Meet a handsome stranger the night before my wedding … check.
Jump into his car the next day in my wedding dress and tell him to drive … check.
Make him a deal he can’t refuse and then spend the next four weeks with him … check.

I know how it sounds, but honestly, becoming a runaway bride was the best decision of my life. Telling the man who drove the getaway car that I could help him accomplish his dream all while knowing the chances of that being true are slim, not a smart choice.

I can only blame myself for how things turned out. I thought it would be simple. I wasn’t going to see Graham Wright again once our four weeks were up. We’d just go back to our totally opposite lives. I live a life in the spotlight, and he keeps to himself. But the sweet, sexy man whose roof I’m living under makes me think and do things I’d never expected.

I definitely didn’t expect that first kiss to happen the way it did. Or for a simple checklist to turn into a summer I never want to end.

But if I don’t hold up my end of the deal soon, this same summer that’s changed my life will be one that Graham will want to forget.

Tropes in Write That Down include runaway bride, roommates, steamy slow burn, small town, and opposites attract.

**Available Now**

Chapter One

Graham

Holy shit, I’m doing it.

I rise from the desk in my room at Lovers Lodge Resort and close my laptop.

Sitting here by myself on a perfectly good Friday night is what I always do. My life is like the back of a shampoo bottle. Rinse and repeat. My days are filled with waking up at 5:00 a.m. on the dot, working out for an hour, eating a clean breakfast, and then I write. I write a few thousand words, do some admin writer’s work, and then I take care of daily human tasks such as cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, hanging out with friends and so on throughout the days, followed by another two thousand words in the evening before I go to bed. Every. Single. Day. The only thing that changes each day is what I do in my afternoons.

Shit, I even kept my schedule during my last vacation in Nashville. While the guys were ordering shots and singing loudly along with the live band, I was standing in the corner of Tootsies rooftop bar, typing scenes out in a Google doc on my phone. It didn’t matter that Broadway was alive just a few floors down or that every bar on the block had different music playing that blurred together; I had words to write, and nothing was going to stop me.

Which brings me back to this moment right here. One of my best friends, Zane, just got engaged to his girlfriend, Willa, mere hours ago, and while our group of friends went to the resort’s lounge to celebrate, I headed back to my room to get my nightly words in.

What is wrong with me?

Don’t get me wrong—I love routine. I thrive off it. I can depend on it. It keeps the stress away.

But today, watching my friend propose a lifetime commitment, set my mind racing.

Will I meet someone?

Will I have a moment like that?

As a romance writer, of course, I hope I get my happily ever after. I do.

Obviously, my so-called perfect routine doesn’t have a spot for me to meet someone. Single women aren’t lining up at the self-checkout waiting for Mr. Right to walk in, I can assure you that.

No, it’s not going to happen unless I get outside of my box.

I run a comb through my hair and add a little mousse to freshen up, and then I tuck my dress shirt back into my jeans, slipping my dockers on at the same time.

One would think that I’m going to find my friends. Grab a drink and toast to the new happy couple to be.

One would be wrong.

I’m stepping outside of my box.

Tonight, this choice doesn’t include my friends.

The elevator dings at the main floor, and I slowly move in the direction of the largest ballroom. The resort has three.

I pause outside the door; the music playing hints that my chances of being just another guest walking in that no one pays attention to while everyone else is mingling about or dancing are high.

About an hour ago, I said I was doing this and chickened out. I went back to my room, but here I am. Back. Ready to … I have no clue.

Just go in, find a corner, and blend in.

I step inside before I can stop myself.

I tug at the collar of my crisp white button-down shirt and let out a breath as heat creeps into my neck.

I’m tucked away in a corner of the room where I’m pretty darn positive no one will notice me. Then again, I’m not the only one in the corner, so I’m sure someone has spotted me at this point.

My gaze sweeps the room, falling on giant centerpieces of white flowers and gold candles that will probably never be lit. Judging by the fact that every table has a candle with a different size and shape, it’s a safe assumption. I bet they plan to resell them once the big night is over.

