The Only Game in Town - Softcover

Waldon, Lacie

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593540808 ISBN 13: 9780593540800

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2023

Inhaltsangabe

One small town, one big prize, one handsome stranger...

Nothing ever changes in Redford, Georgia. That's what freelance editor Jess Reid loves about her hometown—and part of what keeps her from leaving. Content taking care of her father, a car mechanic who singlehandedly raised her after her mom skipped out, Jess is resigned to a safe, unremarkable existence...until Jasper Wilhelm, the town’s eccentric benefactor, dies suddenly and leaves behind the opportunity of a lifetime.

Financial advisor Carter Barclay has been too busy to visit his grandfather in Redford, but he’s heard countless stories about the town and its zany residents from Jasper. A small, insular town in Georgia is the last place Carter expects to be spending his summer—but it seems his grandfather had one final trick up his sleeve. 

At the funeral, it’s revealed that Jasper has devised a massive, high-stakes game for the people of Redford, with the winning duo taking home his entire fortune. The catch? He’s already taken the liberty of pairing them up. As tensions of all kinds rise between Jess and Carter, and the life-changing prize looms closer, the two must decide what they’re willing to risk to change their lives. A love story full of spirit and hijinks, The Only Game in Town is a funny, quirky homage to the people we get to call home.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lacie Waldon is a writer with her head in the clouds—literally. A flight attendant based in Los Angeles, Waldon spends her days writing from the jump seat and searching the world for new stories. She is the author of The Layover and From the Jump.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

Jess

The problem with working remotely: There was nobody around to enforce some kind of schedule. Jess should be at home figuring out what, exactly, it was that was bogging down the novel she was supposed to be editing. The characters had been solidly fleshed out. The plot was strong. This was the author's fourth book, so it certainly wasn't the quality of the writing. It was . . . the romance itself?

Maybe the meet-cute was too cheesy. Or the chemistry could be steamier? Jess just couldn't put her finger on it. With a sigh, she pushed the Staple's scarred wooden door open and stepped through. Getting a drink in the middle of the day didn't feel like the most responsible way to approach the problem, but sitting at home, spinning in slow circles on the wheeled chair in front of her ridiculously cluttered desk, certainly wasn't working. And, hey, she'd brought her laptop with her. That had to count for something, right? Proof of intent? A token of professionalism?

Per usual, country music drifted from the speakers. She recognized the song as "What Was I Thinkin'" by Dierks Bentley-not because she was a fan of the genre but because the Staple hadn't bothered to update their playlist in more than a year. The exact same playlist had been looping for more than 365 days in a row, and Jess was pretty sure if she had to hear a roomful of out-of-tune Georgia boys howl the lyrics to "Friends in Low Places" one more time, she was going to be forced to embrace a life of sobriety. She should be safe today, though. Friends didn't usually sink into low places until they were at least three pitchers deep.

The Staple wasn't as empty as it should be in the middle of a workday. It also looked messier than usual, probably due to the sunlight streaming through the windows. The mismatched tables and chairs, clusters of photos tacked haphazardly to the wall, and neon beer signs mounted inside were better suited to nighttime, seen through the hazy gaze of one too many. It smelled amazing, though, like everything doctors warned their patients against eating.

The fryers had clearly been working overtime.

Jess let the door swing closed on the chilly day, her mouth watering at the thought of the whole basket of fried pickles she was going to get for herself. She couldn't make the mistake of sitting next to Sammy Olson, though. He was a constant presence at the bar, and Jess had figured out years ago that he was never more talkative than when conversation could be used as a distraction while helping himself to other people's food. As far as strategies went, his was flawless. Polite conversation was the lifeblood of small-town living. There was no greater sin in Redford than being too busy to chat-except for being too high on oneself to chat, of course.

"Well, if it isn't Jessica Reid." The bartender, Bryce Howard, grinned at her truancy. While Jess could be counted on to pop in occasionally for line dancing on a Saturday night or a spontaneous happy hour with friends, she wasn't a regular. Not like the handful of people who were currently resting on their elbows, nursing pints and retelling the same old stories for the thousandth time. "Have you finished all the books? All the stories been told?"

