In Every Chapter (The Reluctant Romantics #2)

Prologue

Paisley

I’d rather take my chances with Tolkien’s giant spiders of Mirkwood than be forced into socializing. In general, because, why go out when you could get lost in a good book? But specifically on January twenty-eighth of all nights.

Yet luck was not on my side. And neither were my friends.

“Park your rear right there and don’t even think about moving without winning,” my best friend, Juliet, instructed, her strong hands all but shoving me down onto the worn brown leather barstool at the high counter in front of a large TV screen.

Donovan’s Downto’n was the local small-town hangout in Serenity Springs, Idaho, famous for its trivia nights, community atmosphere, and line dancing.

Don’t ask about the name. The W in the neon sign went out forty years ago, and no one bothered fixing it.

So yes, it really was pronounced like Juliet’s favourite TV series, Downton Abbey.

My three besties had pretty much dragged me out of the apartment for a night on the town and demanded I put on makeup and real clothes—sweats and a ratty University of Washington tee apparently didn’t count—on this anniversary I desperately wanted to forget.

I understood the appeal of alcohol for some.

Anything to numb the heart-shattering pain even two years later.

Anything to forget. But after spending years in foster care because my own mother was a negligent alcoholic, I wasn’t gonna risk it.

Just thinking of her… of today… of him made my eyes burn with tears. Anger and shame churned in my gut, threatening to send me upchucking any minute. I’d been so blind, so foolish. Falling for a charming smile and a nice guy—the first to show any real interest in me.

Desperation was a hard pill to swallow.

Jared Nichols. He was charming, in a boy-next-door kind of way, with a boyish grin just like Jonathan Crombie’s in the superior version of Anne of Green Gables.

(Forever our Gilbert Blythe.) Maybe I fell in love with him because of that smile.

Or maybe it was the way he made me feel less alone.

Like I, Paisley McBride, was desirable. Beloved. Valuable.

Instead of an unwanted afterthought.

And that was the thing about desperation—even poisoned water was still water to a parched soul starved for love.

No. Do not wallow. I needed to focus. If my friends were going to force me into every woman’s staple—the little black dress—and heels that pinched my feet, I was walking out of this place with the cash prize and my head held high.

Downto’n’s legendary trivia competitions were community-building events, each table armed with a scorecard and buzzer.

But the ultracompetitive ones always sat at the bar counter—which never served hard drinks until after eight to keep the family-friendly vibe.

Tonight’s theme was The Lord of the Rings.

Which was why I wasn’t with my three besties whispering at a booth in the back corner.

No. I sat hunched on the barstool like a shrimp with scoliosis, nursing a Shirley Temple, homed in to the questions on the screen. The Lord of the Rings was in my blood, and I wasn’t giving this victory up without a fight.

It was down to me and my archnemesis.

Maybe that was a bit strong. He might be a great guy. I hadn’t given him more than a cursory once-over when he sat two seats down, although there was something vaguely familiar about his profile. The two of us were the only die-hard competitors left. And he knew his stuff.

The questions whittled away the ones who only knew about the franchise from the Peter Jackson movies—which were excellent but nothing compared to the extended lore of Tolkien’s world-building.

Books had long been my primary means of escape, and if that turned me into a nerd, well, that was a small price to pay compared to what I could have used to cope instead. So, what was Cute Guy’s excuse?

Cute? He was not cute. Handsome or gorgeous maybe, if that jawline was anything to judge by. We are not noticing men, Paisley Grace. It only led to heartbreak, and I had terrible taste in partners, given my track record. Of one. But one was enough in this case.

I picked at my thumbnail, body poised and ready to smack the buzzer. This wasn’t just trivia; it was war. The stool squeaked as I shifted.

Cute Guy mirrored me.

Oh, we were so on.

The next question flashed across the screen.

What was the name of the Balrog encountered by the Fellowship in Moria?

I hit my buzzer, blurting out, “Durin’s Bane!”

“That’s correct.” Denver Donovan, the current trivia host, grinned at me approvingly under his blond mustache.

I ignored him and his creepy lip fuzz. No offense to facial hair, but he couldn’t pull that ’stache off—few men could. Jared couldn’t either. My leg bounced restlessly, and my hand drifted to my left ring finger to twist my wedding ring.

But it wasn’t there.

