Runaway Groomsman by Meghan Quinn

Author:Meghan Quinn [Quinn, Meghan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2022-10-10T18:30:00+00:00

Andy: It’s been just over two weeks, and you’ve sent me nothing. Do I need to be concerned?

I stare down at the text, my fingers poised to reply, but reply with what?

Instead of coming up with a screenplay idea, I’ve been renovating an array of cabins for free.

Rather than doing the job I’m paid for, I’ve been secretly catching glimpses of a girl I once went on a blind date with.

In lieu of acting like a professional, I’ve been following the direction of an old, grumpy man while covertly falling for his unattainable granddaughter.

The truth doesn’t read well for me, therefore no need to respond.

I toss my phone on my bed, because if I don’t see it, then it’s not a problem, right?

Denial is a beautiful thing.

Since I stayed up late last night cleaning up the cabin we were working on—a clean workplace is important to me—I slept in a little longer than I should have this morning, given the workload we have on the docket for the day. But hell, even after waking up a half hour later than I should have, I’m still struggling. Every muscle in my body is sore, my eyes are blurry with sleep, and my groin . . . yeah, it freaking hurts. I know I told Fallon I was fine, but after I finished cleaning up, I realized that was not the case. I attempted to ice it in the confines of my own cabin last night, but I knew there was no chance I didn’t hurt it while trying to make Fallon laugh.

And I was right.

It’s sore.

Everything is sore.

Even my fingernails.

And yet I’m dressed, baseball hat on my head, deodorant applied, and I’m ready to make something of this day. I take one last deep breath and gaze out my window, savoring the view—the placid lake, the soaring rocks. Despite the text burning a hole in my phone, my mind is clear, peaceful.

If I’ve learned anything during this time away from the hustle and bustle of the movie industry, it’s how to appreciate the small things, like the chirp of a bird, the rustling of leaves, and the importance of a small community of unconditional love—even if that community contains a diner full of nightmare trolls.

Hoping Fallon has coffee ready, I exit my cabin and make the short walk along the pathway to the first three cabins. The sprinklers were on this morning, leaving a moistened glow to the grass that has led to the accumulation of water along the path. The sun is already cresting through the trees, blinding anyone who attempts to be awake at this hour. And even though I know it’s going to be a scorching day, it’s cool this morning, calm before the heat storm.

I stroll up to the second cabin, and voices filter outside from the open door. When I come into view, I’m greeted by Fallon and Jaz, sitting on the floor, baked goods sitting in the middle, with three cups of coffee, steam drifting from the tops.

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