Page 1 of Tiger Lilies and Tight Ends

Prologue

Lily

Have you ever asked yourself, “How did I get here?”

Well, that’s me as I stand at the back porch railing of my short-term rental house and look out over the lake in Horizons Valley, North Carolina. I’ve been here for almost six weeks, and while I didn’t come here to find myself, I’ve definitely had a few “What the heck am I going to do now?” moments.

Taking a deep breath, I breathe in the cleanliness of the air. Up at this altitude, it’s refreshing and unpolluted, and I’ve needed this air to calm my racing heart and anxious mind more times than I can count. It’s not that I’m worried someone is after me, or that I’ll be found and harassed—it’s more that I can’t see what my future looks like anymore, and that leaves me feeling uncertain and twitchy.

I breathe out, reminding myself that nothing has to be decided today . . . and that’s okay.

I’ve always been a planner. I’m not a spontaneous person. I would like to think that I am, and yes, I can go with the flow when it’s on the spot and necessary, but when it comes to the big picture, big life things, I need a plan. I need to feel focused and organized because it drives me to what’s next. I’ve always loved living my life that way . . . that is, until it recently imploded, and now I have no plan.

I was that girl who wanted to graduate at twenty-two, marry by twenty-four, and start a family soon after that. I thought I’d be living in my dream house in the perfect town and working my way up the ladder of my dream job, which technically I am, but I thought I’d be sharing these life successes with my soulmate.

Which obviously I’m not.

No soulmate. No dream house. No plan.

Which leads me back to my “What the heck am I going to do now?” train of thought.

Running my hand over my forehead, I take in another breath as I walk to one of the patio chairs and sit down. There’s a permanent mark in this seat from how much time I’ve spent sitting in it and staring out at the view before me. The lake here is crisp and clear. A mountain ridge surrounds three-quarters of it, and the water is a perfect cool temperature to swim in. Several families of loons call this home. I’ve always been fascinated with birds; these are so beautiful with their speckled feathers and dark heads. Which in turn sparked the name of my next small-town series, The Lake Loon series.

I’m a romance author.

It’s a job I didn’t know I needed, but once I started, the words poured out of me, and they haven’t stopped. I also have a pen name, so no one knows who I really am. And that’s on purpose. I’m certain that with just a few pictures of my face on any of my social media accounts, word that I’m an author would spread like wildfire. And why is that? First, I have orange hair. Not auburn or strawberry blond but long, thick orange hair. Some people call it ginger, but that’s weird to me, because if you cut open fresh ginger, it’s yellow, and my hair is definitely not yellow, but it is recognizable. Second, I’ve been Dean Davis’s girlfriend for the past eight years. Dean Davis, the superstar NFL quarterback for the DC Destroyers.

A girlfriend I am not anymore. At least as of six weeks ago. And if I’m honest with myself, for probably a lot longer than that. While I think we started on the same page, the pages in his life story kept flipping, and mine did not. His pages flipped right on over me, and whether it was intentional or not, he forgot to include me in his story.

What do I mean by that? Well, for as long as I can remember, our life revolved around him. Everything. And I allowed that to happen because I wanted him to be happy and succeed, but I should have been asking myself if I was happy, and as it turns out, I wasn’t.

From my back pocket, my phone vibrates. Pulling it out, I see it’s my brother, Lance. I didn’t tell him what was happening between Dean and me. I only told my best friend Morgan since she doubles as my assistant too, but since he’s calling versus texting, I’m guessing he’s somehow figured out that I’m not in DC anymore. My time living in this hidden off-the-grid state is over. I knew I’d have to face the music with my family eventually, but I was hoping that I’d have more time. At least more time to figure out what’s next. I wanted to be ready for this call. I wanted to have a new plan.

But I don’t.

I let out a deep sigh and answer the call.

“Hey, Lance,” I greet, trying to make my voice happy and perky even though I don’t feel that way at all.

“Why are you in North Carolina?” he asks. No greeting, no pleasantries, just straight to the point.

Lance is one of two people I always share my location with: Lance and Morgan.

“Research for my next series. Small-town romance is hot right now for readers, so I’m here learning all the things about big buff mountain men.”

Lance and Morgan are also the only two people who know I write novels.

Why did I never tell Dean? Well, I wanted it to be my own thing, and he had this unique way of making everything about him even though I don’t think that was always his intention. Nonetheless, it came off that way.

Then again, maybe it was always intentional.

For example, after I graduated from college with my bachelor’s degree in marketing, we were at one of his team functions, I was talking to someone who happened to be in the marketing department, and a few weeks later, she ended up offering me a job as a copywriter and doing digital design. Of course Dean said the only reason I got the job was because of him. Maybe that’s true, but I was also qualified, recognized by the organization, and did a damn good job. He liked to remind me that everything about my life was because of him. I quit that job over a year ago, and he still doesn’t know.

Lance grunts as if my answer only partly satisfies him. “Also, why is Dean calling me and asking if I know where you are?”

Here we go.

“That would be because I moved out and didn’t tell him where I was going.”