I let out of breath, studying the ball of white and black on the dance floor. Two people I’ve never met. In fact, I don’t think I’ve actually seen their faces yet either.

I’m crashing a wedding.

Me. Graham Wright. Crashing a freaking wedding.

Oh. God.

I didn’t just step out of my box. I blew the top off.

Breathe.

Someone is going to see me and notice that I snuck into this room. One look at me and they will see I do not belong here.

Maybe I should eat some cake? Or do something, anything other than just stand here.

It’s really freaking hot in this banquet room.

Instead of just tugging at the collar of my shirt, I unbutton the top two buttons.

I’d take my jacket off, but where would I put it? What if I need to make a getaway and I forget my jacket, and someone traces it back to me?

I take one more breath.

What even is the point of crashing a wedding to just stand here and watch? If I’m not going to do anything other than silently have a panic attack in the corner, I may as well leave.

I take one step and stop.

If I leave, what was the whole purpose of doing this?

The purpose is, I’m in a rut. I’m a single guy, and I have a great career, and yet, both are missing something. They are missing the next step.

I do the same thing day in and day out. I drink the same green tea every morning. I order the same black coffee with two Splendas at my hometown coffee shop, and I always, always get a slice of lemon bread.

I like consistency. I like discipline.

Beck, a good friend and writing critique partner, once told me that if I want something different, I need to do something different. Hence, crashing a wedding.

Did I skip a few options? Sure. There are plenty of other things I could have chosen to start with. I could have talked to the cute redhead at the gym who can squat more than me. I could have signed up for a dating app. I could actually make eye contact with someone at the coffee shop and start a conversion. Nope. I decided to go all-out. I made a choice, and instead of dwelling on the worst possible outcome, I just went through with it.

Maybe I’ll start tomorrow.

No, no. The old me would have bailed, so yeah, I’m staying put. Besides, no one here knows who I am. I won’t see anyone in this room ever again, and I’m—

“Are you doing all right? Do you need to sit down?”

I clear my throat, and my neck pops when I turn to the soft voice.

“Shit,” I say and cup the right side of my neck. My eyes pinch together as if that’s going to make the pain vanish quicker.

“Oh, yikes, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I rub my neck and let out a breath.

“It’s not your fault I’m on edge.”

“Oh,” her voice raises an octave. “Please, do tell me why you’re on edge at this lovely, lovely wedding.”

The second lovely is filled with sarcasm, and it makes me smile. If anyone were to call me out, I’d want it to be someone who clearly isn’t that impressed to be here.

Then again, she doesn’t need the whole story, and the explanation for why I’m crashing a wedding is too much backstory on my life. After this night, I’ll never see her again. No sense in getting too deep.

“It’s a long story,” I say and finally open my eyes to view the dance floor instead of looking at the woman next to me, who clearly wants to have a conversation. From the corner of my eye, I see her lean toward me.

“Are you secretly in love with the bride?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“The groom?”

I chuckle. “Nah, his hair is too long for me.”

I finally turn to face my newfound friend, and my next breath nearly chokes me.

Her silky chocolate-brown hair shines under the ballroom light, even under the pins that hold it back, and her skin is perfectly tanned. I’m a tall guy at six feet, but there is no doubt she reaches five ten, maybe five eleven. I glance at her feet and spot her heels. Okay, maybe five nine. She’s fit. Her lips are a deep red. The color pairs perfectly with her black one-shoulder skintight top and light pink pleated maxi skirt.

Wow. Talk about observant. I’ve never studied a woman this much upon meeting her. Ever. And don’t get me started on the pleated maxi skirt. I have three sisters. It’s impossible to grow up in a house with three girls and not know these things. Especially as the youngest of the bunch.

Her head tilts back in an elegant way as she laughs, the sound soft and sweet. Almost as if she’s had years of practice containing it.

“Are you here on the bride’s side or the groom’s side?” she asks, her gaze finding mine, and again, I’m taken aback. Her bright green eyes swallow me up and captivate every brain cell I own.

