As always, thank you to Becca Podos, my agent and friend. We’ve been at this for nine years, and there is no one else with whom I’d rather be on this roller-coaster ride of publishing!
Thank you to my editor, Angela Kim, who knows exactly how to fine-tune these stories and make them really shine. Thank you to my whole team at Berkley, including Kristin Cipolla and Elisha Katz. Thank you, Katie Anderson, whose book designs are some of my favorites in the business. And thank you, Hannah Gramson, for your excellent copyediting skills.
Leni Kauffman, who has brought all the characters of Bright Falls to life, there are no words to express how much I love your work and how you’ve interpreted my characters. Thank you!
My writing crew—Meryl, Zabe, Emma, Christina, Mary, and Mary—thanks for the joy of your faces, your humor, your weirdness, and weathering all the blaring smoke alarms with me.
Thank you, Brooke, for being my first reader once again, and for so much more. Here’s to many more first reads.
Meryl, thank you for always believing in me, for being my confidant, my friend. Stars and skies and galaxies.
Thank you, Craig, Benjamin, and William, for giving me time, space, and support, always.
Iris KeLLY
Doesn’t Date
Ashley Herring Blake
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1. Iris and Stevie are quite different in personality, but connect in a way they haven’t with anyone else—why do you think they work?
2. Stevie struggles with an anxiety disorder. Can you identify ways that her anxiety debilitates parts of her day-to-day life as well as big-picture things? Is there any part that you can relate to?
3. Iris tries something new to get out of her funk and find inspiration. How do you gain inspiration, and what’s the last new thing you’ve tried?
4. Do you have a favorite Shakespeare play? Would you ever want to try acting in a play?
5. Would you move across the country for someone?
6. Do you think Adri was still in love with Stevie?
7. Iris insisted she didn’t need love to be happy—is she right? In what ways does love enhance our lives? Are there situations in which we really do need love—or some form of it—to be happy?
8. Stevie was worried about moving far away from her friends and community, but she’s able to maintain her friendships and also make new ones. Do you have long-distance friends? How do you stay connected?
Keep reading for an excerpt of
MAKE THE SEASON BRIGHT
the next romantic comedy by Ashley Herring Blake
BRIGHTON FAIRBROOK WIPED down the lacquered bar, glaring as that night’s live musician crooned a twangy version of “Silver Bells” into the tiny stage’s microphone. The singer was a woman, with a jean skirt and cowboy boots, long dark hair, fingers plucking deftly at her Taylor guitar—three hundred series by the looks of it—while she sang about city sidewalks.
“She’s not bad, huh?” Adele said, nudging her shoulder. Adele folded her brown arms, the sleeves of her button-up rolled to the elbow, a deep green vest cutting the perfect fit just like always. Her braids fell over her shoulder, black glasses perched on her nose as she listened to the act she herself had booked. Adele was Brighton’s boss, owner of Ampersand—the bar where Brighton worked—and her only friend in this godforsaken city.
“Mesmerizing,” Brighton said flatly, nodding at a customer lifting up their empty gin and tonic glass for another.
“Oh, come on,” Adele said. “She’s good.”
“And hot,” Brighton said, grabbing a new bottle of Beefeater gin from the amber-lit shelves behind the bar.
Adele smirked. “Aren’t they all?”
Brighton had to laugh. Adele, a passionate lesbian, had yet to meet a female form—cis or trans—she didn’t appreciate. Although, wisely, she never “slept with the talent,” as she put it, the myriad singer-songwriters who came through here each month, searching for any stage that would have them and a willing audience. This was Nashville—stages abounded, as did audiences, but finding listeners who actually gave two shits . . . well, that was the real challenge. Everyone was a musician here, which meant everyone was good, everyone was competition, and no one was ever, ever impressed.
Brighton placed the fresh gin and tonic in front of her customer, telling herself she was glad to be free of Nashville’s hamster wheel. She was glad to have steady work and good tips at Ampersand. She was glad she didn’t have to constantly restring her guitar anymore, worry about humidity and the wood of her own Taylor getting warped. Didn’t have to chase gigs, emailing bookers who would never email her back, and spend hours every night pouring out her heart and soul and blood into her songwriting notebook, only to be told she wasn’t good enough, didn’t have what it took, and face betrayal by the very fuckers she brought together as a band.
“You’ve got that look on your face again,” Adele said. She was now sitting on a stool at the corner of the bar, the light from her iPad a blue glow reflecting on her glasses.
“What look?” Brighton said, slapping down a towel and wiping a spot that wasn’t even dirty.
“That look that means you don’t give a shit about tips.”
Brighton lifted a brow. “Are you telling me to smile?”
“I would never. But maybe, you know, try to at least look like you’re not out for blood.”
Adele had a point. Brighton was barely making ends meet with her tips as it was—she couldn’t afford to be grumpy. Her roommate, Leah, had been pretty flexible on the rent lately, but it came with caveats. Last week, Brighton found herself at an ornament exchange party for the singles group at Leah’s church. After being late with the rent three months in a row, Brighton hadn’t felt like she could say no to the invite, so she ended up with a plastic Christmas pickle ornament and fake smiling for an hour at a guy in khakis and boat shoes while he talked about the album he just released, a folked-up version of sacred Christmas music, because of-fucking-course he was a musician too.
Leah had asked her about Boat Shoes for the next three days, but Brighton couldn’t even remember his face, to be honest. Brighton liked cis men sometimes, but it took a lot to catch her attention, and Boat Shoes did nothing but bore her, despite Leah’s insistence he was the nicest guy. Leah was twenty-four and a conservative Christian, a tiny detail she’d neglected to include on her Craigslist ad six months ago. The resulting partnership had made for an interesting living situation, considering Brighton was not only a flaming liberal, but also very, very queer.
Suffice it to say, Brighton was desperate to make the rent on time this month. Leah was perfectly nice, but whenever Brighton got roped into some church event, she ended up stuck in a conversation that was, essentially, some version of “hate the sin, love the sinner,” and Brighton preferred to leave the word sin out of her identity altogether, thanks very much.
So she put on a smile, rolled her shoulders back, and fluffed her dark bangs so they fell over her forehead just so. At least she’d get out of this town in a few days, heading home to Michigan for Christmas. Her parents went all out for the holiday and, to be quite honest, Brighton couldn’t wait. She wanted her mom’s cinnamon hot chocolate and her family’s traditional lineup of Christmas movies playing every night, always starting with Home Alone. She wanted to walk all bundled up through the snowy sand on the shore of Lake Michigan, waves frozen in mid-crest so that the whole world looked like another planet.