Order Wedding War here: books2read.com/WeddingWar
Releases 5/9/19!

It’s such a warm spring afternoon that I toss off my pink cardigan, leaving it in the passenger seat of my car. The sun beating down on my tawny brown shoulders feels amazing as I adjust my sunglasses and head over to a bench at the bottom of the tower. These observation towers dot this section of coastal Delaware, left over from World War II when they were used to scout for approaching German boats in the Atlantic. I sure hope Jason doesn’t want me to climb the tower in these shoes. I glance down at my platform wedge espadrilles, pink to match my cardigan. I’ll never make it up all those steps in these darn things!

There aren’t as many people around as I anticipated on such a nice day. A few families with children are scattered about, and I hear the kids’ laughter echoing down the tower and out into the May sunshine. A herd of serious power walkers are heading toward the entrance of Fort Miles, and a cute middle-aged couple is setting up a picnic at a wooden table several yards away. I don’t see anyone I know. Heaven forbid someone catches me fraternizing with the enemy!

A newer model shiny black pick-up pulls up in the lot across from the tower, and I watch Jason Friday curl out of the cab and press his key fob to lock it up. He’s wearing khaki pants and a hunter green polo shirt—nothing too fancy. As he approaches me, his eyes darting left and right to survey our surroundings, the Friday’s Formalwear logo with its black bowtie comes into view on his shirt.

I give him a coy wave when his eyes meet mine. I’ve never forgotten their unusual color. They look like the Atlantic on a stormy day, a steel grayish-blue. His dark hair still looks as thick as it did in high school, and it’s still cut in the same boyish style, a little long on top and spiked up a bit at the front. He’s already sporting a golden tan, and a five o’clock shadow is beginning to crop up along his sharp-cut jawline. He’s filled out a bit since I knew him; the bands of his polo shirt are tight around his sculpted biceps, proving he’s spent more than a little time in the gym since graduation. His khaki pants are slung low on his hips with a brown leather belt holding them up.

I didn’t know what to expect, but the tall, lanky basketball player I knew in high school has grown into quite a piece of man candy. A sudden burst of heat rockets through my body upon this realization, and I’m glad I left my sweater in the car. Adding more fuel to the fire, his entire face lights up when his eyes rake up and down my body.

“Well, if it isn’t Hannah Robinson,” are the first words out of his mouth. “Long time no see!” He extends his hand to shake.

I fight the urge to launch myself forward with my arms spread wide for a welcoming hug. I come from a big family of huggers. But then I remember everyone’s warnings about the Fridays being downright evil. I think my grandmama even said they are “heathens,” which is code for they don’t go to church.

I settle on the handshake, not expecting his hand to be so warm, his grip so firm. “Hi, Jason. Thanks for coming.”

His brows lift as he withdraws his hand from mine and levels his gaze on me. “So, do we need to go have our meeting up there so we can avoid starting any rumors about a truce between our families?” He points up to the top of the tower.

A scoff hurtles out of my mouth. I mentioned the whole shoe incompatibility thing, right? “You’re the one who didn’t want to meet at the coffee shop.”

“Oh, you know how the coffee shop is,” he argued. “It’s like the headquarters of the Rehoboth Gossip League. There’s probably what—two degrees of separation between any of our mutual acquaintances? And like a seventy percent chance one of them would be in the coffee shop this afternoon? I don’t see how that would end well.”

I’m not able to suppress my eye roll. I have a feeling it won’t be the last eye roll of the afternoon. “So this bench, then? Is that reasonably safe, or they’ve recently restored the underground bunker over there in Fort Miles.”

He chuckles. “Actually, there is a good spot over there at the fort. Come on.” He reaches his hand out to me like I’m supposed to take it. And like an idiot, I do. He’s just one of those naturally gregarious people you don’t question. He can immediately put folks at ease. The girls were always clamoring for his attention when we were growing up; guess that’s how he got to be prom king back in the day. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was wearing the nicest tux money could buy thanks to his family’s business.

My hand in his feels strangely comfortable. I can’t even remember the last time I held hands with a guy. I was so focused on getting my MBA the last two years, I didn’t have time to date. I did have a boyfriend most of the time I lived in Manhattan, but he wanted a lady who was content to get married, pop out kids and stay home to raise them. He seemed a bit intimidated by a woman who wanted to rule the world. Or at least the bridal gown industry.

When Jason squeezes my hand in his, I feel a bolt of lightning shoot up my spine. It’s so disarming, I nearly trip over my own two feet, but somehow I manage to catch myself just prior to making a devastating faceplant on the sandy soil.

“Watch out, there’s a root there,” he offers, glancing back at me as he pulls me along toward the Fort Miles sign.

I haven’t actually been to Fort Miles since we visited on a high school field trip with my US History class. Jason tugs me toward a huge gun mounted on a circular concrete pad. I can’t believe we’re going to sit on a bench and stare at such a massive weapon during our whole conversation, but here we are. I spread out my floral skirt around me, and Jason settles in on the wooden bench.

“It’s actually pretty appropriate that we’re here, you know,” he says as he stares off toward the Atlantic, which is sending its rolling foam-crested waves to crash upon the dune-lined beach.

“It is?” My eyebrows arch as I study his face, which is suddenly very serious.

“Yeah. Über Brides is the enemy. ‘Über’ is German. The Nazis were German. Fort Miles was constructed by the good guys—us—to fight the Nazis. Duh!” He smirks at me, seemingly waiting for me to shower him with praise for his oh-so-profound analogy.

