by Tawna Fenske
“Got it.”
I marked it on my calendar so I could be sure to have alternate plans. Shaving off my eyebrows with a rusty switchblade, maybe. All the outdoorsy stuff is optional, just Bree’s way of offering fun activities for out-of-town guests.
I’m the lame-ass who’s opting out of most of it.
“See you soon,” I call as I scurry from her office and through the lobby, pushing through the front door and into the juniper-laced sunshine.
I lift the phone to my ear. “Hey, Nessie.” My sandals make squishy noises in the freshly-watered grass as I shortcut my way to the quiet side patio I discovered yesterday. “How’s it going?”
“So good.” She laughs. “Man, it’s great to hear your voice.”
I settle on a live-edge bench and stretch out my legs, admiring the blue glitter polish on my toes. Vanessa painted them right before I left, and I’m struck by a fierce wave of missing my sister. “I can’t wait for you to get here.”
“I miss you, too.” There’s a rustling on the line, and I picture her puttering around her sunny little kitchen. “I know it’s only been a few days, but—”
“I know. Me, too.”
Twin connection. It’s a thing.
“Are you absolutely loving it there?” Her voice is Christmas morning breathless.
I nod and lean back against the side of the lodge, breathing in the warm cedar smell. There’s a jagged line of mountains in the distance topped with whipped cream white. I take in the sun drizzled meadow, the juniper-laced breeze, the pond glittering with the juicy green flutter of aspen leaves.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell her. “You were right.”
As always. I’d hate my sister if I didn’t love her so much.
“I’m so happy you could go out early,” she says. “I always felt bad I got to visit that one summer while you were stuck at that weird college prep camp with Rodney.”
“I wanted to be at that weird college prep camp.” With Rodney, yes. I was eighteen and smitten.
“I know, but still.”
The guilt making my sister’s voice quivery has nothing to do with that summer, and we both know it.
“And you wanted to climb mountains and go hang gliding,” I continue. “And bungee jump off bridges and rope wild mustangs.”
I’m not sure about the mustangs, but the rest is true. Vanessa was hell-bent on having adventures the summer after we graduated, and who could blame her?
Our sheltered little boarding school life gave me all the safety and security I craved, but it gave Nessie a big, fat case of wanderlust.
“So listen, our flight gets in at one-twenty on Thursday,” she’s saying now. “Are you sure you’re okay picking us up? Because I could get an Uber or—”
“Ness, it’s fine,” I assure her. “I want to come get you.”
There’s a long pause. “You’re positive this is okay?”
Again, we’re not talking about airport pickups. This time, I take the mustang by the leash. Bridle. Whatever.
“For the last time, I think it’s awesome.” My enthusiasm sounds so real, I push it another step. “You think Raleigh’s planning to propose?”
My conspiratorial tone is too much for my sister to resist. “I think so.” She’s whispering, which means Raleigh must be close. “He’s been acting kind of secretive, and he keeps asking about the schedule. Who’ll be there and what sort of activities Bree’s got planned. That sort of thing.”
“That does seem promising.” I’m happy for her. I really am.
“God, Val.” My sister sighs. “I didn’t want it to happen like this. I want you to find someone wonderful, too. Someone like—”
“Ness, I’m happy.” And I’m glad I cut her off before she said Raleigh’s name again. “Seriously. I’m surrounded by mountains and fresh air and beautiful people. Did you know there’s a spa here?”
“Yeah. Bree mentioned it.” Ness sounds unsure, and not about the spa. “Positive you’re okay?”
“As we speak, I am lying in a hammock in the sunshine with two handsome, shirtless men feeding me blackberries and reading to me from Baudelaire.”
Vanessa laughs, one of my favorite sounds on earth. She knows hammocks make me motion sick, I’m allergic to blackberries, and we share a crippling aversion to French poetry after our mother made us take classes in Paris.
“You’re a goofball,” she says. “I love you, Val.”
“Love you, too.” My heart squeezes like a rubber band ball. “Look, I have to go. Bree’s been badgering me to get out and do something fun.”
