Chapter 1
Lucy
If I wasn’t convinced this was a terrible idea before, then the foot-long rip down the front of my sparkly, sequined couture evening gown would have sealed the deal. Or, I guess I should say,unsealed it.
I stare at myself in the floor-length mirror propped in the corner of my room at Daisy’s Inn, where I’ve worked out a long-term rental in the quaint, small town of Cashmere Cove, and squish up my features at the sight of my reflection.
The gown, which I ordered from one of those fancy-dress rental places online and had shipped in time for tonight’s ball, is a stunner. Correction—itwasa stunner … before I accidentally caught my heel on the sweetheart neckline when I was stepping into it and ripped it clear down the center. Now, the gown gapes open like a giant papercut. I have to hold the fabric to keep from flashing myself and my best friends, whom I video-called in a panic the moment I heard the telltalerippp!
My shoulders slump as I flick my gaze to where I have my cell phone propped up on the dresser next to the mirror. “I’m not going, you guys. This has to be some sort of sign.”
“I don’t believe in signs.” Cassie, who also happens to be my literary agent, furrows her brow and leans closer to the camera, and now the porcelain skin of her forehead is the only thing I can see. “Can you sew it?”
I widen my eyes and quickly shake my head. “How many times have I told you I don’t have any talents? You think I’ve been hiding a secret ability to sew?”
Cassie leans back so I can see her eyes again and shrugs. “Worth asking.” She twists her lips to the side and scans my damaged dress.
“With all those sequins, it’d be impossible to stitch that.” Classic Bex. She’s the no-nonsense one in our little friend group.
My sweet friend, Philomena, Philly for short, winces. “I’m so sorry, Lu. Wish I could help.”
I sigh. “Me too.”
There’s a metaphor here, with my current wardrobe malfunction. Something about how my life was ripped in two, exposing the real me, and there’s no way I can ever be put back together. I’m like a condemned Humpty Dumpty, fallen from grace. Cancelled. Ruined.
I’m an author. My writer-brain has spun the story of my life a million different ways, with flowery words and built-out metaphors. I’ve delved into the backstory and prodded the pain points, and the ending is always the same. I messed up. I deserve all the misery I have coming my way.
I hate what happened at the People’s Picks award show. I’d rather not dwell on it, but at the same time, I can’tnotdwell on it. Before I started getting ready for tonight’s charity gala, I indulged in my weekly scroll, rereading the comments on one of the many,manyarticles that outline in painstaking detail what I’ve coinedThe Incident.
“Entitled much?”
“That’s a lot of rage coming from someone so insignificant.”
“Who does she think she is?!?”
“Wow, she was always the quiet one, but that’s obviously because no one trusted her to speak … for good reason.”
“Imagine having to live with her!”
“Not a good look, sweetie.”
“She’s the WORST!!”
“Wonder how it feels to be such a miserable person.”
“She should take a flying leap.”
“GIRL, BYE!”
“The world would be better off without people like her in it.”
“Such a pretty face, but then she opens her mouth, and yikesss.”
“The stick is so far up this girl’s—”
Yeah. Brutal. Reading through the comments is my personal form of perpetual penance. I messed up, and I’m paying the price for it.
I blink my focus back to where Cassie, Bex, and Philly are staring at me through the phone screen, their faces a mixture of emotions—Cassie, determination; Bex, held-back laughter; Philly, apprehension. My heart squeezes. I wish they were here. I need an in-person pep talk from Cassie. I need Bex to laugh at me and tell me not to take myself so seriously. I need Philly to give me a hug. But since I’m holed up in a middle-of-nowhere town in the Wisconsin Cashmere County peninsula, none of that is happening.
