Sneak Peak

Chapter 1
Lydia

I used to be the good one.

Good daughter.

Good sister.

Good wife.

Just… good.

And somewhere along the way—between holy matrimony, divorce, and soul-sucking job that only made the rich richer while the little peons of the world stayed stuck in survival mode. Yeah. Somewhere along the way of all that, I lost it.

I groaned at my reflection in the mirror—which, for the record, no woman over the age thirty-five should do in fluorescent lighting—I realized I finally matched.

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark mood.

And if we really wanted to dig in, the dark circles under my eyes matched too.

“Ugh.” I slapped the light switch with my entire hand and trudged back out to the matchbox-size living room of my apartment.

Once upon a time, I lived in a real house. Like all the good girls did, naturally.

Married right out of college, supported my husband as he finished law school. Bar exam. Upgraded our house as life upgraded. Checking things off the list of life.

We hosted holidays, family dinners. I actually used my fine china, unlike my mother’s generation that didn’t dare use it. Unless the pope or the president happened to come to dinner.

I scoffed at the memory and stabbed the remote unpausing the shenanigans of Schitt’s Creek that I wasn’t really paying attention to.

Memories could be a real bitch.

Christmas was a close second.

A knock sounded two seconds before the door swung open. I rolled my head toward the door and glared at my neighbor.

He smiled his usual smile that lit up his handsome face… and for most women, probably ignited their panties too. I wasn’t immune to that phenomenon, but Holt was in a whole other league. Dark hair ruffled from the wind, edgy scruff that was well groomed but still managed to look a little reckless. Like he didn’t give two shits about what the world thought. Meanwhile, I’d been a perpetual people pleaser and had the scars to show for it. And, now, a healthy supply of cynicism. And probably some unresolved anger.

In a former life, I’d probably dig into all that. But I just couldn’t muster up the energy to do so.

“Please come in, Holt. My door’s always open.”

His smile widened.

I rolled my eyes.

“What are we watching?” He rubbed his hands together and made his way further into my apartment. Which only took his long legs about two strides before plopping down on the couch next to me. His big body all but shoving me to the corner of my own damn couch.

I let out a resigned sigh and offered him part of the blanket I was cuddled under. He nestled in. Ready to watch whatever I was watching. It was our routine. One I cherished more than I probably should.

Holt was some kind of unicorn. He was the kind of man romance novels were based on. On the outside he looked rugged and sexy. Definitely bad boy, big dick energy. But his eyes were kind. And for some reason, he took pity on the broken single woman next door.

He didn’t even ask why we were huddled under a blanket instead of turning up the heat. He knew. I didn’t have the cashflow for luxuries such as heat. Or good wine.

He also knew the man I worked for as an executive assistant took off for the holidays. For the next two weeks I had absolutely nothing to do… and the lack of paycheck to show for it. The time off sounded great to most people. But for me? Not so much. My family was all out of town… for reasons I was not discussing. And, as usual, I kept to myself. And for the next two weeks all I had to do was watch my bank balance sink lower, and lower.

“Jesus, Lyd. I can feel you sulking from here.”

“You’re like two inches from me. Of course you can,” I shrugged.

He eyed me. “Want to talk about it?”

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “Nope.” The “p” popping.

“I think you do.”

“I unequivocally do not.”

He shifted to face me. Our knees bumping in the process. “Tell me this—”

“Nuh-uh.” I lifted a finger. “You are not going to use your interrogating ninja skills on me. It’s unfair and I’m too jaded.”

He gave me a flat look before saying, “fine. I’ll talk then.”

“Please don’t.”

“Tough. You’ve been sulking for too long.”

“I like sulking.”

He rolled his eyes like it was the stupidest thing ever. “You just don’t know how to do anything else. So used to sitting on the sidelines while life happens around you. To you. Trying to not be a burden or in the way. Fuck that, Lydia. Stop being the martyr. Stop hiding. You’re worth more than sitting sulking on your couch with zero Christmas plans and no heat.”

“I have Christmas plans.” I threw my hand at the TV.

“Watching Schitt’s Creek for the tenth time with zero Christmas decorations doesn’t count. Christ, Lyd. You didn’t even buy a tree.”

