Read on for a sneak peek at book 1 in my Pine Ridge series,
The One Who Saw Her: Boone
Chapter One
Vivian Calderalways thought rock bottom would feel louder—like a dramatic crash or at least a satisfying cinematic thud. Instead, it was quiet. Just her in her mother’s guest room, surrounded by half-packed boxes and the faint hum of the air conditioner that sounded suspiciously like judgment. She needed to make serious life decisions because in thirty days her life would be packed up and moving on, whether she wanted it to or not. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d be back in this room—where dreams went to suffocate under floral bedspreads.
She stared at her to-do list she’d scribed in her phone’s planner, the one that had started with “Get it together” and somehow branched into entire ecosystem of impossible expectations. Find a place to live. Pay off credit cards. Figure out who you are. The last one had three question marks after it, which felt both ambitious and wildly optimistic for a Tuesday afternoon.
Her mother had called this Vivi’s “phoenix era” but Vivi suspected she was more like a pigeon—stubbornly circling the block hoping someone would drop a french fry. She was trying, though. She’d stopped doom scrolling her not-quite-an-ex-of-a-boyfriend’s Instagram and had only cried twice this week—once over an overdraft fee and once over a sad puppy video. She’d even bought a self-help app with an aggressively positive title:Project Glow Up.
Now she stood in front of a coffee shop in a one-stoplight town, far away from the bright lights from New York,wondering how her life had come to this. How her world had boiled down to this one, hastily made decision.
Vivi hadn’t so much as entered Espresso Yourself coffee house before her life detonated before her very eyes. One second, she was gliding toward the door—head high, latte order rehearsed, pretending she wasn’t a woman whose life had just gone up in flames—and the next, her suitcase caught the doorframe, teetered and then zipper gave and the suitcase burst open like an emotional pinata.
Lacy bras, travel-size shampoos, and one rogue pair of yoga pants shot across the floor, scattering under tables like confetti at her own humiliation party.
How had she arrived in the one-stop town? Her life-coach app had challenged her to do something terrifying. So instead of adulting and facing her problems head on, she’d hopped on a plane—then a bus—then walked to the nearest open shop. Which was how she, a woman who was staring down thirty without an exit strategy, was in Pine Ridge, Montana instead of Singapore with her not-quite-an-ex-of-a boyfriend.
“Well,” she muttered, crouching to gather her life off the tile. “Nothing says ‘fresh start’ like flashing your underwear before caffeine.” Vivi stood and gave a self-conscious wiggle of the fingers. It was like Elvis himself had entered the building. “Am I right?”
The patrons sat in complete hush.
Vivi’s throat bobbed, betraying her cool-city-girl act. Glancing around at the crowd of regulars staring, her heart thumped in her chest like a drumline gone rogue.
“Everyone, mind your own business,” a barista said and the chatter ensued.
Vivi drug her suitcase to the ‘Order Here’ line. “Thank you,” she said to the barista.
She was tall and willowy like a model, but carried herself like someone who broke up bar fights for fun, and moved likesomeone who wasn’t afraid to jump into chaos. Her black hair was in a messy ponytail peeking out from beneath a RULE #1: DON’T ANNOY ME ballcap. Her long black sleeves were rolled up enough to see an intricate, black and white, tattoo of a peony that covered her entire forearm—and a smaller one on the inside of her wrist that looked unfinished.
“Name’s Joannah Blue, but you can call me Jo,” she said. “I have zero tolerance for bullshit, zero fucks to give, and zero time to act like your therapist.”
“My phone is my therapist.” Vivi held up her trusted friend, Glow—the app that was supposed to change her life. Or at least change her enough to get her life in order and have her ownEat, Pray Lovemoment.
“Then we’re on the same page. Now, what can I get you?”
“An iced pumpkin-spice latte, half-calf, non-fat, with a whipped cream topper. Today is special so I’m going big.”
Jo didn’t seem interested in the slightest. “Black it is. Do you want sugar with that? No? Great.” She was already headed toward the back counter and Vivi wondered what it must feel like to move with such confidence.
“But…”
A man with Einstein hair, Scorsese brows, and biceps like Paul Bunyan pointed to a sign above the hung beside the menu with had coffees listed by region.
House Rules
1.Don’t waste even a drop.
2.Pumpkin-spice is a four-letter word.
3.Whipped cream is for pies.
4.You want fast, soulless coffee? Go to Starbucks.
5. Don’t want your barista to judge your life choices? Good luck.
“She’s the Grounds Guru in these parts,” a woman in her seventies, who didn’t look a day over forty said, her accent sosimilar to Queen Elisabeth Vivi expected her to gently wave her hand at the peasants.
