Now That It's You Read online

  PRAISE FOR TAWNA FENSKE

  LET IT BREATHE

  “This charming romp from Fenske evokes the best of romantic comedy, with its witty characters and wacky but realistic situations.”

  —Publishers Weekly, Starred Review

  ABOUT THAT FLING

  “Fenske’s take on what happens when a one-night stand goes horribly, painfully awry is hilariously heartwarming and overflowing with genuine emotion . . . There’s something wonderfully relaxing about being immersed in a story filled with over-the-top characters in undeniably relatable situations. Heartache and humor go hand in hand in this laugh-out-loud story with an ending that requires a few tissues.”

  —Publishers Weekly, Starred Review

  THE FIX UP

  “Extremely charming and undeniably sexy . . . I loved every minute.”

  —#1 New York Times and USA Today

  Bestselling Author Rachel Van Dyken

  “Sexy banter in the boardroom, romantic movies with a sexy alpha geek, and humor that will leave a smile on your face until the very last page.”

  —New York Times and USA Today

  Bestselling Author Kelly Elliott

  MAKING WAVES

  Nominated for Contemporary Romance of the Year, 2011 Reviewers’ Choice Awards, RT Book Reviews

  “Fenske’s wildly inventive plot and wonderfully quirky characters provide the perfect literary antidote to any romance reader’s summer reading doldrums.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “A zany caper . . . Fenske’s off-the-wall plotting is reminiscent of a tame Carl Hiaasen on Cupid juice.”

  —Booklist

  “This delightfully witty debut will have readers laughing out loud.”

  —4½ Stars, RT Book Reviews

  “[An] uproarious romantic caper. Great fun from an inventive new writer; highly recommended.”

  —Library Journal, Starred Review

  “This book was the equivalent of eating whipped cream—sure it was light and airy, but it is also surprisingly rich.”

  —Smart Bitches Trashy Books

  BELIEVE IT OR NOT

  “Fenske hits all the right humor notes without teetering into the pit of slapstick in her lighthearted book of strippers, psychics, free spirits, and an accountant.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Snappy, endearing dialogue and often hilarious situations unite the couple, and Fenske proves to be a romance author worthy of a loyal following.”

  —Booklist, Starred Review

  “Fenske’s sophomore effort is another riotous trip down funny bone lane, with a detour to slightly askew goings on and a quick u-ey to out-of-this-world romance. Readers will be enchanted by this bewitching fable from a wickedly wise author.”

  —Library Journal

  “Sexually charged dialogue and steamy make-out scenes will keep readers turning the pages.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  FRISKY BUSINESS

  “Up-and-coming romance author Fenske sets up impeccable internal and external conflict and sizzling sexual tension for a poignant love story between two engaging characters, then infuses it with witty dialogue and lively humor. An appealing blend of lighthearted fun and emotional tenderness.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Fenske’s fluffy, frothy novel is a confection made of colorful characters, compromising situations and cute dogs. This one’s for readers who prefer a tickled funny bone rather than a tale of woe.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Loaded with outrageous euphemisms for the sex act between any type of couple and repeated near-intimate misses, Fenske’s latest is a clever tour de force on finding love despite being your own worst emotional enemy. Sweet and slightly oddball, this title belongs in most romance collections.”

  —Library Journal

  “Frisky Business has all the ingredients of a sparkling romantic comedy—wickedly clever humor, a quirky cast of characters and, most of all, the crazy sexy chemistry between the leads.

  —New York Times and USA Today

  Bestselling Author Lauren Blakely

  ALSO BY TAWNA FENSKE

  Standalone Romantic Comedies

  Let It Breathe

  About That Fling

  Eat, Play, Lust (novella)

  Frisky Business

  Believe It or Not

  Making Waves

  The Front and Center Series

  Marine for Hire

  Fiancée for Hire

  Best Man for Hire

  Protector for Hire

  The First Impressions Series

  The Fix Up

  The Hang Up

  The Hook Up (Coming January 2017)

  Schultz Sisters Mysteries

  The Great Panty Caper (novella)

  Getting Dumped

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 Tawna Fenske

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503937772

  ISBN-10: 1503937771

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

  To Michelle Wolfson of Wolfson Literary Agency.

  For selling this book based on the letters TBD. And for never batting an eyelash when I say things like, “I think I’ll write romantic comedies about death, grief, infidelity, alcoholism, forgiveness, and divorce. Only with penis jokes.” But most of all, thank you for being my tireless champion, advocate, support system, business partner, and friend.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Meg Delaney kept one hand clenched on the steering wheel as she slammed her fist into the smiley-face balloon hovering over her right shoulder.

  “Get!” she growled. The balloon bopped between the headrests, leering at her in metallic yellow and black.

  “Come on, relax.” Meg’s best friend, Jess, caught a fistful of ribbons trailing from the balloon bouquet and dragged the whole mess out of Meg’s line of sight. “You’re going to crash and kill us both and then how will you explain that to the cops?”