She smiles slowly, and I shake my head.

“Considering I’ve never met you, I’m sure it’s the opposite of why you’re here.”

I have no idea where that came from, but it sounded great. It was quick and clever. I can thank a decade of writing romantic comedies for that one.

“Oh, I don’t know either of them,” she smiles at me and winks.

That was smooth.

I’m not sure if she’s joking or not.

So I wink back. “Me either.”

Another smile touches her lips, this one a little bigger than the one before it, but she quickly clears her throat and nods toward the man and woman of the hour.

“High school sweethearts or second chance love?”

“What?” The word comes out in almost a whisper. Does she know who I am? You don’t just ask a random man about romance tropes unless you think he knows them. Most men don’t.

“Umm,” I stutter.

“Relax, it was a joke. I didn’t expect you to answer.”

“Second chance,” I say quickly, as if I need to prove her wrong. “Longtime childhood friends who rekindled their love when they bumped into each other in college at his frat party. He was a known player, and she was quiet. Not exactly a book kind of girl, but she’s always known her worth.”

The woman next to me presses her lips together and nods before she smiles. “I like that. He fell first, of course,” she adds.

“Naturally.”

“His friends all loved her the first moment she put him in his place.”

I nod. “And her friends warned her away from him till they saw how happy he made her.”

The perfect laugh surrounds me once again.

“I’m Alice.”

She offers her hand.

“Graham.”

“Graham,” she repeats slowly. The way it rolls off her tongue gives me chills.

Good chills, to be more specific. Like the kind of chills you get right before you do something crazy.

I watch her for a moment. In the mere five minutes I’ve spent with her, I already know I want to spend more.

Do it. Just do it. Ask her out. This night has a purpose. Make it happen.

“The bar here has—”

“There you are,” a man in a suit I don’t need to see the tag to know cost more than I spent on a down payment to my condo last year walks up and puts his hand on Alice’s back.

“Hi,” she greets him and then gives me a forced smile.

The man leans in to kiss her cheek. “Did you see enough?” he asks.

“I think so, yes,” Alice answers in a tone that I can only describe as emotionless.

“Good. Let’s go. The boys want to get an early tee time tomorrow.”

“But we—”

“I’ll be done in time.”

Alice smiles and nods. “Of course.”

There it is again. That rehearsed tone.

She turns to face me. The spark I’d seen moments ago in her eyes is gone. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Graham. Enjoy your evening.”

What a dick. He didn’t even acknowledge that I was here. If she were mine, I’d make sure every man around her knew it.

Alice walks away, suit guy’s hand at the small of her back.

Great. Sure. Of course. The first woman I meet in over a year that I have even a slight urge to ask out turns out to be taken.

That would be my luck.

May as well not press it anymore.

With a shake of my head, I sneak out of the reception.

A bonus of staying at Lovers Lodge, the best lake resort in Wyoming, known for the elegant weddings they put on for the rich and the famous, is their menu. It’s twenty-four hours and never disappoints. From the moment Zane mentioned coming here this weekend for the proposal, I’ve been craving a famous Lodge cheeseburger.

I head for check-in, place a quick order for a burger and fries, and grab a drink at the bar while I wait.

My friends have already left. Go figure.

As soon as my order is up, I down my gin and tonic and head for the elevators.

But I can’t wait till I’m in my room. I need the comfort of something normal now. I take the burger from the box and take one bite. The pure exquisite taste of a perfectly grilled burger with two perfect slices of cheese and just enough sauce to give it flavor but not drip down your chin consumes me enough to block out the screaming next to me. I step inside the elevator, hit the button for my floor, and lean back to take another bite.

It’s perfect.

That is, until my burger is ripped from my hand. I barely process what’s happening before I see it fly past the doors back into the lobby.

“Do not follow me!”

And that’s that. My food shatters across fancy suit guy’s face, a pickle landing on his white shirt as the bun hits the floor.

