ote to self: When your friends and family tell you not to drink away your sorrows, you should probably listen.
Too little. Too late.
Three-and-a-half months after catching my ex-fiancé cheating—and spiraling straight into a drunken, ill-advised one-night stand in a bathroom stall with my best friend—I’ve officially reached burnout. The weight of the world is crushing my chest, and I can barely remember what genuine happiness even feels like.
So naturally, I chose the most reasonable solution.
Run away to Dad’s ranch in Whiskey Creek, with the hope that I can remember who I was before my life imploded.
The problem?
My dad invited my best friend, Lenny, too.
The bigger problem?
There’s only one room. One bed.
And apparently, between my father’s matchmaking tendencies and Lenny’s stupidly charming grin, they’ve already decided they know exactly how to coax the sunshine out of me again.
Whether I’m ready for it or not.