  “Not very well if I’m dead,” Meg pointed out, keeping a wary eye on the red and blue balloon that slipped from Jess’s grasp. It bounced bright and cheerful against the backseat roof of her Subaru, broadcasting its get well soon message in a loopy script. The weird cursive font made the last word look more like soup and Meg wondered if she should have opted for an edible gift instead of balloons. Maybe a bouquet of cake pops or a tin of yogurt-covered pretzels.

  What did etiquette dictate when visiting yo
ur ex-fiancé in the hospital after two years of not speaking?

  Meg put both hands on the steering wheel at ten and two, trying to ignore the damn balloon lurching in her rearview mirror. There was nothing she needed to see behind her anyway.

  “Just keep your eyes on the road,” Jess warned. “Any karma points you’re earning by visiting Sir Cheats-a-Lot in the hospital would be wiped out if you caused a car wreck.”

  “It’s not about the karma points, it’s about closure.” Still, Meg loosened her grip on the steering wheel and reminded herself to breathe. The tension in her shoulders had nothing to do with wayward balloons and everything to do with the fact that she hadn’t seen Matt Midland since she’d stood trembling at the front of the wedding chapel and responded “I can’t,” instead of “I do.”

  But that was two years ago. Water under the bridge, or something like that. Thanks to the passage of time and the words of a really nice therapist, Meg knew it was time to bury the hatchet, let bygones be bygones, close one door so another one could open and—

  “You’re muttering to yourself in shrink-speak again,” Jess said.

  “Sorry.” A rainbow-striped Mylar balloon caught a current from the car’s heater vent and lurched into Meg’s peripheral vision. She fought the urge to swat it out of the way as she hit her turn signal and merged into the next lane. Her tires made a shh-shh sound as they cut through a puddle of standing water, and Meg stole a glance at the sky. The clouds looked like pregnant gray bunnies, which meant more rain on the way for Portland.

  “What sort of surgery did you say Matt’s having?” Jess asked.

  “I’m not sure. His ex-golf partner’s girlfriend’s hairdresser told my mom it’s just some routine procedure. It seemed like a sign.”

  “A sign that in a city of two-point-three million people, you still can’t escape weird chains of connection to an ex?”

  “A sign that this would be the perfect way to extend an olive branch. He always loved it when people fussed over him when he got sick or had his tonsils out or whatever.”

  “Good old Matt,” Jess muttered. “Always the center of attention.”

  “Be nice. I’m mending fences, remember?”

  “Absolutely. You won’t mind if I wait in the car while you run in there with your fence-repair kit and balloon bouquet?”

  “That’s fine.” Meg steered the car toward the off-ramp that led to Belmont Health System. “Probably best, anyway. I’d like to keep this as simple as possible. Just apologize, wish him well, and move on with my day.”

  And with my life, Meg thought, wondering why she’d spent this long stewing and agonizing and thinking bitter thoughts before she’d taken the initiative to reach out to the man she’d been ready to tie her life to. She’d once imagined them sitting toothless in matching armchairs, holding hands while grandchildren frolicked on the floor of their shared nursing home suite. She’d gone from loving him fiercely to hating him with equal ferocity before settling into the murk between those two emotions.

  The least she could do was take him some damn balloons.

  The get well soon balloon bumped the side of her head, and Meg slapped it out of the way as she pulled into a parking space near the back of the visitor lot. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she wished for the hundredth time she didn’t sweat like a pitcher of ice water when she got nervous. She switched off the car and plucked her blue Where the Wild Things Are T-shirt away from her breasts, trying to get some air flowing.

  “You can do this,” Jess said. “And if you do it quickly enough, we can still make happy hour at Sip.”

  “Right.” Meg nodded and glanced at her watch. It was five minutes earlier than she’d aimed for, but that was a good excuse to walk slowly, maybe compose herself a bit.

  She took another shaky breath and pushed open the door. With the balloon ribbons in a tight grip, she stepped out onto the asphalt. Glancing down at her jeans and leopard-print Dansko clogs, she wondered if she should have dressed better to visit her ex in the hospital. Maybe high heels and a dress as a concession to how Matt had always wished she’d dressed during their ten years as a couple.

  Just be yourself, Meg commanded as she nudged the car door shut with her hip and moved toward the hospital. She’d done a contract job here a few years ago when the hospital hired her to overhaul their food services department, so she knew right where the post-surgical recovery wing was. Gripping her balloons, Meg turned down the corridor and put one foot in front of the other as she breathed in the scent of iodine and cleaning fluid. An auburn curl slipped over her eye and she tucked it back behind her ear, wishing she’d had the foresight to braid her hair back off her face or put it up in a smart chignon.

  But at least she was here. That counted for something.

