Fall Inn Love (Cozy Nights in Vermont #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

IRIS

I ris Bertone snuggled into her train car seat, picturing the next two blissful weeks to calm the nervous butterflies somersaulting in her stomach.

Don’t think about what’s on the line. Picture making leaf angels —her preferred type of angel-making, much warmer than snow angels— in a fluffy pile of orange leaves.

She’d nabbed the most coveted freelance reporting assignment ever: a two-week, all-expenses-paid trip to review Vermont’s ‘hidden gem’ romantic inns. She’d be on assignment for the ‘Romance Travel’ issue of Discover one of those annoying combinations of a jock and nerd that made him insanely popular in high school and created a constant stream of girls in and out of his dorm room in college.

Not that she’d ever tell him that she noticed.

Given how far out of her league he’d always been, she’d put him in a non-sexual competitor box. His only purpose was to be defeated. About half the time, she’d managed to win.

“So the dynamic duo is back together,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

“That was one time, and you know it was punishment for me.” That’s what she got for “wasting” fifteen minutes of their ethics class “grandstanding against Sam’s arguments.”

Her professor’s words, not hers.

“I’m looking forward to a nice two-week vacay,” he said, stretching his hands behind his head. “Just taking it easy and shooting photos of leaves.”

Ugh, this man. “This is not a vacation. I have a full itinerary,” she said, showing him her planner. “We will not ‘hope it all works out,’” she said, using air quotes. “ Your famous last words for the junior prom budget.”

He smirked at her with his stupid smirky lips. “Can’t help that you overspent at the homecoming dance, Class President Bun-Buns.”

“ You were the class treasurer,” she said, growling. “What about when we were covering the student protests in college? You got the date wrong. There was nothing but litter left.”

“I got an award for those photos,” he said, snorting and looking—again—smug.

She rolled her eyes as she watched suburbia shuttle past them outside. “Of course you did.”

Sam Larsson was god’s gift to photojournalism. He’d been handed practically everything while Iris had scraped by, vying for every story, trying to get her foot in the door at every shitty hometown newspaper after college.

Sam nodded. “I didn’t think this sort of ‘media for the masses’ would be your kind of thing. Wasn’t this the kind of story you made fun of in college?”

Yes, it was. Because she was an egotistical kid who didn’t know better. The world didn’t want impartial journalism; it wanted someone to tell them how to organize their closet for less. She’d rolled with it because experience was still experience. “Shouldn’t you be off in a desert somewhere capturing a story for Newsweek about the declining camel population?” she spat back.

Every teacher and every editor had always avoided pairing them together. Their insane competition would turn any article into mush.

“You are still mad I got that internship,” he said, realization dawning on him.

“Of course I’m still mad. They said I had it.”

He shrugged. “Maybe my interview was better.”

“Maybe it’s because you got all the better assignments.”

“Maybe it’s because I had better grades ,” he said, getting heated.

“Maybe it’s because you took all the easy classes .”

“French Film Studies wasn’t easy and you know it,” he shouted as the door to the train car opened up from the hallway.

A greasy man in a shirt buttoned to his ribs walked in and sat down next to Iris.

“I didn’t even get to be captain of the debate team because of you,” Iris spat. Their teacher had gotten so tired of their arguing that she’d made them co-captains. “If you will be quiet for the rest of the ride, I can enjoy my cozy drink and the views.”

Sam threw his hands in the air in surrender and opened his phone.

The man sitting next to Iris on the bench leaned in close to her. “Where you headed?” His breath reeked of alcohol.

“Um, Vermont.” She wouldn’t give a strange man her exact location, but she didn’t want to be rude. At least he hadn’t insulted her in the last five minutes, unlike the bad penny across from her.

“I’m going to meet some buddies there,” he said.

Iris went back to her phone, hoping he’d get the hint.

The odorous man pointed at the logo on her water bottle. “The Old Button Factory Downtown Lofts. That where you live?”

Creep sounded in the back of her mind as her spine tingled. “I need to work on my planner,” she said and turned away from him.

“You live alone?” he asked and scooted closer, not taking the hint.

“Darling,” Sam called as he stood up. “Do you have a pen?” He stood so he was knee to knee with her.

Uh, darling? Her stomach jolted as she realized he was talking to her. What was he thinking?

She handed him the third-best pen from her planner. He grabbed it but didn’t move.

“Sorry. My girlfriend’s territorial about her pens.” Gesturing to the seat the creepy man was in, he added, “Mind switching?”

Oh lord.

The creepy man shrugged, got up, and left the car.

Sam sat down with a wide grin. “Thank you, darling,” he said too loudly as the man was leaving, enjoying the ruse. “Jo said you were going to pretend to be a couple so the places didn’t know you were reporters. Thought it was kind of dumb, but if pretending to be a couple irritates you then there’s a bright side.”

“The inns would behave totally differently if they knew they might be on the cover of a huge magazine.” She grabbed the pen back. It would be lost in ten seconds otherwise. Sam was as organized as a toddler who’d eaten seventeen popsicles, though he took his camera equipment seriously.

“But we don’t have to be a couple couple, right?” His eyes narrowed, which meant he was watching her for a reaction.

“God, no,” Iris laughed unconvincingly.

She’d nursed a tiny, irritating, against-her-will crush on him since he’d started to grow into his lanky frame senior year of high school. He was objectively good looking, and she found competence sexy. He pushed her to be her best, and she was humble enough to admit she’d learned a thing or two from him over the years.

Not that she’d ever tell him. Over his dead body.

“What’s that face?” he said, gesturing to her nose.

“Well, you know.” She gestured between the two of them. “We’re not a couple. We wouldn’t be believable.”

“Because you find me so disgustingly unattractive?” he said, knowing exactly what he looked like. He had a classically handsome face and looked like he belonged on a rugby field with his ruddy cheeks in a Ralph Lauren Polo ad. His jaw was angular and covered in light brown stubble. It, unfortunately, only highlighted his impish smile so that you hoped he pressed you against a wall and made out with you.

“We’re going to be professional about it.” She pressed her shirt down, feeling prim about the whole thing. “This assignment is a big deal.”

“I know it’s a big deal. Your editor, Ben, is a buddy of mine. He said there might be a spot opening on D&D ’s staff, so I figured I’d test it out. See if it’s someplace I wanna work.”

“Oh, right,” she snorted. “To see if they’re good enough for you.”

Nerves twisted in her stomach. She was competing against him for the spot she’d talked to Ben about? The one that might open up? She’d wanted a full-time role at a name-recognizable company her whole life. It was the first step to getting her life started.

Well, re started.

He settled down in his seat, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. His wide shoulders took up a lot of space, but she didn’t hate the feeling of them pressing against her.

There was a familiarity in being next to someone you’d known for so long. He was comforting even if he was annoying, like an old shoe she hadn’t thrown away yet.

“It would be a change of pace.” He stretched out his long legs. “But I like the idea of paid vacations where I take some photos, even if I’m paired with anal-retentive writers.”

“I am not—” She slammed her mouth shut, refusing to yell the word ‘anal’ in public.

“I’m surprised you’re not interested in it”—he opened one eye—“or maybe Ben didn’t talk to you about it.”

“Maybe he did,” she said with a triumphant head nod. She’d had to ask about a full-time role, but he’d said there’d be one available soon.

“Sure, Bun-Buns. Whatever you gotta tell yourself,” Sam said with a sigh.

Her mind whirled as fast as the train wheels thundering under them.

She’d have to handle this 6’3” thorn in her side while also nailing the most important assignment of her life.