Endless thanks to Talia Hibbert, Meryl Wilsner, Kosoko Jackson, Rachel Lynn Solomon, Karelia Stetz-Waters, Rosie Danan, and Lana Harper for their generous words. I’m such a fan of each one of you and so humbled and honored that you would read （and like!） Delilah’s story.
Thank you to Courtney Kae for your enthusiasm and all-around kindness. You’re a true champion of your peers and I can only hope to help you feel as confident in your work as you’ve made me feel in mine.
To Craig, Benjamin, and William, thank you for creating space for me to think, to create, and to be myself. You are my home and my respite, and my books would not be half of what they are without your support.
Finally, to you, dear reader, for reading, for sharing, for showing up. We’ve been through a hell of a time—I wrote this book during the pandemic because it made me happy. It gave me a purpose each morning. Now we’ve made it through （dear god, let it be true） the hardest of times, and I hope this book has also given you some happiness, some comfort, some laughs, and of course, some swoons.
Turn the page for a look at the next romantic comedy by Ashley Herring Blake
Astrid Parker
Doesn’t FaiL
Coming to Berkley fall 2022!
ASTRID PARKER LOOKED perfect.
Well, as perfect as she could look, which these days meant a lot of concealer smoothed over the purple half-moons that had taken up residence under her eyes. But other than that bit of smoke and mirrors, she was pristine.
She hurried down the sidewalk, the April morning light lengthening her shadow along the cobblestones of downtown Bright Falls, Oregon. She couldn’t believe the sun was out, warm on her pale skin, that she’d actually been able to leave her umbrella and galoshes at home in her front closet. This was the first rainless day they’d had in two weeks.
Born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, Astrid was used to the rain, used to gray and drizzle, but that the clouds deigned to part today of all days . . . well, it was encouraging, to say the least. Had Astrid actually believed in signs, she might’ve gotten a bit maudlin about the timing. Instead, she stopped in front of Wake Up Coffee Company and gazed at her reflection in the large picture window.
This morning, she’d woken up an hour earlier than she needed to and washed and blown out her hair, making sure she styled her recently trimmed blond fringe exactly the way Kelsey, her stylist, had shown her. The result was . . . well, it was perfect. Her wavy locks fell just past her shoulders, her bangs were shaggy and chic and shiny. Her makeup was minimal—concealer notwithstanding—and her jewelry understated and tasteful, just a pair of gold hoops swinging from her lobes.
Her dress was the real star, her favorite outfit and the most expensive thing she owned—she still didn’t dare tell her best friends, Iris and Claire, how much she paid for it last year after she and Spencer broke up. It was a necessary purchase. A power purchase, one to make her feel confident and beautiful. As she took in the ivory pencil dress now, sleeveless and midi length, her reflection confirmed it had been worth every penny. Paired with her favorite black strappy three-inch heels, even her mother couldn’t complain about the vision Astrid saw in the window right now. She was elegant and poised. Prepared.
Perfect.
Everything she should be for today’s meeting and first filming at the Everwood Inn. A wobbly smile settled onto her mouth as she thought about the historic inn, which was now hers to re-create. Well, not exactly hers. But when Pru Everwood, longtime owner of the nationally beloved Victorian, had called two weeks ago and said that she was ready to renovate—and that Natasha Rojas’s super chic HGTV show, Innside America, wanted to do an episode on the whole transformation—Astrid had nearly bitten her own tongue to keep from screaming with glee.
Glee and a good bit of terror, but that was just nerves, or so Astrid had been telling herself for the last fourteen days. Of course, she was excited. Of course, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.
The old mansion-turned-inn was a designer’s dream—three stories of intricate eaves and gables, a wide front porch, an exterior that was currently the color of cat vomit but would shine beautifully under some lovely pastel hue, lavender or maybe a cool mint. Inside, it was a maze of dark-paneled rooms and cobwebs, but Astrid could already envision how she would lighten and brighten, the shiplap and accent walls that would replace the cherry wood wainscoting, the transformation of the rotting back porch into a sun-drenched solarium.
There was no doubt: The Everwood Inn was a dream project.
And currently, it was her only project.