It HAS been your thing. I saw you in My Fair Lady, remember?
I was forced into that. You would've made a better Higgins.
But then you wouldn't have had the chance to kiss Stacey Miller.
Gideon laughedand turned the corner.
That was Grease, and her lips tasted like watermelon Sour Patch Kids. Isn't that something you'd write?
If I wrote that, I'd lose my publishing contract.
Seriously, G. Think about it. Auditions due Sunday the 16th. Details on my site.
Gideon gavethe message a thumbs-up and slid the phone back into his pocket. He couldn't help but smile even as a familiar twinge of envy nestled against his ribs.Details on my site.
It was impossible not to compare himself to Matt. They’d grown up together. Dreamed together. Made music together.
Matt Stevens was approachable, but Calloway? That guy had sold over a million copies of his most recent romantic suspense novel and had just purchased a refurbished ranch house thirty minutes south of here in Sugar Creek.Did he have horses now?Probably.
Gideon walked into the lounge and grabbed a protein bar, then headed for the bathroom to change into shorts and a t-shirt.
Megs grippedthe steering wheel of her Honda Civic and pulled onto the highway. She still smelled like freshly ground coffee beans and old whipping cream after her six-hour shift, but at least she was going to be on time. Plus she’d submitted the dog food audition, so already winning at life for the week.
The first autumn leaves danced across the road like burnt orange confetti. Fall in Vermont was stunning, there was no way around it. It was only September, but the weather had already shifted, and the trees had gotten the memo. She sighed as she passed rustic wooden signs along the road advertising fall events in Sugar Creek.Apple Cider Donuts at the Farm. The Sugar Creek Fall Festival and Pumpkin Patch.
What was it that article had said?This competition promises to be as dreamy as the novels.That, right there, was the reason she didn't read Calloway's books, or any other romance novels for that matter. As a kid, she'd loved hayrides and bobbing for apples, but now?
It was because of romance stories that she couldn’t show up at a fall festival and do those things alone. Why did holiday fun have to be stuffed into the romance category? Why couldn't having allergic reactions to dried grass and shoving your face in dirty water be for single girls instead of ten-year-olds and couples looking for an excuse to touch each other?
Megs pulled her lead foot off the gas until her speed dropped back to the limit just in time for a red traffic light to force her to slam on her brakes. Glancing down, she noticed her dirty apron still wrapped around her waist, streaked with coffee stains and crumbs. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she stripped off the apron and shoved it under the passenger seat.
She flicked on the AC and refocused on the road.
A half-hour later, a noticeably less sweaty Megs turned into the main parking lot at Champlain Community. She parked and jogged toward the front door just as her phone dinged to let her know it was five o'clock.
"Made it just in time." A woman with gray hair and oversized glasses smiled as she held the door open.Just under the buzzer.Megs' stomach flipped as she thought of the hot guy in the coffee shop Wednesday. "I assume you're here for the certification, that's the only class in this building after four-thirty."
"Yes, thanks." Megs pushed her curls behind her ears.
"Your name?" The woman shuffled behind the welcome desk and picked up a clipboard.
"Megs. Megs DeBosse."
"I've got you, honey. Right in there." The woman pointed to the classroom down the hall on her left.
Megs strode toward the door and paused. There were six other students there, all of them seated at tables with their laptops and notebooks ready. She drew a deep breath and reminded herself that this was her choice. Sure, Sylvia had played dirty, but nobody was forcing her to be here.It was only three weekends of her life for a month’s rent and a security deposit.And a job she’d hate waking up for.
Who could pass that up?
"Welcome, everyone. Please find a seat, and we'll begin." The instructor's belly pushed over his belt, stretching the pattern of his plaid shirt. He greeted the class with a warm smile and waved for Megs to find a seat.
Her pulse sounded in her ears as she took a spot at the back, pulling her tablet from her bag. The same bag she'd used when she'd attended here last year. Triggering. She should've used one of her mom's theater satchels.
Thankfully, they didn't have to go around and introduce themselves or talk about their life goals. The instructor dug straight into the material, and Megs lost herself in note-taking.
The instructor projected a course map on the screen. “As you can see, in module one, we’ll cover Anatomy and Medical Terminology. In module two, next week, we’ll introduce medical coding systems . . .”
Megs logged into her course syllabus and followed along. Four modules. Three weekends. She could do this.