Instead, I offer up that second eye roll I predicted earlier. “Yeah, good one. So…what are we going to do? What’s the game plan?”

He laughs at me. I think he’s perfectly encapsulating what my grad school roommate described as a “tool.”

“‘Game plan,’ huh? You really like to cut to the chase, don’t you?”

“Look,” I retort, wanting to grab him by the collar of his green polo shirt and jerk that stupid smirk right off his face, but I somehow manage to control myself. “My family’s business is the most important thing in my life right now. It’s my future. I just finished up my MBA with the understanding that someday I’ll be taking over when my dad retires. And I had to prove I was the right person for the job even though I’m the youngest of my siblings. I’m the only one who went to college and grad school and actually built their entire education around being at the helm someday. This is my future—and I don’t want some horrible, nefarious megacorporation coming in here and destroying it!”

“Okay, okay!” He shakes his head like he’s trying to brush off my frustration. “They’re opening next week. I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw their sign a couple days ago, and I wondered if maybe we could infiltrate the enemy camp…you know, send in a spy?”

Clearly he is still stuck on this WWII thing. I hate to admit this, but it is kind of like a war. Über Brides marched into coastal Delaware, setting up camp in our territory, and they’re going to try to blow us up—maybe not directly, or even on purpose, but that’s the effect of their generic, mass-market products and bargain basement prices.

“So, basically, you think we need to go on the offensive, not the defensive.” I’m trying to wrap my head around this war metaphor now. I need to think like a General, not just a businesswoman.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” He nods and stands up. The way he’s positioned himself, his body is bisecting the massive weapon in front of us so the base of the gun is extending from his right side and the barrel from his left. With the late afternoon sun silhouetting him, it looks like it’s going right through him.

“Just beefing up our own advertising and running sales isn’t going to work,” he determines. “We need to get on the inside. Cut off the head of the beast. There has to be a way—”

I’m more of a details person than the creative type. I’m racking my brain, but nothing is happening. Unfortunately, when he turns toward the sound of a gull crying as it flaps toward the ocean, I get distracted by the eye candy that is his backside. Damn, he has a fine derriere! And I don’t curse. It’s so fine that he made me curse, the jerk!

“I got it!” He whips around. “Their banner says they’re hiring. What if you went and applied for a job?”

My eyes widen. “Why me? I have an MBA. Do you think they’d actually hire me for an entry level position?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” he explains, reaching out to me, and once again I don’t hesitate to take his hand. He pulls me up and twirls me around, the wind catching the skirt of my dress. I’m pretty sure I just flashed him my own backside and my lacy lavender panties as well. He doesn’t seem to notice, thank goodness.

“You go in there all gung-ho—tell them you just got your masters and your dream is to work in the wedding industry. You may get a low-paying job, but you’ll be so capable, they’ll trust you with a lot of stuff. And you’ll be able to sneak around and get insider info, you know?”

I purse my lips, skeptical about whether or not his idea could work. “You make it sound too easy—”

His eyes light up, a flash of blue infiltrating the stormy gray. “You’re charming, well-spoken, obviously a people-person. You can do this, Hannah.”

I wish I wasn’t so flattered by his compliments, but the way he’s looking at me with an undeniably gorgeous smile on his full flips, it’s exceedingly hard to ignore how freaking attractive he is. I had no idea when I called him up to strategize and potentially unite against our common enemy that he’d turn out to be so handsome.

“So why do our families hate each other, anyway?” I question, trying to break free of his enrapturing spell.

He scoffs then runs his fingers through his dark hair. “I don’t really know the whole story—but it’s in the past. Maybe it’s time we bury the hatchet and work together to defeat our common enemy.”

“So we’re like the US and Russia, then?” See? He’s not the only one who can make historical references.

“You were always a nerd in high school, weren’t you?” He laughs at me, but in a way that I can tell it’s a compliment and not an insult.

“Proud nerd,” I correct him. “And I still am.”

“I’m glad you called me,” he changes the subject. “I really think we can do this. I believe we can drive Über Brides out of business if we put our heads together. And even if we don’t drive them out of Rehoboth Beach, at least we can figure out a way to save our family businesses.”

“Perhaps.” I like his positive attitude, but I also think he’s underestimating the threat. I don’t know if we really have the power to go up against a giant like Über Brides. They’ve been crushing their competition for years. And we’re just two twenty-something third-generation mom and pop shop employees. “But we can’t tell our families what is going on. Not yet, anyway.”

He nods. “I agree. My dad is in poor health, and I’m keeping the whole Über Brides thing from him as long as I possibly can.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I notice his eyes have turned back to the stormy gray again, like a hurricane is moving in. Another gull squawks as it swoops down then immediately launches itself back into the sky. The breeze picks up, making goosebumps prick my bronze skin as the sun slips behind a cloud.

“You know, my family warned me never to have any contact with you,” he shares, his gaze once again piercing into me.

“As did mine. But I still don’t understand why. No one would ever tell me the whole story.” I can’t disguise the disappointment in my voice. Lord knows I’ve asked enough times. I don’t know why we need all the secrecy.

“Me either.” He shrugs. “But who cares? From what I understand, it goes back a long way. But it’s in the past as far as I’m concerned.”

I nod. “Okay. We will call a truce for now. And maybe if we can pull this off, our families will finally let bygones be bygones.”

“You never know. Miracles can happen.” He winks at me as he gestures toward the main road out of the fort.

“I think we’re going to need a miracle—or two.”