I scanned my very bare apartment. It was supposed to have been temporary. Something affordable to help me get back on my feet. That was over a year ago. And I was still trying.

I was losing hope I ever would.

“I’m not sure what you’re expecting me to do. Turkeys and trees cost money. Plans cost money.” And friends… and family that didn’t bail when things were awkward.

“I invited you to my parents.”

“And be around all that holiday cheer? Hard pass,” I snorted.

His handsome face didn’t look impressed. “I tried to buy you a tree. You were stubborn as fuck.”

I feigned nonchalance, trying to keep my edge. Ignoring how Holt’s steady comfort seeped into me. Ugh. I blinked back tears I didn’t want, but they stung my chilled cheeks anyway. What was I going to say? He did try to buy me a tree. It was nice. But, part of my plan to get back on my feet was not being reliant on anyone. That was my cardinal rule. Especially a man. Regardless of how nice and reliable he was.

He pulled me into a hug. “I just want you to live your life, Lyd. Not stay stuck in survival mode.”

His hoodie was incredibly soft and his chest was nice and, well… hard. And damn did he smell good. Like refined mountain air. Crisp and elegantly rustic. I couldn’t help but sink into him. I missed this. Being held in strong arms. Feeling the steady heartbeat of support. It was nice. Soothing in a way that made my body soften against his. Safe. But I couldn’t let myself get used to it. Especially with Holt. I appreciated his friendship too much. He was the one good thing in my life.

I pushed back, ignoring the warmth in his eyes.

And the flutter of awareness in my chest. Was I hiding? Yes. Did I deserve better? Also yes. But sometimes life handed you sour lemons. Despite years of being a life coach, I had no idea how to make anything other than face-pinching, mouth-puckering, bitter as fuck lemonade.

“I tried to take the world by the horns, remember? And got my legs swept out from under me. Every. Time. I did the marriage thing. He moved on. Took my home. And my sister. Tried it a few more times for good measure. And all I have to show for it is a judgment against my name, a hole in my bank account and blacklisted.”

“So you’re just gonna sit here in that same tattered cardigan under a blanket watching Schitt’s Creek for the next two weeks?”

I flashed him a “duh, of course” look.

“Oh my god.” He scrubbed a big hand down his face. Like I was worse off than he originally thought.

He had no idea.

We sat in silence for a full episode while he brooded or did whatever hot detective types did. I pretended not to notice. Pretended like I wasn’t heartbroken about life. Frustrated at how good people got stomped on while the jerks of the world flew to Scotland and got married in castles.

Holt turned to me when the episode ended. I braced for impact.

“Lydia.” His voice was softer than I expected. I popped an eye open. “Do you have a passport?”

My other eyelid snapped open, my body turned to face him. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Curious.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and pulled the blanket to my chest. His eyes held mine. Steady. Guilt swarmed my stomach. Holt was a nice guy and good friend and here I was being extra sulky and snarky. “Yes.” I heard myself say.

“Good. Go get it.”

I opened my mouth then shut it. “What?”

His sigh was long and insufferable. Without a word, he stood and took the four strides it took to go to my bedroom.

I hopped up—but ended up getting tangled with the blanket, which promptly sent me tumbling face-first to the floor. “Shit.” I scrambled to my feet and bolted for the bedroom. “Holt! What are you doing?”

“Finding your passport.” He rummaged around in my underwear drawer until he found what he was looking for.

“How did you know—not important. Why do you need my passport?” I reached to grab it, but he moved it out of my way. Using his full six-foot-five frame to his advantage.

He leaned down so we were eye to eye. “You’re done sulking. Done with the wounded good girl routine. Done staying small. You hear me, Lyd?” My stomach swooped so hard I forgot to be outraged. His slight brogue tickled my heart… and, well, other places. Right, I probably forgot to mention that. Holt, was also from Scotland. Though he was raised mostly in the States. Gave him just enough of a sexy accent to make a woman hand over her panties and beg to be fucked.

“Lydia?”

“Huh?”

“Pack your bags. I’ll handle the rest.”

I licked my lips, mentally shaking myself from thoughts that meant nothing. “Where am I going?”

“We are going to ruin a wedding.”