Then the doors close.

I turn to look at the woman next to me.

Alice.

This is not the same woman who shared a quiet corner with me at a reception neither of us were invited to. This version of her is breathing hard and fuming.

I look down at my now-empty hand and then back to the doors.

We ascend, and all I can think is, what the fuck just happened?

Chapter Two

Paige

Licking ketchup off my palm in an elevator with a man I barely know isn’t exactly how I saw my night going.

Grabbing a stranger’s food from his hand and tossing it in my fiancé’s face is also not how I saw this night panning out.

Oh god.

What did I just do?

My mother, father, and Vincent are going to be furious when they find me. I’ve never been more thankful to not have my phone with me than I am right now.

I put my hand on my stomach and take a breath.

I can’t go back to my room. No. Not a chance in hell. Not until I know Vincent has had time to shower and change and breathe. He’s not an abusive man, but people saw what just happened, and reputation means everything to Vincent Vellmont. In the world I grew up in, appearance is more important than someone asking me why I tossed a stranger’s dinner at the man I’m supposed to marry. No one cares why I did it. All they probably think right now is oh, poor Paige King has lost her mind. Her family must be devastated. What does this mean for the happy couple? Not what did he do? She wouldn’t do that for no reason. Is she okay?

Never, ever, do they ask if she’s okay.

I take another breath and lean against the elevator wall, my head back and my eyes closed.

What the heck am I going to do now?

“Um,” Graham says next to me. “I was eating that.”

I slowly turn my head to look at him, a smile sneaking onto my lips at a time I didn’t think was possible.

A time when your fiancé has decided he wants to clear the air from his bachelor party two weeks ago, and from his birthday two months ago, and from my brother’s birthday last fall, and so on.

You get it.

Sex. He was having lots of sex. Not with me, of course.

They meant nothing.

They weren’t even that good.

Half of them couldn’t even bring me to climax.

I gag.

Climax.

Yeah, he said that.

“Oh, I get it. My food grosses you out, so you tossed it out. Well, I’m not sure where you come from, but that’s not how that usually works. Also, burgers and fries are just as healthy as any other food if you eat them in moderation, of course.”

Instead of answering, I burst into laughter.

“Oh-kay.” Graham says and steps away from me. The doors ding, and he bolts, ready to end all communication with me.

Without thinking twice, I follow him.

“Can I hang out with you?” I ask. The words leave my lips as quickly as they came to mind.

He turns around slowly, his eyes wide.

“Let me come in your room with you, and I’ll order you another burger. On me. Or well, maybe later on me. I just want to be invisible for a moment, and if I tell someone which room to bill, then people will know where to find me, and the whole point of coming with you is to not be found. Yeah. That’s what I want.”

I blow out a breath and grin.

Graham leans against the hallway wall, crosses one ankle over the other, and pops a French fry into his mouth.

“Who are these people that you don’t want to find you?”

I shrug.

“People.”

“The guy who’s now wearing my dinner?”

My face wrinkles, and I tap my nose with my index finger.

“Alice, right?”

I nod, slowly. I hate lying. But from the moment Graham looked at me in the ballroom, I knew he didn’t know who I was, and for a fleeting moment, I wanted to be anyone but me. Anyone but Paige King. Socialite daughter of Archie King, CEO and owner of three baseball teams, Vans Publishing House, and King Groceries. The largest grocery store chain in all the US. I’ve been in more magazines than I can count, and bodyguards attend family events as if they were blood related. With the exception of tonight, of course. To my family, I was spending a quiet evening in the resort restaurant with my fiancé, undetected by any paparazzi thus far.

I’m not stupid. I know they’re here with their cameras, ready to capture any moment they can. To be the first to gossip about this weekend. For all I know, someone caught the incident downstairs. At the same time, they might all be hiding tonight. Staying out of trouble if it could cost them the big bucks tomorrow.

“Yes, Alice,” I finally answer and point down the hall. “Is your room this way?”

