on family matters. She’s also too young to hear how I’ve chosen not to learn about my biological father. Maybe someday we’ll get there, Libby and me, to a point we’re ready to make those connections. But right now, there’s no rush.
I take another deep breath and turn to face the woman I love more than anyone else in the world. The woman who just wiped her eyes on the sleeve of my faded plaid shirt.
“Chelsea.” The wobble is back in my voice, but she doesn’t seem to care. She’s smiling her biggest, broadest smile, and it’s enough to keep me going. “I’ve loved you from the first moment you stood there in your stripey apron feeding me cupcakes,” I tell her. “But back then, I was too dumb and too scared to recognize love when it hit me upside the head like an axe.”
I pull out the second jeweler’s box and open it, and she gasps. I think it’s a good gasp, but I can’t tell with her covering her mouth like that.
“Oh my God, Mark! It’s so beautiful.” She’s flat-out sobbing now, tears rolling down her face as she laughs and smiles and displays a bunch of other emotions I’m still learning to recognize.
“My mom helped come up with the design,” I tell her. “She said tungsten’s one of the toughest metals, and diamonds are one of the toughest stones, and all that strength put together makes something beautiful. Something like you. Like us.”
I slip the ring from the box, admiring how the rose gold inlay matches the glints of red in her hair. It’s beautiful, but the woman whose finger I’m slipping it on puts the damn ring to shame.
It flashes as she holds her finger up, laughing and crying and hugging me and Libby in a great, big, soggy, laughter-filled embrace.
“Wait,” I say, pulling back a little. “Was I supposed to wait for a yes before shoving that on your finger?”
She laughs and wipes her eyes. “I don’t recall hearing a question.”
Oh, shit. I forgot that part, didn’t I?
Well, nothing about this family, this union, has gone according to the rule book. Why would the proposal be any different?
“Will you marry me, Chelsea?” I ask. “Make me the happiest man who ever lived, which you’ve already done, but now it’ll be official.”
“Yes,” she says, laughing as she touches the side of my face. “Yes, absolutely.”
This time it’s me pulling her in for a hug, her and Libby all at once. I wrap my arms around both of them, sealing us into a big, warm cocoon of love and family and togetherness.
“Did I do okay?” I ask. “The proposal, the jewelry, all that stuff? It’s the first time I’ve ever done that.”
Chelsea laughs and pulls back to look in my eyes. “It was perfect,” she says. “A first time and a last time all rolled into one.”
Libby wiggles between us. “And a happily ever after.”
“Exactly.”
***
Ready for James and Lily’s story? That’s next in the Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedy Series. It’s coming June 14, 2019, and you can pre-order Stiff Suit right here:
Stiff Suit
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Keep reading for a sneak peek from Stiff Suit . . .
Your exclusive sneak peek at STIFF SUIT
JAMES
PROLOGUE
* * *
Dear diary,
I’m in hell.
There’s simply no other way to describe the fact that I’m sitting at a conference table scribbling like a pre-teen girl in a leather-bound journal which I swear to God my sister would have covered with flowery stickers if I hadn’t wrenched the damn thing from her hands.
We’re supposed to be writing our feelings, which is asinine.
Fine.
What I’m feeling right now is irritated that Bree wrangled us into this conference room under the pretense of reviewing the resort’s Q4 marketing plan. Instead, my freshly pregnant sister blindsided us with a family therapy session complete with a bespectacled shrink named—I kid you not—Dr. Hooter. The esteemed doctor is watching over us like a constipated headmistress who found a frog in her bed.
Mark’s in the corner gripping his pencil in a fist, possibly contemplating stabbing himself in the eye to get out of this. Sean’s scribbling like mad, but it’s probably a to-do list for his wedding in a few days. Even Jonathan’s here, visiting between humanitarian missions and probably regretting this stop considerably right now. He’s been here just a handful of times since our father’s funeral, and I suspect he’ll run like hell once this is over.
Secrets.
Headmistress Hooter just said that word.
She said several other words, too, but I tuned her out because I’m busy thinking about how I need to get back to my office and run the TRT numbers for this week.
Fine, she has a point. The Bracelyn family has a history of bottling up our biggest secrets and shaking the Dom Perignon bottle until it explodes all over our interpersonal relationships. Sean, Bree, Mark…everyone’s done it, which is precisely why Bree wrangled us in here today.
Reading my mind—God forbid—my sister looks up from her journal and smiles. Then she waves her pen like a wand, urging me to keep writing. I’m considering walking out to get coffee. Brazil, maybe.
