Their Save-the-Date Charade, page 18
She caught the faint scent of lavender and turned. A stone path led to the spa and yoga studio, if she felt ambitious tomorrow morning. To the left, a string of bistro lights hung above long wooden tables in a garden space clearly designed for lingering evenings and curated dinners. All of it was exactly as she’d imagined—maybe better.
She was going to test out every inch of this resort and capture each moment for the write-up. The contract laid out exactly what she was expected to review. She could post sneak peek shots along the way for her magazine’s social media if she wanted, and the full review would print after the week ended. So, this week was about soaking it all in. And Blake couldn’t wait. She’d already made a spreadsheet of ideas and was looking forward to a meeting with Robby, the PR manager.
Two concierges opened the wide glass doors and smiled at her as she breezed through. The bright Napa sun warmed her back as she stepped into the lobby. The design of this place, with its slate gray–and-cream-checkered tiles lining the main lobby, was exactly like something from her travel Pinterest boards—the closest she’d come to actual travel in years.
She’d chosen a simple black dress for her arrival, hoping to impress the staff and encourage her own confidence. Her wavy brunette locks flowed down past her shoulders and her wide sunglasses hid most of her face. The black dress wrapped tightly around her waist before billowing out around her hips and falling just below her knees, flaring out in just the way she loved.
Blake did a wide slow turn, admiring the high ceilings, the wooden beams and the quiet trickle of a water feature she couldn’t see. She took a slow breath to steady herself and scanned the room for the front desk.
From the side of the building, a door swung open and two people walked through. The first she recognized: Robby Berg, the PR manager she’d been in contact with. They had a short black shaggy haircut and the type of slim pants and button-down shirt that looked ordinary, but Blake was certain a designer insignia was stitched on the pocket. They kept glancing from their tablet to the woman they were talking to. The woman next to Robby had a sleek black bob, a sharp chin and an uncanny resemblance to—no—that was just Blake’s memory playing a mean trick.
“Ah, Ms. Miller, you’re here,” Robby called from the other side of the room. They tucked the tablet under their arm and leaned close to whisper something to the woman next to them. Blake pasted on her most charming smile and turned toward Robby. “I want to introduce you to—”
The woman looked up and grinned broadly before freezing in shock.
Blake knew that face. She’d watched that face make promises it didn’t intend to keep. Blake had been ready to follow Sloane across all of Europe. In fact, they’d planned to do so. They were going to catch a train and go wherever the wind blew them for as long as it would last, seeking every dilapidated home until they found one to fix up.
But this woman, the one standing twenty feet away from her, was not, in fact, a figment of one of Blake’s many dreams. She was here. In Napa. Walking toward her.
Sloane was real in a way Blake couldn’t deny. She had the same sharp jawline Blake remembered, the kind that caught the light just right, warm olive skin and a sweep of dark hair that framed her face like a curtain falling perfectly into place. Her eyes—the deep midnight blue Blake had always gotten lost in—locked on her now, wide and unblinking.
Sloane’s smile faltered as her eyes roamed over every inch of Blake. Like she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. One she wasn’t ready for.
Her mouth shaped Blake’s name without quite saying it—more a whisper, a prayer, like speaking it aloud would cost her something.
Blake’s throat went tight. There were a hundred versions of this moment she’d imagined. This wasn’t any of them. It was better and a thousand times worse. Because she was mad at Sloane, still, after all this time. And the rock she’d thought she’d honed into a smooth and dull burden in her stomach launched into her throat, jagged edges tearing at her insides, making her feel sick to her stomach. Angry tears pricked at her eyes. She wanted to reach out and touch Sloane to prove she was real, but she balled her hands into fists, determined not to give Sloane the satisfaction of knowing exactly what she could still do to Blake after all this time.
Sloane, for her part, seemed completely unaffected—apparently living hours away this entire time with some kind of job in public relations. That was comical. Sloane, who couldn’t pick up a phone, was in charge of relating to people.
Sloane took another step toward her and reached out her hand, but then must have thought better of it, because she immediately snatched it back. Sloane’s eyes swept over Blake, taking her all in. Blake worked to hold still and keep the turmoil hidden beneath her surface.
A familiar wave of heartbreak washed over her, and instinctively, she shielded herself, her defenses springing into action. She couldn’t trust Sloane. Even if her body ached to be wrapped up in a hug, her brain told her to stand her ground.
But nothing could have prepared her for the way Sloane’s mouth dropped open, as if she’d seen a ghost—an unwelcome one at that—when she stammered, “What are you doing here?”
Copyright © 2026 by Jenny Lane
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ISBN-13: 9780369767226
Their Save-the-Date Charade
Copyright © 2026 by Muna Sheik
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Hana Sheik, Their Save-the-Date Charade