  If she’d timed this right, Matt would be sitting up in bed by now, eating a bowl of lime Jell-O and flipping through television channels. His ink-black hair would be perfectly styled already, and he’d be laughing at something on TV, pointing at the ESPN announcer’s tie or the news anchor’s too-bright blouse and making wisecracks to the nurse or the janitor or anyone else who’d listen.

  Matt always knew how to draw an audience.

  Meg found the room number easily enough and hesitated outside the door. She straightened the balloons, making sure they all faced forward and looked cheery and conciliatory.

  What did a conciliatory balloon look like? Meg couldn’t recall standing in line at Hallmark and seeing any balloons that said, “Sorry I left you at the altar, but maybe you shouldn’t have fucked your acupuncturist.”

  She was stalling.

  Meg took a deep breath, then another and another until she started to feel dizzy and wondered what would happen if she passed out on the floor.

  At least you’re already at the hospital, she reassured herself as she reached out for the door. It was slightly ajar, and her fingers had just grazed the knob when the door flew open.

  A tall, familiar figure barreled through, his face pale and his sandy hair disheveled. Meg jumped back, partly from surprise, and partly to avoid being trampled by Matt’s younger brother, Kyle. His jaw was clenched and dusted with stubble, and as his green-gray gaze locked with hers, he stared like he had no idea who she was.

  Meg took another step back. “I—um—Kyle, hi. It’s me, Meg.”

  Okay, that was stupid. For crying out loud, she’d dated Matt for ten years before the wedding that never happened. She and Kyle used to play Boggle and thumb wrestle over the last piece of pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. She hardly needed to introduce herself.

  But the way Kyle was staring at her now suggested otherwise, or maybe it was just the shock of seeing her here. He looked like a man who’d just seen a ghost, or maybe a squirrel humping an aardvark.

  He still hadn’t said a word.

  Meg swallowed hard and gripped her balloons, forcing herself to greet her former-almost-brother-in-law with the warmest smile she could muster. “Kyle,” she said. “It’s so good to see you. I just wanted to come wish Matt a speedy recovery and take a shot at making peace. Is he feeling up to a quick visit?”

  Kyle continued to stare at her, eyes glinting oddly under the fluorescent light in the hallway. For a moment, Meg thought he might not answer at all. When he finally did speak, his voice was so low she almost didn’t hear him.

  “That’s going to be a problem,” he said.

  Meg bit her lip. “Because of how things ended? Look, I know I handled that badly and your whole family hates me, but I just wanted a chance to apologize and maybe chat for a minute or two about how life’s going now.”

  A tiny muscle twitched in Kyle’s temple, and he studied her, unblinking. “At the moment, Meg, life’s not going all that great for Matt.” His words were clipped and brittle, and Meg fought the urge to take another step back. “And I really doubt he’s going to be chatting with you anytime soon.”

  “Because he’s still angry?”

  “Because he’s dead.”


  Kyle watched Meg’s face go from flushed and earnest to a shade two hues lighter than the white T-shirt he’d dug out of the hamper this morning. The silver-flecked brown eyes he’d always thought seemed warm were frozen in the same expression she’d wear if he slammed her hand in the door. He knew he’d been too blunt, but it was too late to take the words back.

  It was too late for a lot of things.

  He’d found out twenty minutes ago that the brother he’d spent his whole life butting heads with over bubble gum and girls and careers and finances—his only goddamn brother—had suffered a massive heart attack and died.

  It wasn’t even a heroic death, which would have pissed Matt off more than anything. Hair transplant surgery? For crying out loud.

  Kyle shook his head and stared at his brother’s pale-faced fiancée.

  Ex-fiancée, he reminded himself. The current fiancée was in the next room having a screaming match with Matt’s surgeon.

  “I didn’t even know he was taking Viagra!” Chloe shrieked from the adjacent room. “And anyway, how was he supposed to know not to take a big dose the night before a hair transplant?”

  “Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but the pre-surgical literature explains the risks of nitric oxide and the anesthesia we use for this procedure. We went over those with him at the consultation. Your fiancé may have chosen not to inform us he was taking medication for erectile dysfunction, but he was presented with the information when we—”

  Kyle leaned over and pulled the door shut, hoping like hell Meg hadn’t heard the conversation.

  He couldn’t tell anything from her expression, except that she looked like she might be on the brink of losing her lunch. Her fingers were twisted up tight in the ribbons attached to a ridiculously cheerful mess of helium balloons, and she was biting her lip the way she always used to when she felt uncomfortable.

  Why the hell was she here?

  Why the hell was he here, for that matter? It’s not like he and Matt had been close. They’d fought like ill-tempered badgers more often than not, caught in a weird web of competition and jealousy with a dash of reluctant fondness thrown in for variety. It was just a fluke that he’d come to see Matt in the hospital today, just in time to learn they’d never spend another Thanksgiving bickering over football and sweet potatoes.