Page 3 of Party Favors
Wren:It’s the best one.
Amanda:Not sure I believe in NYE resolutions. New Year’s is a pointless holiday. Like Groundhog Day. No purpose. I always try to set goals and resolutions, but they put me on a fast track to failure instead. Also, I’ve NEVER had a fun New Year’s Eve. Ever. The whole concept is a scam.
Wren:Oh, pretty girl, I’m going to prove you wrong.
Chapter One
You should never meet your heroes. Amanda believed that with her whole heart. Once, when she was twelve, she’d met a boy bander whose poster she had on her wall. It was one of those early formative moments. He’d treated her, and the other screaming preteens, like they were frivolous and silly and nothing special.
Well, today Amanda had flown six hours to meet her online best friend in person for the first time, and she was worried this plan would go the way of that adage about heroes. Except Amanda wasn’t concerned that Wren Rebello would be horrible or any different than she was online, which was funny, fierce, and kind. No, Amanda was scared shitless thatshe—Amanda Ellis, the disco ball heiress—would be pegged as nothing special.Again.
The Father Time Farm and Resort loomed large in front of her, but she was nervous to go inside. According to the resort’s website, the grounds were littered with cottages, gardens, and orchards, all of which were covered in a dusting of snow that had blown in just in time for the end-of-year celebrations. The big lodge that she could see through her rental car windshield housed an indoor pool, sauna, and spa, two highly rated restaurants, a bar, an event hall, and several floors of rooms.
Wren Rebello was waiting for her at the indoor pool with a few of Wren’s super cool, super successful, super supportive friends.
This whole New Year’s Eve girls’ getaway had been Wren’s idea. A spur-of-the-moment idea, which, after five years of online friendship, Amanda knew was how most of Wren’s ideas came about.
They had talked about meeting for years, but Amanda had thought it was just that—talk. A fairy tale. A story they had dreamed up but never intended to actually write down.
Amanda was that type of predictable. She did what was expected of her in the family business because she was the perfect daughter. She dated the right type of guy, went to the correct events, wore the clothes her mom picked out. She followed her daily routine to a tee: coffee, treadmill, yoga, work, lunch, work, snack, message with Wren, dinner, TV time, bed. She dreamed of making changes, chasing dreams, doing something wild and rash anddifferentfor once in her life, but she’d never followed through.
Wren followed through.
Wren had emailed her a week ago:Do you know what I need? To finally have that girls’ getaway with my online bestie. That’s you, by the way, in case that wasn’t clear. I’ve got a two-bedroom cottage at Father Time Farm and Resort booked from Dec. 29 to Jan. 1 and a New Year’s Eve party ticket with your name on it. A few of my other friends will be there, but they’re all disgustingly coupled up. Please please please? I’m alone for New Year’s. You’re alone for New Year’s. Let’s be alone together.
The problem was that Amanda wasn’t supposed to be alone for New Year’s Eve. She was supposed to escort the honorable Mr. Thatcher Aldridge to her parents’ annual Midnight Charity Ball. Her mother had set it up, of course. The Aldridges were old tech money, whatever that meant, and Thatcher was the marrying age. Didn’t matter that Thatcher was a dick-pic-sending sleazeball who thought Amanda was nothing more than a mannequin for his arm.
Amanda couldn’t handle the bullshit for another night. She needed a break. She needed a real New Year’s Eve. A New Year’s Eve like the ones in movies with the countdown and the champagne and the glitter and thefriends.
Her mother sending her a picture of the taupe evening gown she’d selected for Amanda had been the final freaking straw.
So, she’d lost her entire damn mind, sent a text to her parents, afuck youto Thatcher Aldridge, and jumped on a plane.
She was here now, about to meet her online best friend. A woman she messaged with every day but whose voice she’d never heard. A woman who made her every day brighter and better but didn’t truly know Amanda at all. It was so easy to hide the scared or boring parts when you could curate your every word, every thought.
No turning back. She had to face the music.
She dragged her bags to the front desk. The lodge was leaning a bit too hard into the Scandinavian après-ski aesthetic if you asked her, especially as there were no ski hills in sight, but it was nice, cozy, and clean. There was a ton of light filtering in through huge windows and a skylight in the atrium near the entrance.
She’d gotten a text from Wren an hour ago with an update:So excited for you to get here. This place is a gem. Our cottage is great, but it came with a funny surprise in the second bedroom. Your key is with the concierge. William, Benji, and I are going to head to the pool. If you get here soon, find us there!
Amanda knew all about Benji, the Instagram lingerie model, and William, a nightclub owner and Wren’s IRL best friend. Wren talked about them constantly and said they were soulmates. Amanda was jealous, and she’d never laid eyes on the guys.
“My friends told me they’re at the pool. Could you point me in that direction?” Amanda asked the worker at the front desk after he checked her in.
“Through that hallway, go down a flight of stairs at the end, and then follow the wooden arrow signs. You’ll see it. There’s not much down there.”
Amanda drummed her fingers on the desk. “Could I leave my bags here for a few minutes? I’ll swing back by for them after I say hi.”
“Of course. We could deliver them to your cottage if you would prefer.”
“That won’t be necessary. Thank you.”
Amanda’s heart was in her throat when she found a wooden sign pointing toward the pool, sauna, and spa. Everything was muggy, steam billowing around her feet as she stepped into the room with the pool. The scent of chlorine assaulted her. The pool itself wasn’t overly busy, but there were lots of people milling about. On the far side of the room was a glass wall with views of the forest covered in snow.
Amanda immediately second-guessed herself abouteverythingas she took a step closer to the water—coming here, meeting Wren, changing the dynamic of their friendship, wearing this getup (her favorite high-heeled boots, skirt, and white wool swing coat) down to the pool.
Wren was so fun. A badass lingerie designer, confident, open, and funny. And Amanda was the heir to a company that had made a small fortune manufacturing disco balls in the ’70s. She closely guarded her feelings and thoughts. Hell, Wren didn’t even really know what Amanda looked like. She’d been using the same profile picture for five years. Her hair was a totally different color, and she wasn’t twenty-three anymore.
