Page 1 of Stuck on Jude

ONE

LUCY

Staring out the window of our hotel suite, I can’t help but drop my least favorite four-letter word.

“Snow.” Turning to my best friends who are in the middle of an impromptu winter clothes fashion show. “Do you see how much it fucking snowed last night?”

“About five or six inches,” my friend Teagan answers cheerily, holding up a puffer vest while the other girls murmur in approval. “That’s the perfect kind of fresh powder for a day of skiing.”

“If you’re going skiing.”

I release the curtain and let it fall back over the window. Folding my arms across my chest, I lean against the windowsill and watch them. Ciera and Teagan all look so freaking happy right now. Dressed in waffle-woven tops, form-fitting ski pants, and pom-pom knit hats that they picked out just for this trip, they look like they’ve stepped out of an Instagram post for a Boujee outdoor gear company.

There’s no way any of them will get out of this weekend without making out with one of the sexy flannel-wearing men we met in the lounge during dinner last night.

Meanwhile, I’m wearing a tie-dye sweatsuit that has a smudge on the collar from a rogue drop of hot cocoa.

Ciera glances over her shoulder at me. “Please tell me you aren’t going to be a party pooper this whole weekend.”

“I’m fine.” To prove the point, I push myself up and join them in the circle of stuffed chairs. “Of course, when you suggested we all take a single girls trip for Galentine’s Day, I thought we might end up in Barbados or the Dominican Republic.”

Somewhere warm. Where drinks are served in coconuts with little umbrellas by handsome men in white linen shirts and pants that leave nothing—and I mean nothing—to the imagination. Those same men are so accommodating that when you realize you can’t quite reach your back, they offer to rub you down with sunscreen.

Suddenly a little weak in the knees, I sink into an empty armchair.

“Anyone can escape to the tropics for a girls’ trip,” Teagan says. “We don’t want to be boring with our vacation time do we?”

“I don’t know.” I pick at yet another hot cocoa stain that I’ve just discovered on the sleeve of my arm. “I think people go to the tropics to get away from snow and ice for a reason.”

“This place came highly recommended,” Ciera says. “One of my sister’s best friend’s cousins met her husband here.”

“Isn’t it funny how it’s always some nameless person who’s three or four people removed who lives out some kind of fantasy experience?” I ask.

“It’s not just her.” Teagan holds out her phone. “They actually call this place Camp Mountain Man. It’s where manly men come to embrace the wilderness and women—like us—come to find them.”

I start to say that it all sounds a little desperate and far-fetched. But I catch the looks of hope and anticipation on my friends’ faces. I can’t be the person who craps all over their good time.

Just because I’ve given up on finding love doesn’t mean they should.

Besides, while this may not be a week in paradise, at least it’s a week away from reality. And, scrolling through the phone, I see the long list of amenities available. We arrived too late yesterday to do much more than change for dinner. With all of those updates they’ve done around the place, there’s plenty for me to do without setting foot in the snow.

“You’re right,” I say, handing the phone back. “This place will be great.”

“That’s the spirit.” Ciera springs to her feet. “The ride to the slops leaves in ten minutes. Better get dressed.”

“Oh . . .” I glance down at my sweatsuit. “I don’t think I’ll be joining you.”

“But—”

“I’m thirty years old. I’ve never been on a pair of skis. And I’m so graceful, I regularly trip over my own feet and biff it.” I pull a face. “I don’t think now is the time for me to get into outdoor sports.”

Also—and I’m embarrassed to say this out loud—I just don’t feel comfortable flying down a mountainside.

Teagen chews on the inside of her cheek. “I hate to leave you alone. Do you want us to stick around and go out later?”

“No way. You ladies look too good to stay here.” I shake my head emphatically. “I’ll be fine.”

“But—”

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