I picture myself curled up on this very bench with a glass of Oregon Pinot and a good book. Probably not what Bree meant, but it’s my idea of fun.
“Oooh, climbing at Smith Rock!” Val suggests. “They have lots of beginner lessons. Or maybe whitewater rafting?”
Good lord. “I’ve never been rafting in my life, and I’d rather nail my hand to a hotplate than go rock climbing.” For crying out loud, did she forget who she’s talking to?
Vanessa sighs. “At least promise me you’ll try something new. Something adventurous. I want you to be happy.”
“Fine.” I shove as much enthusiasm as possible into that syllable so my sister will quit feeling guilty. “I promise.”
“Good.” She laughs, and I picture Raleigh tugging at her hand, or maybe undoing her blouse. The stab I feel under my breastbone isn’t jealousy. It’s not. Just wistfulness, maybe. “Gotta go. See you Thursday!”
“Can’t wait!”
I click off the phone and turn to shove it in my purse.
When I look up, he’s standing there.
A demigod with tanned arms and rumpled hair and a T-shirt pasted onto washboard abs like someone smeared the cotton with fabric glue. Sunlight bursts behind him in an angelic halo, lending an ethereal glow to his blue eyes.
Eyes that appear to be glaring at me.
Me?
I glance around, but I’m the only one here on this quiet patio. Me and a trio of bunnies hopping across the lawn like it’s a freakin’ Disney special.
Demigod clears his throat. “That was quite a performance.”
I look back at him, too tongue-tied by his pecs to formulate a response wittier than “Um—?”
“It’s just funny,” he says. “I heard less than thirty seconds of that call and caught five flat-out lies and two careless I love yous.” He folds his arms over his chest and gives me this look that’s a weird mix of annoyed and bemused. “So, I guess not much has changed?”
* * *
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Mancandy Crush (novella)
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Acknowledgments
Much love and thanks to the Romance Writers of America (RWA) for naming the third book in this series a 2019 RITA Award finalist, and for validating this crazy little indie pub idea I concocted 18 months ago. On behalf of Sergeant Sexypants and all the other books in the Ponderosa Resort series, I thank you!
I’m so thankful to have the ladies of Fenske’s Frisky Posse in my corner offering wonderful reviews, proofreading, brainstorming, and moral support. I’m especially grateful to Nicole Westmoreland, Julie Keating Schuhmacher, and Renee Sass for the juvenile prank suggestions that made it into this story (and possibly into my neighbors’ yards). Extra-big hugs to Amanda Dotson, Adrienne Bird, Terri Dickey, Holly Barker, Nicole Westmoreland, Beth Graham, and Regina Dowling for your eagle-eyed reading of the ARC, and for catching all th
ose typos that would have made me look like a dumbass. More like a dumbass.
Thank you to Skye Fitzgerald for creating the incredible documentary film Lifeboat, and for reminding me that everyone can do something to help—even in a romantic comedy novel.
Thank you to Michelle Wolfson of Wolfson Literary Agency for 11+ amazing years and gobs of ups and downs. Looking forward to lots more books together!
I’m also grateful to my agency sistah and critique partner Linda Grimes, for endless last-minute read-throughs and fabulous insights.
Thanks zillions to Wonder Assistant Meah Meow for keeping my shit together both on the home front and in the author world. You rule!
Much love and thanks to Susan Bischoff and Lauralynn Elliott of The Forge for the amazing editorial work. You ladies are worth your weight in Sangiovese and chocolate. I’m also immensely grateful to Lori Jackson Design for the fantastic teaser graphics, banners, and bookmarks.
Love and gratitude to my family, Aaron “Russ” Fenske and Carlie Fenske (and baby Paxton!) and Dixie and David Fenske for always being there. Thanks also to Cedar and Violet for being amazing kiddos.
And thanks especially to Craig, aka my cover designer, dog walking companion, reluctant brainstorming buddy, sex slave, and husband. I love you, Hot Stuff.
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
Mancandy Crush (novella)
* * *
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)