Then Bree shifts uncomfortably, resting a hand on the rounded bump that’s incubating my nephew, and something softens inside me.
Goddam it, I love my family.
Fine. Dr. Hooter thinks we have secrets?
She doesn’t know the half of it.
Has no idea what it’s like to be the oldest in a family sired by a patriarch who changed wives with the frequency his fellow billionaires swap sports cars. Cort Bracelyn never liked cars. He liked women, and he liked spreading his DNA around the far reaches of the earth. That’s why we’re all here.
Maybe the Bracelyn spawn weren’t raised with much connection to each other, but we’ve taken our father’s vanity ranch and turned it into the top luxury resort in the Pacific Northwest according to TripAdvisor, thank you very much.
I miss the asshole sometimes. Our father, I mean.
How’s that for a secret?
Cort Bracelyn—a man whose disinterest in raising children was superseded only by his interest in producing them—still leaves me wishing I could pick up the phone and call him. He always had the best stock tips, and the bastard could make me laugh.
I glance up again and Jonathan’s watching me. Christ, it blows me away sometimes how much he looks like our father. Same build, same cleft chin, same green eyes. He glances at Headmistress Hooter, sees her back is turned, flips me the bird and grins.
Nice. I dip my chin to my necktie, hoping no one sees me smirking. There, that’s a secret, right?
But it’s nothing like the ones I’ve kept for our father. The secrets Cort Bracelyn entrusted to his firstborn are hardly fodder for a journal tucked under my pillow each night.
Some secrets you don’t put in writing.
Some secrets you share with no one.
Some secrets you swear on all that’s holy you will take
to your goddamned grave.
* * *
***
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Acknowledgments
Thank you first and foremost to the readers who’ve fallen in love with this series, and who make writing it the most fun I’ve had with my clothes on.
Big gooey gobs of thanks to Fenske’s Frisky Posse for all the behind-the-scenes help naming characters, choosing cover art, and offering virtual butt pats. Thanks especially to Leila Schweiss for naming Libby.
For the moral support and early reads, I issue a zillion wheelbarrow loads of gratitude to Linda Grimes and Kait Nolan (both of whom write amazing books, so you should all go out and grab them now).
Thank you to Meah Meow for keeping my shit together in all the ways that matter.
I’m super grateful to Susan Bischoff and Lauralynn Elliott of The Forge for all your hard work massaging my words, and to Lori Jackson Design for the fantastic teaser graphics, banners, and bookmarks.
Much love and gratitude to my family, Aaron “Russ” Fenske and Carlie Fenske, and Paxton, along with and Dixie and David Fenske for always being there. Thanks also to Cedar and Violet for inspiring little bits of Libby, along with my certainty that family needs no matching DNA.
And thank you to my cover designer, web guru, newsletter manager, and bedwarmer, who happens to be all one guy, and also happens to be the love of my life. Craig Zagurski, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Love you, babe.
About the Author
When Tawna Fenske finished her English lit degree at 22, she celebrated by filling a giant trash bag full of romance novels and dragging it everywhere until she’d read them all. Now she’s a RITA Award finalist, USA Today bestselling author who writes humorous fiction, risqué romance, and heartwarming love stories with a quirky twist. Publishers Weekly has praised Tawna’s offbeat romances with multiple starred reviews and noted, “There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand.”
Tawna lives in Bend, Oregon, with her husband, step-kids, and a menagerie of ill-behaved pets. She loves hiking, snowshoeing, standup paddleboarding, and inventing excuses to sip wine on her back porch. She can peel a banana with her toes and loses an average of twenty pairs of eyeglasses per year. To find out more about Tawna and her books, visit www.tawnafenske.com.
Also by Tawna Fenske
The Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedies Series
Studmuffin Santa
Chef Sugarlips
Sergeant Sexypants
Hottie Lumberjack
Stiff Suit (coming June 14)
* * *
Standalone Romantic Comedies
At the Heart of It
This Time Around
Now That It’s You
Let it Breathe
About That Fling
Frisky Business
Believe It or Not
Making Waves
* * *
The Front and Center Series
Marine for Hire
Fiancée for Hire
Best Man for Hire
Protector for Hire
* * *
The First Impressions Series
The Fix Up
The Hang Up
The Hook Up
* * *
The List Series
The List
The Test
The Last
* * *
Schultz Sisters Mysteries
Getting Dumped
The Great Panty Caper (novella)
* * *
Standalone novellas and other wacky stuff
Going Up (novella)
Eat, Play, Lust (novella)