Of course it wasn’t. It hadn’t been for eighteen months. So instead, I fidgeted with the silver band stamped with sunflowers on my right thumb, trying to soothe the rising nerves. The sunflowers had been Juliet’s idea, plant lover that she was.

“They follow the light, Pais,” she’d said. “Just like we do.”

Secretly, I’d read up on sunflower lore in history and loved the wishfulness they symbolized. And I’d bought the ring last January on what would have been my first anniversary.

Thanks to my sidetracked mind, Cute Guy aced the next question on Legolas’s eye colour—in the books, not the movie trilogy. Sorry, Orlando Bloom, you might have been dreamy in blue, but grey was the right choice.

I glared at the screen, rolling my shoulders. No more memories. Only focus. I wasn’t competitive by nature. I just . . . needed to feel something. Winning, losing—I didn’t care at that point.

Denver queued up a fill-in-the-blank quotation on the screen, and Cute Guy’s fast reflexes outmaneuvered me.

I scowled at him, and when he side-eyed me, his lips twitched. Guess he was as invested in this rivalry as I was. When he messed up on the third blank, my inner cheerleader started waving pom-poms.

But my celebration died a swift death when Denver’s overly friendly gaze flicked to me—eyeing me like I was the greasy nachos Downto’n was famous for, and he was in the mood for a snack. Gross. “Tonight’s pot is yours if you get this one, Pais.”

I hated the familiarity of my nickname on his tongue. He’d flirted with me before, but I wasn’t interested. At all. Last man in the world I would marry and all that Lizzy Bennet stuff. Seriously, read the room, buddy. And a book on how to treat women while you’re at it.

With my first marriage being an epic failure, I wasn’t itching to give a repeat performance. I wasn’t looking, and maybe I never would be interested in anyone again. I could live with that. I had my friends, a steady job, and yet . . . What about Cute Guy?

Back to the matter at hand. Inhaling slowly to settle my rattled nerves, I reread the question on the small flat screen overhead.

Finish the following quotation: “[Blank] and [blank] shall live still in some [blank] [blank] where the [blank] is [blank].”

Relief swelled in my chest, and I smiled in spite of myself—a real smile—for the first time tonight.

This passage was one of my favourite sections in The Return of the King.

I had it handwritten on a sticky note taped to the bathroom mirror in the apartment Juliet and I shared.

We were the only two of our friend group to live in Serenity Springs.

Liz and Stephanie had made the trek from out-of-state in this January weather to help keep my mind from wandering down dark corridors of the past on what would have been my second anniversary.

If we’d have lasted. But we hadn’t, and having my girls here was the best thing I could have wished for. Even if they did drag me from my binge-watching The Hobbit trilogy.

Sometimes, a girl just needed a solid wallowing session while watching dwarves decapitate hideous orcs. Always made me feel better.

Clearing my throat to refocus, I said simply, “’Hope and memory shall live still in some hidden valley where the grass is green.’”

Denver rang an old bronze bell with a frayed rope, announcing my victory. “And we have our winner! Give it up for Ms. Paisley Nichols!”

The name tasted like ash on my tongue. Maybe I should go back to using my maiden name? But I forced a weak smile onto my face and shook hands with Denver, discreetly wiping my hand off on my velvet black dress when he wasn’t looking. I could still feel his smarminess coating my skin.

The small wad of cash he handed me was much more welcome. Just enough for two books to add to my collection, if I was thrifty about it. Hmm . . . there’s that new special edition of Emma. Maybe I can splurge on the hardcover? Hardcovers were elite. The highest prize of book trophies.

“Hey, gorgeous, that was pretty hot.” Denver waggled his eyebrows, interrupting my bookish daydreams. “Maybe you and I can go out sometime.”

He was still here? I tucked the money in my purse. “I don’t think so.”

“Aw, come on, Pais. We’d be amazing together. I promise I can show you a good time.”

I baby barfed in my mouth. Did guys seriously think that was attractive? “I said no thanks. And it’s Paisley.”

“Don’t be like that.” He leaned across the counter, close enough that I caught a whiff of sour milk on his breath. Probably from the nachos. “The things I could—”

“What part of no wasn’t clear the first time?” I needed to make my exit because if Juliet noticed, she’d make a scene. So would Liz. And while I loved that about them, I had no desire for the worst day of my life to be compounded by a potential brawl.

“The lady said no.” A warm, gravelly voice skittered over my neck from behind. It’d been years since a guy gave me goose bumps.