Page 1 of Definitely (Maybe) Dating
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Piper Campagna knew betterthan to tempt fate.
Acting as the Ansel Adams of love for even a single wedding was as risky as blow-drying her hair in the shower. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the idea of love or even dream about seeing something so beautiful aimed her direction. Once upon a time, Piper had given up everything in her quest for unconditional love only to wind up broke, homeless, and completely alone.
Nope, as far as she was concerned, happily ever after was about as realistic as Prince Charming riding in on a Pegasus.
She’d been to exactly five weddings in her lifetime. All her mother’s. And all but one ending before the photos were developed. Making Piper the last person on the planet to take a resident photographer position at one of Portland’s up and coming wedding venues.
Yet there she was, about to shoot a highly publicized engagement party for a local celebrity family—acting as if she were the right person for the job. As if she truly believed in something as laughable as forever. She wasn’t sure what that said about her, other than she was willing to do anything to land this job, even if it meant faking it.
Piper pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead and groaned loudly. She hated fakes.
Apparently, Fate agreed because just as the fairytale of a wedding venue started to come into view through her cracked windshield, a guttural groan rattled the car. POSH—her Piece of Shit Honda—was telling anyone who’d listen that she needed more than duct tape and prayer to handle the steep hill and hair-pin turns.
“Come on, girl, don’t fail me now.” Piper lovingly rubbed the dashboard.
The engine gave a low hum as it downshifted, pulling through the worst of the bend, handling the tight curve like a pro. POSH might have a junkyard past, but she was scrappy as hell and had an aftermarket gear-shift knob that was shaped like brass-knuckles. When shit got real, POSH rallied. Break-ups, break-downs, let-downs, broken promises, and even a handful of impulsive decisions that nearly broke the bank, that car was the most reliable thing in Piper’s life. Over 150,000 miles of shared history.
150,000 miles of survival.
When Piper spotted the mine-field of potholes ahead, her first reaction was to slam on the brakes. As a former rebel, she might do a little roaring and rumbling when cornered, but she knew when to push forward and when to concede. Yet as the steering tightened beneath her hands, jerking the wheel hard to the left with a force equal to Goliath playing the Hulk in a game of tug-of-war, with POSH acting as the rope, Piper’s stubborn side kicked in.
“Not today, Fate. Not today!” Pulse accelerating, hands slick with perspiration, Piper slammed on the brakes and tried to strong arm the steering into submission. She’d had plenty of experience with strong arming, which was likely why she was still single.
“Shit!” Her hot-headed impulse backfired, and instead of breaking on a dime, POSH, with her tread-bare spare and duct-taped chassis, broke traction. The back tires lost grip, spinning and kicking up gravel and dust, the car fishtailing into the oncoming lane.
Thankfully, there were no other cars on the road. Just narrow and windy with nothing but dirt and gravel to slow her down. And trees. Lots and lots of trees. Big ones, little ones, enormous ones with trunks the size of water towers.
She skidded off the road onto the shoulder and on a direct course with a pothole the size of the Death Star. There was a large white oak, its gnarled branches swaying in the wind are uneven, random; a bat wiggles rhythmically before it swings one time per pitch.
Ignoring her rising panic, Piper reached beside her for the e-brake and, channeling the tough-girl attitude that had helped her survive her teen years, she lifted the lever, smooth and steady. POSH released a loud pop, followed by some rhythmic thumbing that beat hard in tempo with her heart. The car slowly decelerated, rolling off the road, finally coming to a stop inches from the oak tree, so close the leaves scratched back and forth across the hood.
She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead against the steering wheel, no longer judging Snow White for her hysterical reaction to trees. Allowing exactly one minute to collect herself, she took in a deep breath.
It took an additional three for her hands to stop shaking, but that was from frustration. At least, that was the story she was sticking to.
Ignoring the stench of singed rubber and desperation filling the cab, she popped the hood then opened the door. Even before she got out of the car, she knew the power steering was shot. Confirming her suspicions, she let out an impatient sigh and made her way to the trunk, grabbing the tire iron, because the belt was the least of her problems. POSH was sporting a blown back tire and, while she could technically drive the last mile uphill without power steering, no amount of tenacity could make up for a flat tire.
As if her day wasn’t challenging enough, Fate sent in her official RSVP to the party, by way of a streak of lightening which cut through the inky dusk sky.
One Mississippi. Two Mississip—
The ground rumbled under the boom of thunder. The wind picked up, plastering her dress against her legs and whipping her hair around.
“Is that all you got?” Piper hollered, waving the tire iron at the sky, which was turning all different shades of furry and brimstone.
Suddenly, it stopped and an eerie stillness moved in, surrounding her as static crackled in the evening air. Thunder and lightning she could handle. It was the quiet before the storm that was the most unsettling. Knowing it was only a matter of time before the drops began to fall, she grabbed the tire iron and went to work on the lug nuts.
Ten minutes, three grease stains, and a few choice words later, she succeeded in loosening half. The other half were stubborn little assholes that wouldn’t budge.
“I’m small, but I’m scrappy,” she said, shucking her impractical shoes to stand on the tire iron. She gave a few bounces, willing it to budge, when another streak of lightening reached across the darkening sky, exploding so close to her car that every hair on her body became electrified.
“Lightening doesn’t scare me!” she shouted over the rustling trees.
Neither did Fate. Piper had taken on tougher and survived to tell the story. Plus, fear clashed with the ball-buster vibe she’d worked so hard to perfect. Not to mention, too much was riding on tonight for anything to go array.