He nods, so I march right past him, ignoring the woodsy scent that surrounds me just like it did in the corner of the reception downstairs.

I’m used to mint and bleach scents that stink of money and what people think are nice smells. Expensive scents are gross. I would know. My mother buys me one every single year for my birthday, and every year, I pawn it and donate the money to one of many foundations.

“You do realize that following me and asking to come into my room is a bit forward. Almost like you have an ulterior motive.”

Smiling, I toss my head back a little with a laugh and roll my eyes.

“Trust me. I do not.”

“All right, so tell me why you don’t want these so-called people to find you.”

I bite my lip and nod.

“I just threw a burger in a man’s face, Graham. People,” I say slowly and make air quotes with my fingers, “are not going to be happy with me. I need to lay low.”

“Who says hiding out with me is the right choice? I could be famous.”

“Are you?” I ask.

“Nope.” He chuckles. “But you didn’t know that.”

He pushes off the wall and points to the door across from him. “But people,” he mimics me, finger quotes and all, “would be very sad if you murder me, so let’s not do that.”

I snap my fingers. “There go my evening plans.”

His door is just ajar as the elevator dings. I shove him inside, tumbling in after. Then the door closes with both of us in a pile on the floor. His fries scatter across the carpet.

I point at him. “Burger and fries coming right up.”

***

“So you really didn’t know the couple downstairs who got married?”

Graham dips three fries into the honey mustard on his plate before popping them in his mouth and then shakes his head.

“Not a clue.”

“Well, I need the story, naturally,” I say, reaching over to get a little dressing dip for myself.

“I can’t tell you.” He smirks.

“Why not?”

“I’m here with my friends. Earlier today, one of my good buddies got engaged. The rest of the evening is a secret.”

 “Ah.” I take a bite of my burger, the one Graham insisted I get. I’ll be honest, it’s probably one of the best burgers I’ve ever had. Which is crazy since I’ve been coming to Lovers Lodge since I was ten. Not once have I ever had a burger when I stayed here. And the fries are so perfectly crunchy, I’ll probably dream about them tonight. All I really want to do is devour this entire meal like a starved animal, but I’m also enjoying my conversation with Graham. It’s easy. Natural.

It might be menial stuff, but this moment is the most relaxed I’ve been all weekend, and I’m very invested in knowing why he snuck into the reception of a couple he does not know.

“Secrets are no fun,” I say, mouth full before I can stop myself.

I gasp and cover my face with both hands until I’m done chewing.

“That was absolutely inappropriate. I’m so sorry.”

I know I’m beet red because my internal body temperature just increased.

I slowly look up at my dinner partner, ready to keep apologizing for my rudeness, when Graham takes a huge bite. “Happens to the best of us,” he says, flashing me the food in his mouth.

I laugh, and so does he.

He finishes eating and swallows. “We can call it even now.”

“And promise to never do that again.”

“It’s a deal.”

I nod. A comfortable silence falls over us. I’ve been here for almost an hour now and there haven’t been any alerts of any kind that someone is looking for me. My guess is that Vincent knows he’d have to tell my family why I ran off without him, so in order to save face, he hasn’t told anyone I’m gone.

“Can I ask you something?” Graham asks, leaning back in his chair.

Gosh, does this man ever stop smiling? Don’t get me wrong. I love his smile, but it … it does things to me it shouldn’t. It makes me think I’m living a life that isn’t mine. But maybe there’s a life out there waiting for me.

Jesus, Paige. It’s a smile. Calm down.

“As long as it’s not why I was at the reception, go for it,” I finally answer, preparing myself for a personal question. Outside of how we met, we haven’t approached the topic of his first burger, yet I feel it’s inevitable the longer we hang out.

“Do you ever relax?” he asks without missing a beat.

Oh.

“What do you mean?”

He points at me with the straw from his Pepsi. “The way you’re sitting at this table right now. You look like someone glued a board to your back.”

“I can have good posture and be relaxed.”