"It's done." Jess met his grin with one of her own. "There's no shelf space left in the world."

Like The Staple's music, its staff never changed. Bryce had been working shifts behind the bar since the day he turned twenty-one, when Jess was still a senior trying to sneak in with a fake I.D. that claimed she was from Texas (as if she and Bryce hadn't attended pep rallies in the same gym her freshman year).

In his nine years of service in keeping the town's thirst at bay, his cheerfulness and easy laughter had remained unflagging. It was easy to resent only having one bar in town, but you couldn't argue that a friendly face like Bryce's made it a pretty great place to end up.

Jess waved hello to the people who looked up at the exchange and called out greetings. They weren't a closed-off crowd. Such a thing couldn't exist in Redford. Not when everyone knew everyone.

"Why don't you set up down here?" Bryce said, gesturing toward the far end of the bar. "Then, if you decide to get a late lunch, you won't have to worry about Sammy eating all of it."

"I wouldn't do that," Sammy sputtered. He grabbed a couple of his neighbor's fries and outrage-ate them.

"You know you can order food of your own, right?" Bryce said to him.

"I would if I were hungry. I'd order a whole basket of onion rings and share them with everyone. Because that," Sammy said, nodding approvingly at the fries' owner, "is what neighbors do."

Jess tried to focus on this exchange, but her eyes snagged on the far end of the bar where Bryce had directed them. A man was sitting there. A man she'd never seen before. She blinked, trying to determine if he was an illusion.

Sure, Redford, Georgia, got its share of visitors. Hikers came to do the Billy Goat Trail. People liked to spend a few days on the lake. Every now and then, someone even drove all the way from Atlanta to get one of Luanne's mixed-berry pies. Not one of those people, however, had looked like this man.

He was too put together, for starters. His crisp white button-up didn't have a speck of grease on it, no dinginess from age, and his gray slacks had a crease ironed into them like they'd been delivered on a hanger from the dry cleaners. His dark hair was styled neatly, and he sat a little too straight on his barstool. Tense muscles pressed through the material of his shirt, creating sharp ridges. Maybe, in another town, the presence of a man like this wouldn't be so shocking. Here, it was the equivalent of spotting the Virgin Mary on a piece of toast.

Jess took a step toward him, as Bryce had instructed, then faltered. The man didn't look like he wanted company. There were five empty stools between him and the rest of the bar patrons, and Jess would bet her basket of fried pickles plus a daiquiri that he'd created that buffer on purpose.

As if she'd already crossed the room, Bryce headed down and slapped a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of the stool next to the stranger. He looked at her expectantly and she shifted the messenger bag on her shoulder, rolling her eyes at herself. It wasn't as if she was going to pull a Sammy and start eating off the man's plate. She'd be respectful, not engaging unless he spoke first. She was here to work, after all. She definitely hadn't stuffed her laptop in a bag and dragged it along just so she'd feel less guilty about playing hooky.

Hurrying forward, she slid onto the stool next to the man and pulled out her laptop, setting it on the bar. To fully sell the illusion of intended productivity, she even opened it. The romantic comedy filled the screen, a massive block of text that stared at her reproachfully.

"Let me guess," Bryce said. "A whiskey. Neat."
 
Jess laughed. "Perfect."

The man glanced over in approval, and Jess noticed that he had a glass filled with amber liquid in front of him. Of course. It was exactly the kind of drink she would've given his character in a novel. Simple, no-nonsense, classic.

"Are you in town visiting someone?" The moment the words were out, Jess realized she'd not only failed in her determination not to engage but she'd also skipped a couple of steps. She was supposed to start with a "hello." Introduce herself. Then she could begin the interrogation.

"Kind of." The man glanced over at her without shifting his body. His dark eyes were shot with red. The stubble covering his jaw surprised her. Jess had pegged him as the type who would shave daily.

"How do you kind of visit somebody?" Jess grinned. "Are you like a bookie or something? 'Paying someone a visit'...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2023
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593540808
• ISBN 13: 9780593540800
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 416
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland