Finding Mr. Write (Business of Love #5) - Ali Parker Page 0,2

sharpest knife in the drawer.

“It’s not hair dye. I cut my finger when I was cutting the cheese. We’ll have to throw that board out.”

Riley was still staring at the board, confused.

“It’s my blood,” I said flatly.

“Oh,” Riley said. “Got it. Ew.”

“You’re not usually clumsy in the kitchen,” Madison said. “Is everything okay?”

I licked my lips. Here it was. My moment was right around the corner. I gestured at the living room. “Can we all sit down? I have something I want to talk to you both about.”

Riley and Madison exchanged a look. The last time I’d done this to them, I was telling them I no longer wanted to spend the first Friday of every month hitting up a tanning salon and then following it up with a mani-pedi appointment. That sort of pampering just wasn’t in the budget these days, and even though I liked the quality girl time, it was making it hard for me to afford my portion of the grocery bill.

We all took our usual spots in the living room. I sat cross-legged in the egg chair draped in blankets closest to the fireplace. Madison and Riley hopped into opposite corners of our rather Bohemian-looking blush-pink velvet sofa. It had been Madison’s when she had her own place a couple of years ago. Her taste was feminine and colorful. Before moving in with us, all her decor had been in pastel pinks, teals, and yellows.

I set my wine down on the table beside my chair and clasped my hands together. “As you both know, I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching because I’ve felt kind of stuck. In limbo, so to speak.”

Madison nodded knowingly.

I’d quit my job eight weeks ago on a spur-of-the-moment impulse. My manager had been giving me hell for refusing service to a misogynistic prick at one of the local coffee shops here in Waynesville. The customer had been a foul prick and I told him so. I also chose some other more abrasive adjectives that hadn’t been well received by my boss when he heard the heroic tale from a customer who thought I’d handled myself like a champ. When my boss laid into me, I took my apron off, threw it at his feet, and wished him luck with his business. Then I marched out with my head held high and a fire burning in my belly.

Change was on the horizon.

It had taken me eight weeks to figure out my next step.

“I’ve made a decision,” I said.

Riley sipped her wine and dabbed at her lips, checking that her fuchsia lip stain was still on. “And what is that? Did you decide to take us up on our offer to see if we could get you a position at Strut?”

“I still think that would be so much fun.” Madison nodded eagerly. “Imagine all of us working and living together?”

No thank you.

I loved my girls but the thought of spending literally all of my time with them made me want to hurl into my wine glass.

“No,” I said slowly, not wanting to offend them. “It would be a blast working together, but I’ve been feeling like there is something calling me that I need to follow.”

“Briar the spirit wanderer.” Madison snickered.

Riley giggled.

I lifted my chin. “You both know how I’ve always dreamed of moving to New York City. I think—I think now is the time to go for it. My life is stagnant here. My parents are traveling abroad and living their best lives in Croatia and France and Venice. I want that. I want to explore and discover new things. I want to make a life for myself somewhere bigger than Waynesville.”

Both of my friends had stopped laughing.

“Wait, are you serious?” Riley asked.

I nodded. “Yes. I already bought my plane ticket.”

“Ticket? Singular?” Madison’s eyes were wide with surprise.

I nodded. “No return flight. I need to make this work.”

“When do you leave?” Riley pressed.

This was the hard part. I chewed the inside of my cheek and looked down at my crossed ankles resting against the frame of the egg chair. I wished I could bring it with me when I moved, but it was Riley’s.

“I leave tomorrow.”

Chapter 2

Wes

Blood stained the white ceramic plate as my steak knife slid through the cut of tender, juicy, perfectly pink steak. Beneath the cut of meat, side of garlic potatoes, and assorted roasted vegetables, was elegant script writing in gold that read: El Cartana. My cutlery was also gold and so was the thread that