He watches me for a moment, and as much as I want to look away, I can’t. His gaze captivates me. My heart starts to beat a little faster under his stare and there’s a nervous flutter in my stomach.

I want to know what he’s thinking, but asking would just be self-inflicted torture. When this night is over, I’ll never see him again.

He grabs his burger and then moves from the small table in his room that we’ve been sharing to the couch.

He leans back and turns on the TV.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He grins at me. “Showing you what relaxing looks like.”

I roll my eyes and then look out the window.

The moon has placed a mesmerizing glow over Lovers Lake. Anytime I’ve come here, we get a villa on the lake, so this view from four floors up in the main building isn’t one I’m used to seeing.

It’s much better than the one I know. This one is calming.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re in a hotel room with a stranger, Alice. Are you really?”

I shrug.

Honestly, yes. Like I said, I’m more relaxed around Graham than I have ever been with Vincent. I’m not sure how to process that.

I’m not sure I want to.

“Come. Sit,” he says and pats the cushion next to him. “Bring your food.”

I look around the room. “I don’t see any dinner tray tables.”

Another lopsided grin touches Graham’s lips. “Yeah, just hold it in your hand.”

Without making a show of it or informing him how messy this could get; I do as he says.

“Now, sit.”

And I do. I cross one leg over the other and hold my burger in front of me.

He twists to face me, his free hand touching my knee and sending a spark to my already fluttering stomach. It doesn’t matter that the fabric of my skirt is between us. He’s touching me. That’s all my mind can focus on at this point.

Not once, not ever, did I have this reaction to Vincent.

“Okay, just one more thing and then I swear I’ll drop it,” he says.

“Drop what? Your burger? You’re wearing a very nice shirt. I don’t recommend doing that.”

He chuckles. “If you were alone right now, how would you sit on this couch?”

“You know, I really am—”

“How would you sit, Alice?”

With another eye roll, because every time he says that fake name, guilt washes over me, I push myself back and then crisscross applesauce my legs. Both hands resting in my lap, one of course, still holding my second dinner.

The smile that hits Graham’s lips makes me take a quick breath.

How does he do that? Who is this guy?

“Good. Yes,” he says and then leans back too.

We’re sitting so close that one of my knees rests against his thigh.

My heart pounds from his nearness, and my hands itch to reach for him, but because I know that’s absolutely crazy, I take a giant bite of my burger instead and lean back even more.

Who would have thought that sitting on a couch with a burger in my hand and a stranger next to me was going to be the highlight of this weekend?

Not me.

We sit in silence long enough to finish our dinner. Graham cuts the silence by clearing his throat, and don’t ask me how I know, but he’s about to ask me about Vincent.

“That guy downstairs, who is he to you?”

I let out a breath. “Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

He turns his entire body to me, his movement hiking my skirt up to show just the smallest amount of skin. I watch as his gaze drops to it, his hand hovering over the exposed spot before he pulls it back, rubbing the back of his neck as he waits for my answer.

“I’m not sure anymore,” is all I can come up with.

“Do you want to talk about this?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“But you want to know about him?”

“I want to know that I can check out in the morning and not get my ass kicked for having you in my room.”

I laugh. “You won’t. Trust me. Vincent isn’t leaving his room unless he has to after I tossed a burger in his face.”

I assumed my remark was funny, but Graham isn’t laughing.

“Vincent,” he says and looks at me again. “He has a name.” Then he sighs. “Another movie?”

“Yes. Please.”

He flips through the channels, finding some action movie that I’ve already forgotten the name of. He doesn’t ask me about Vincent again. In fact, he doesn’t talk again until the movie is over, and he excuses himself for the restroom.

I know my time here is limited. It’s getting late. I should go, but I really don’t want to. Even in silence, having Graham near me is comforting. How is this possible? I don’t even know him. It’s like I’m in my very own romance novel. It’s the scene where when you know, you know.

“Are you sure no one is waiting for you?” Graham asks, stepping out of the bathroom. He yawns and then reaches behind him, jerking his shirt up and over his head.

