Head Over Heels (27 page)
Authors: Jill Shalvis
Mallory reached out for her hand and squeezed it. “You’ll find something. I know it.”
“I hope you’re right.” Grace let out a long, shaky breath. “Sorry to dump on you. Guess I’d been holding on to that all by myself for too long, it just burst out of me.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Amy licked frosting off her finger. “That’s what dark, stormy nights are for. Confessions.”
“Well, I’d feel better if you guys had one as well.”
“Mine isn’t anything special,” Amy said.
“I’d love to hear it anyway,” Grace said.
Amy shrugged, looking as reluctant as Mallory felt. “It’s nothing special. Just another typical riches-to-rags story.”
“What?” Mallory asked in surprise. Amy had been in town for eight months now, and though she wasn’t shy and never held back, she never talked much about her past.
“Well, rags to riches to rags I guess is a better way of putting it,” Amy corrected.
“Tell us,” Grace said.
Amy shrugged again. “It’s nothing more than a bad cliché, really. Trailer trash girl’s mother marries rich guy, trailer trash girl pisses stepdaddy off, gets rudely ousted out of her house at age sixteen, and disinherited from any trust fund. Broke, with no skills whatsoever, she hitches her way across the country, hooking up with the wrong people and then the even wronger people, until it comes down to two choices. Straighten up or die. She decides straightening up is the better option and ends up in Lucky Harbor, hoping the name of the town is a prophecy.”
Heart squeezing, Mallory reached for Amy’s hand, too. “Oh, Amy.”
“See?” Amy said to Grace. “The town sweetheart. She can’t help herself.”
“I can so,” Mallory said. But that was a lie. She liked to help people. Which made Amy right, she really couldn’t help herself.
“And don’t think we didn’t notice that
you
avoided sharing any of your vulnerability with the class,” Amy said.
“Maybe later,” Mallory said. Or never. She shared just about every part of her all the time. It was her work, and also her nature. So she held back sharing her “vulnerability” because she had to have something that was hers alone. And thinking about her sister Karen’s death, and Mallory’s promise to her, was a confession she wasn’t ready to make.
“Denial is her friend,” Amy told Grace. “She doesn’t think she deserves to be happy. I think it’s because her siblings are so wild and crazy, she overcompensates.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil,” Mallory said, uncomfortable with just how close to the truth that was. She’d had her wild moments. Wild for her, anyway. That people hadn’t taken her seriously just added to the reasons why she hated to remember them. “You have a lost and found box around somewhere with extra jackets or something?”
“Nope. Jan sells everything on eBay.” Amy sighed. “Look at us, sitting here stuffing ourselves with birthday cake because we have no better options on a Friday night.”
“There’s always options,” Grace said. “There’s just a big, fat, mean storm blocking our exit strategies.”
“I think it seems like we’re all stalled,” Amy said. “And it has nothing to do with the storm.”
Grace nodded. “Okay, I’ll buy that. It’s possible I’m a little stalled.”
They both looked at Mallory, and she sighed. “Fine. I’m stalled, too. I’m more than stalled. I’ve got the equivalent of a dead battery, punctured tires, no gas, and no roadside assistance service. How’s
that
for a confession?”
Grace and Amy laughed softly, their exhales little clouds of condensation. They were huddled close, trying to share body heat.
“You know,” Amy said. “If we live, I’m going to—”
“Hey,” Mallory said, straightened in concern. “Of course we’re going to live. Soon as the snow lets up, we’ll push some branches out of the way and head out to my car, which sounds like our best bet. If not, I have the phone there, and we’ll call for help.”
“Okay, yes, fine, we’re going to live, yadda yadda,” Amy said, annoyed. “Way to ruin my dramatic moment.”
“Sorry. Do continue.”
“Thank you. If we live,” Amy repeated with mock gravity, “I’m going to keep a cake just like this in the refrigerator for emergencies at all times. And also…” She shifted and when she went on, she was suddenly serious. “I’d like to let people in more. Ever since…” She blew out a breath. “Well, let’s just say I really suck at it and leave it at that.”
Mallory squeezed her hand tight in hers. “I’m in,” she whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.
Especially
if you mean it about the cake.”
Amy smiled gratefully at her.
“If we live,” Grace said. “I’m going to find more than a job. I want to stop chasing my own tail and go after some happy for a change, instead of waiting for it to find me. I’ve waited long enough.”
Once again, they both looked expectantly at Mallory.
Mallory knew what she wanted for herself, but it involved that secret vulnerability she hadn’t shared, and a long-ago promise she’d made. Not that she could say so; hell she could hardly think it. So she racked her brain and came up with something else. Something easier to discuss. “There’s this big charity event I’m organizing for the hospital next weekend, a formal dinner and auction. I’m the only nurse on my floor without a date. If we live, a date would be really great.”
“Yeah?” Amy asked. “And if you’re wishing, wish big. Wish for a little nookie too.”
Grace nodded her approval, fitting in with them like an old shoe.
“
Nookie
?” Mallory asked dryly.
“Hot sex,” Grace translated.
Amy nodded. “And since you’ve already said Mr. Right never works out for you, you should get a Mr. Wrong.”
“Sure,” Mallory said, secure in the knowledge that one, there were no Mr. Wrongs anywhere close by; and two, if there were, they wouldn’t be interested in her.
Amy pulled her order pad from her apron pocket. “I’m making you a list of some possible Mr. Wrongs, okay? Since this is the only type of guy I know, it’s right up my alley. Now, promise me,” she said and held up her pinky. “If a Mr. Wrong crosses your path, you’re going for him. As long as he isn’t a felon,” she added responsibly.
