Fake Fiancé, Real Wedding (Wedding Season #14)
Chapter 1
Chapter One
Del
Paying for my latte, I give the elderly woman behind the counter a smile. “The air is so clean up here.”
She arches an eyebrow and turns to the ancient espresso machine. “Is it?”
I suspect she was on the verge of closing for the day, but three hours of non-stop driving has left me desperate for a caffeine hit. My jaw is beginning to ache from all the yawning.
“Not used to the mountains?” she asks, grabbing a bottle of full-cream milk from the fridge. She’d greeted me with a scowl when I walked into the small café a few minutes ago. It’s making a comeback now.
Suppressing a yawn with the back of my hand, I try to radiate personable traveler vibes. “Not this high,” I admit.
The tiny dot of a village seemed to be having a late-afternoon siesta as I drove through it, but thankfully, this little café on the outskirts was still open.
“Do you know of a shortcut to Cloudkiss Resort?” I ask. “It’s just outside Hartley Ridge.” Trust my cousin to move to a small town high in the Blue Mountains.
The elderly woman scratches the side of her neck. “You running late for something?”
I pull a sheepish face. “A little bit.”
Little bit? Ha! Try forty-five minutes. My cousin—the least Bridezilla bride to ever throw a bachelorette party—is going to kill me.
I’d promised I’d be there to do her makeup. I was the one to convince her to have the fairy princess theme, after all. As far as Stevie’s concerned, applying lip balm constitutes ‘doing her makeup’.
“Well, there is the old Ghostgum Gulley road,” the elderly woman says, locking the portafilter in place. “It’d get you there in about twenty minutes, give or take a few, but it’s not the kind of road someone from the city would enjoy.”
Leaning my hip on the counter, I smile again, determined to win her over. “I’m not from the—”
The word city is lost to the espresso machine’s grinding whine.
I snort out a laugh, cross my arms, and take in the empty café.
I think of home, the small university town in upstate rural Australia where I grew up.
While it’s far from a city, it’s much bigger than this little village, if not as high above sea level.
As a local, I considered it a mountain town until Stevie moved to Hartley Ridge, high up in the real mountains, met an honest-to-God mountain man, and is now getting married.
In two days’ time.
At Cloudkiss Resort.
God, I’m running so late.
I should have turned down the POPcon job. Sure, it was on the way, and yes, it’ll pay my rent for over a month, and was lots of fun with massive exposure, but damn, it was a huge time suck.
“What kind of car do you have?” The elderly woman’s voice and the aroma of coffee turn me back around. “Got good tires?”
I picture my old Mini Cooper, with its almost bald tires weighed down with not only my luggage for this weekend’s wedding event, but also all my gear from the POPcon job, and plaster a confident grin on my face. “Great tires.”
“In that case—” She slips the milk jug under the steamer wand “—I’ll draw you a map after I finish your coffee.”
My thank-you is lost to the shrieking wail of milk being steamed.
A relieved laugh puffs from me.
I can do this. I can get to the mountain resort, turn Stevie into the most gorgeous fairy princess that ever wore a Bride-To-Be sash, fairy myself up as well, and party the evening away.
After the week I just had—with an Instagram follower somehow discovering my phone number and sending me a text that read OMG I LOVE YOUR WORK in all caps—partying my stress away is exactly what I need.
God help anyone who gets in my way between here and Cloudkiss.