Holy shit. Okay, don’t … don’t what?

 Don’t stare!

“Sorry, that was a reflex.”

I press a tight smile for him. If I give a real one, he’ll know my thoughts.

“It’s fine, and yeah, lots of people are waiting for me. I just don’t want to go back.”

He nods and then rubs his neck again.

“But if you’re tired and want to go to bed, I will go.”

I head for the door, but he moves quickly. His hand jerks out, his palm rests flat on my stomach as he stops me.

“I … you can stay if you want.”

My gaze meets his, and he looks away quickly, shaking his head.

“Hell, what am I saying? Of course you can’t stay. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. This whole night has been …”

“Nice,” I answer before he can finish that thought. “Is it weird that I’ve had a good time? Like, I feel like I’ve known you for much longer than dinner and a movie or two.”

He rubs his chin and studies me. “No. I’ve enjoyed it too.”

“Great. Should we watch another movie?” I suggest. He nods. “Perfect. Just put your shirt back on first.”

“Oh, shit, right, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

We settle back onto the couch with a movie.

Spending my evening with another man is not how I planned to spend the night before my wedding.

Chapter Three

Graham

Having a woman who is clearly attached to another man alone in my hotel room isn’t right. Yet, there’s something about Alice. I didn’t want her to go. I wanted to break the rules for her. I wanted her to need me for as long as she wanted. Hell, I’ve never slept well when there was another person in my bed. It’s a huge reason I’ve never been in a committed relationship. But last night, with Alice, everything felt different.

It was like I could finally breathe.

Then, I woke up, and she was gone.

It’s probably for the best. Luck like that isn’t a common thing in the life I live. I’ve never won a single thing in my life. I’ve never magically released a bestseller. I`ve never fallen into an opportunity and had it come out on the winning end. Nope. Everything in my life takes work. A lot of it. Why would finding a woman to spend my life with be any different?

I shower quickly, shaking all thoughts of Alice from my mind, and pack my bag. I’ll never see her again, I’m sure of that. Last night was a moment that is now just a memory. Hell, maybe I’ll put it in a book.

Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I head down to the lobby and to the receptionist’s desk. I wasn’t going to write this morning until I was back in Wind Valley, but staying a couple hours to get this down while it’s fresh is smart. While the environment surrounds me and keeps me in the moment. It is in no way me finding an excuse to possibly run into Alice again.

“Good morning, sir. How can I help you?”

I set my key card on the counter and slide it toward the young woman whose name tag reads Alice. I almost laugh at the coincidence.

“I’m checking out, but I’d like to use your business room for the next hour or two before I have my car pulled around. Can I leave my bag here?”

“Of course. Just tell me your room number, and I’ll get it set aside and an order for your car at the time you request.”

I provide her the details, catching sight of the crowd in the large lobby.

“Another big event today?” I ask as I wait for her to confirm my car pickup and get me a key for the business room.

“One of our biggest yet. It’s Paige King’s wedding.”

I squint and try to recall the name.

“The daughter of Archie King.”

“Ah.”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard much about his daughter, but I’ve read enough about Archie to know what a powerful man he is on his own. Not only does he own King Groceries, the largest grocery store chain in America, but he owns three baseball teams and Vans Publishing House. Vans is the number one publishing house in the country, and I’ve been trying to get them to notice my books for years. Their connections to foreign rights are incredible, but their connections to movie productions are even better. I want to be one of their authors more than anything. It’s the perfect next move for my writing career.

That said, I have no doubt his daughter’s wedding is one of the biggest of the year. I’m sure there will be reporters and media of all kinds here today to catch the big moment. I’d stick around to find Archie myself, but from the looks of the lobby, security is strong.

“Yeah, she’s marrying a Vellmont.”

Again, her eyes light up, but nothing registers to me.

She clears her throat and hands me a card. “Your car will be ready at 10:30 a.m. as requested, and here is the card to the business room. Just return it when you pick up your car.”

“Thank you.”