Good to know there were some boundaries. Mallory wrapped Amy’s pinkie with hers. “I promise—” She broke off at a
thump
on one of the walls out front.
They all went still, staring at each other.
“Okay that wasn’t a branch,” Mallory said. “That sounded like a fist.”
“It was a rock,” Amy said. “Let’s go with a rock.”
They all nodded, but not a one of them believed it was a rock.
A bad feeling came over Mallory. It was the same one she got sometimes in the ER right before they got an incoming. “May I?” she asked Grace, gesturing to the iPhone.
Grace handed it over, and Mallory rose to her knees and used the lighter app to look over the edge of the counter.
It wasn’t good.
The opened doorway was now blocked by a snowdrift. It really was incredible for this late in the year, but the snowflakes were big and fat and round as dinner plates, piling up quickly.
The thump came again, and through the vicious wind, she thought she heard a moan.
A pained moan.
She stood. “Maybe someone’s trying to get inside,” she said. “Maybe they’re hurt.”
“Mallory,” Amy said. “Don’t.”
“Seriously,” Grace said, grabbing Mallory’s hand. “It’s too dangerous out there right now.”
“Well, I can’t just ignore it.” Tugging free, she wrapped her arms around herself and moved toward the opening, resolute.
Someone was in trouble, and she was a sucker for that. It was the eternal middle child syndrome, and the nurse’s curse. Glass crunched beneath her feet, and she shivered as snow blasted her in the face. Amazingly, the aluminum frame of the front door had withstood the impact when the glass had shattered. Shoving aside the thick branch, Mallory once again held the iPhone out in front of her, using it to peer out into the dark.
Nothing but snow.
“Hello?” she called, taking a step outside, onto the concrete stoop. “Is anyone—”
A hand wrapped around her ankle, and Mallory broke off with a startled scream, falling into the night.
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
Dear Reader,
I’ve received many, many letters regarding the leads in my latest book, HEAD OVER HEELS. Sawyer and Chloe—what a combo. We start off with a bit of a wild heroine. Add to the mix a reformed bad boy hero who now wears a gun and is on the right side of the law as the town sheriff. Explosive chemistry.
The thing about Sawyer is that he thinks his life is just right. A job. A house. Two best buds. The occasional woman warming his bed… Yeah, he thinks life is good.
But then Chloe blows into Lucky Harbor like a good-time girl. A one-time girl. Only problem, one time isn’t enough. And Sawyer starts to understand that he might never be able to get enough of her.
Problem. A big one.
It was for me too. I like it when people get along, when there’s no tension and friction. But I’m telling you, these two have tension and friction in spades. It was an interesting book to write. To practice keeping that tension high, I pretended I was a wild child. The research was lots of fun. I’m back to being myself now, and that’s fun too. Because now I get to present you with HEAD OVER HEELS.
Happy reading!
Dear Reader,
If you’ve read any of my books, you might have noticed I have a thing for food. Eating is one of my favorite pastimes, and I don’t think I’ve ever written a book without at least one food scene. I am a person who strongly believes a person should live to eat, not the other way around. Food can define culture, history, relationships, and family.
So I tend to write scenes that involve food and eating. To this day, I still get emails from readers about the infamous strawberry scene in my book
Bound to Please
. It seems anyone who read that book can’t ever look at strawberries the same way again. And in
Dare to Surrender
, I had a lot of fun writing about my heroine’s best friend, a culinary student in San Francisco. They had all kinds of fun in the kitchen.
It seems no matter what story I write, I need to include scenes involving eating. Sometimes they’re sexy scenes, sometimes not. Food inspires me on a lot of levels. I once hopped on a plane to Madrid because I wanted to eat tapas. I got more than little plates of food—I experienced an entirely different culture that inspired me to have more fun in life. While on a trip to France, I stayed with families so I could eat home-cooked, seven-course meals. I always eat street-food in Mexico—and my next vacation destination is Vietnam because I love spring rolls.
Obviously, I really like to eat!
I got the idea for Phoebe and Nick while staying in a small town in Northern California. While driving from San Francisco to Portland, I stopped at a small café that served only organic, natural food. Most of the cuisine was vegetarian. It was a small café, but the dishes were mouth-watering. There was something so satisfying about eating locally grown, organic, earthy food that I wanted to try everything on the menu. Obviously, the food was scrumptious, so scrumptious it inspired me to create a story revolving around my delicious experience.
Some of my fondest childhood memories come from our dining table. While writing DELICIOUSLY SINFUL, I dug out my grandmother’s copy of Julia Child’s
Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
Published in 1966, it has my grandmother’s notes penciled in the margins and little squares of cutout recipes tucked in between pages. That cookbook sat on my desk the entire time I wrote DELICIOUSLY SINFUL. It is the one thing I inherited when my grandmother passed away. I cherish it.
I’ve always thought that food has many meanings. It creates and brings back memories, it writes stories, it brings people together. Every week while I was writing DELICIOUSLY SINFUL, I tried out a new recipe. It reminded me of my mother, my grandmother, and dinners of the past. And every week, I would pick out a recipe, shop for ingredients, cook, and invite my friends over for dinner. I’ll admit some of my culinary attempts were…not so good. But it didn’t matter. I put love into those meals, just as I put love into this book. I hope you enjoy DELICIOUSLY SINFUL as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Love,
