Page 1 of Next to You

Chapter 1

Lucy

Inever should have left my house. More importantly, I should have deleted all the dating apps from my phone, like I’d promised myself. But sadly, there was still a little glimmer of hope in my heart, and I had stupidly agreed to meet my latest attempt at a happily ever after at my favorite taco place for dinner.

I should have known better. Past experiences should have predicted how this evening would go. We’d meet, exchange pleasantries, tuck into some food, maybe have a drink. But then I’d find out he was only out for a bit of “fun,” or he was living in his mother’s basement and looking for a new mommy to take care of him. I’d also had enough of men who already had a wife; I mean, really? Bad tippers, bad manners, bad hygiene, bad, bad, bad. I need to stick to my man ban. Being alone was better.

The date had lasted ten minutes. He informed me women should always wear dresses and heels on a first date. Then he said my butt was too big for the jeans I had on. He didn’t like it when women wore dark lipstick and joked that I should have made more of an effort to impress him. So, I wasted what remained of my delicious margarita on his face, ordered takeouttacos, and got the hell out of there. Men were good for nothing but trouble, and I was done with all of them.

That last glimmer of hope was dead now, killed by yet another terrible date.

RIP, hope. It was nice knowing you.

Seriously, all I had wanted was to line up a second date, which, in retrospect, was a bad idea. New Year’s Eve was coming up, and I wanted a midnight kiss. It was getting close, and I’d never had one. Something about starting the new year with a kiss—with hope—felt like the change I needed.

So much for that.

My only consolation was the bag of tacos I had bought to comfort myself when I got home. I should be putting my feet up on the coffee table, binge-watching something mindless, wearing my pajamas, and enjoying my freedom to do whatever the hell I wanted right now.

Instead, I was half-buried in a leftover snowbank, huddled inside my car with nothing but a sad bag full of tacos and a whole lot of regret to keep me company.

Thank goodness I was able to spin into this colossal pile of leftover fluffy white bull crap after I lost control on that patch of ice a half mile back, or I’d probably have hit the median or a freaking tree. I could be dead or unconscious right now.

Sadly, both those things might be preferable to this illogical panic that had settled into my soul over the last ten minutes. I was freaking out, and I would never live this down, not ever.

I was a local, for elf’s sake—born and raised in Honeybrook Hollow, Oregon, one of the little villages that dotted the side of the highway on the way up to Mt. Hood. Now, I was just another dumbass stuck in a ditch, no better than an out-of-towner on a ski trip. But worse than being stuck, I panicked as if I hadn’t had a grand old time hiking through this stupid forest for fun. Granted, I rarely hiked at night or in the winter. Maybe I shouldcut myself a break. And maybe I should never take a back road ever again. I’d stick to the highway from now on.

I took another peek outside.

Could darkness loom?

More specifically, could it hover with menacing intent outside a car window?

Stop it, Lucy.

But I’m stuck out here, and my cell phone has no signal, and it’s dark as pitch, and I’m pissed off and scared, damn it.

I touched my cell phone screen, craving the little bit of light it provided. Unfortunately, there was still no signal, so I could not call for help. Of all the nights to be without service, it had to be this one.

The snow had lightly fallen for hours. When I left, it was the pretty, fluffy kind that sparkled but didn’t stick. I ignored the steady increase as I drove down the mountain.

Damn it, I couldn’t even sit here and eat the freaking tacos because fear had twisted my gut into a pathetic knot, and I’d lost my appetite. I glanced at the bag with a derisive snort.

I had to quit freaking out. It was useless.

Forget your feelings.

Think of the tacos.

Think of going home and getting into a piping hot bubble bathwiththe tacos. You don’t need some dumb-ass man in your life.

With a sudden surge of bravery, I grabbed my emergency snow shovel from the floorboard and got out to dig out the rear end. I could turn on my flashers and hopefully be seen by a passerby. The flashers weren’t doing me any good buried beneath the snow, and I didn’t want to turn the car back on until the exhaust was cleared.

I created enough space to restart the vehicle safely, but there was no way I could dig myself out completely. The front end was completely buried and likely damaged.

Headlights in the distance gave me hope but it quickly faded as the car sped past. I shook my head in dismay. First, they were going way too fast for the road conditions, and second,what the heck?How had they not noticed my flashers?Or me?

The following cars drove right by as if I wasn’t even there. And anyone driving this late on this road had to be a local. They were lucky it was too dark for me to recognize their cars, because—rude.

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