I leave my suitcase and sling my computer bag over my shoulder, heading down the hall.

As soon as I’m set up, I spot an email from my agent, Doug. I’ve been fully self-published since day one. After my twenty-sixth book was released, Doug reached out to me with the idea of selling my backlist to a publisher. Not just any publisher either—we want one of the top five. As I stated, Vans is my number one pick.

I scan the email, taking note that he’s reached out to all of them again, but no takers yet. I reply with a fast thank-you and close out of the internet tab.

What if all five houses reject me? I’m not sure what comes next for an indie who has worked his ass off to sell the number of books I do. The money is great, sure, but I don’t have awards lining my shelves or publishers fighting over my next release. Do I need a publishing house to keep going? No, not really. But the idea of publishers in a bidding war on a new series of mine because my writing is mesmerizingly addicting would be amazing. Or having my latest cover on a billboard in Times Square because I set a record. Or my name splashed across media site after media site because readers can’t put my books down. These are things I didn’t know I wanted until Doug sent out emails. And the lack of replies has made me see how badly I want them. Not to mention the movies deals Vans could get me. Put all those things together and that’s when I’ll know I’ve made it.

A loud cheer of ladies outside the room pulls my attention.

The bridal party no doubt.

I put on my noise-canceling headphones and open a blank word document. I never write scenes in order. I write them as they come to me. I write each in its own document too. As if each scene is its own story, which, technically, it should be to move a story along. I’m not sure which book this scene will go in yet, but I need to get the words down fast.

I start with a man going to the reception of a couple he doesn’t know, and my mind drifts to Alice.

I let out a small chuckle. She was so prim and proper eating her burger last night. Hell, I have no doubt she’s staying here to be an attendee at this wedding. Vincent. Fuck, when she told me his name, it stung. Like, not actually knowing this guy’s name meant I had a chance. Which I knew was crazy, but I thought it anyway.

Still, maybe I’ll get lucky and catch one more glimpse of her before I leave. Until then, this scene is my focus.

I spend the next two hours writing my heart out.

I’m a sweet romance writer through and through, but this book is giving me steamy vibes.

When I started back in college, I was nervous to write something with more heat. Then I went down a rabbit hole of staying in my lane. I’d already published an entire series of sweet books and my following was growing, so I just stuck to it and kept building off that sweet brand.

But … it might not be a bad idea to add some spice to my backlist. Steamy is in, and I’m open to the idea. Perhaps being an author who writes both will make me more appealing to publishers.

I nod as if I’m having a conversation with someone.

I’ll knock out a steamy book over the next few weeks and send it to Doug when it’s done.

Once I’m happy with the words I put down, I head back to the lobby. Partitions line one side of it now with do not enter or private signs hung on them.

“There you are,” Zane says and nods at the chaos. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say. Maybe I should have started a resort like this instead of writing.”

“Pssht,” he says and nudges my shoulder. “You have the best skill of all of us. Don’t forget it.”

I roll my eyes. I’m the only sweet romance writer of the group, so I think it’s safe to say our writing is currently on two different levels.

“Should we linger to see if we can catch a glimpse of the bride?” Willa says with a giant smile on her face as she looks at her left hand. Her ring shines off the lobby chandelier.

“I will if that’s what you want,” Zane says, pulling her to his side and kissing her forehead.

“I just heard the receptionist tell someone that she’ll be passing through the lobby soon for pictures, so let’s give it a chance.”

“You got it.” Zane kisses her forehead again.

Pictures at 10:30 in the morning—who does that?

“You two have fun playing paparazzi. I’m going to head out.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.”

I playfully nudge Willa with my shoulders as I pass her. Hero, Nora, Beck, and Calla all come into view, stopping me.

“Might want to wait a moment. Guests for this wedding are showing up, and the valet is jammed.”

I sigh and turn back around. What kind of people get married this early in the day?

“Guess we can settle in for a bride watch,” I say, and Willa squeals.

Hell, maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get that one last glance of Alice.

**Keep reading at any retailer below!**