Wanderlust - Softcover

Everhart, Elle

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593545087 ISBN 13: 9780593545089

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2023

Inhaltsangabe

People We Meet on Vacation meets The Unhoneymooners in this sparkling debut romantic comedy about two near strangers—and complete opposites—who win a radio contest for a trip around the world.

Love's about to take flight. 

Feeling stuck at work and tired of London’s dreary weather, magazine writer Dylan Coughlan impulsively rings a radio station one day only to win a once-in-a-lifetime trip around the world. The catch? Her travel partner must be a contact randomly selected on her phone. And of course this stressful game of contact roulette lands on a number listed only as Jack the Posho, an uptight, unbearably posh guy she met on a night out and accidentally ghosted.

The two couldn’t be more different, and as the trip kicks off, Jack seems like he’d sooner fling himself into the sun than have a conversation with Dylan. But more is hinging on this trip than the chance to see the world. For the past two years, Dylan’s been relegated to writing quizzes (and only quizzes) at her lifestyle magazine after an article about her past abortion went viral—and not in the good way. If she’s able to make a series about their trip successful, her overbearing boss will give her a chance at a permanent column. Dylan’s willing to do anything to make the series a hit, even if it means embellishing her and Jack’s relationship to satisfy readers. But as the column’s popularity grows, so does the bond between Dylan and Jack, and Dylan is forced to consider if the one thing she thought she always wanted is worth the price she'll have to pay to get there.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Elle Everhart writes romantic comedies featuring the internet, sarcasm, and lots of queer characters. She is a secondary English teacher in East London and, when she's not writing or teaching, she's hanging out with her son and obsessing over the worst shows on television. Wanderlust is her debut novel.

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Chapter 1

Dylan Coughlan was having an absolutely shit day.

The Northern line was delayed fourteen minutes (just long enough to piss her off and one minute less than she needed to get the journey refunded), and when it finally arrived, every carriage was completely packed, so she spent the duration of her commute tucked into a stranger's armpit, which, while less offensive than it would have been on a blistering-hot day, was still not the ideal way to spend the first twenty-five minutes of her morning. That would've been bad enough-should've been bad enough-but some arsehole in a suit slammed into her the moment she walked out of the station and sent her £5 emergency splurge coffee flying into the window of the Hard Rock Cafe. Then, of course, Chantel, her editor, had shouted at her in no fewer than six separate emails before nine thirty, and now, she was sitting at her desk, dangerously under-caffeinated, drafting another pointless quiz.

A task that was next to impossible because, on top of everything else that had gone wrong today, her parents were now blowing up her WhatsApp. And, worse, they showed no signs of stopping.

Even her brother, Sean, though well-intentioned, was starting to grate on her nerves. He was using every bit of his training as a therapist to keep them all from going nuclear on one another (again), but it was making Dylan wish she could go home and crawl under her duvet for the next month and a half.

A solution that wouldn't be effective anyway, because-apparently-hiding from your problems didn't do anything in the way of solving them.

Dylan wouldn't say she planned on getting into rows with her parents, but if she even so much as breathed in their direction these days, they ended up arguing. Today's fight had started with the annual so what are we doing for Christmas conversation, which, in an impressive seven messages, devolved into her parents berating Dylan for having the audacity to make decisions they disagreed with.

Though she supposed "disagreed with" was putting it lightly.

Dylan locked her phone and flipped it over with a bit more force than was probably necessary. At the hard clack of the screen against her desktop, her deskmate, Afua, looked up, eyes wide with surprise.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, sorry." Dylan was lying through her teeth, and judging by the way Afua's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, Afua knew it. "Just need a cuppa. 'D you like one?"

Afua's expression immediately brightened. "Yeah, cheers."

Dylan dragged her phone off her desk and, in a show of surprising self-control, dropped it into her pocket rather than checking her messages. She was almost positive that there was at least one from her brother that was probably bearable, but Dylan didn't think she could keep reading the family chat if she wanted to retain her (basically) positive reputation in the office.

Buxom's office was like every other trendy, millennial-dominated workplace in London, although the magazine covers adorning the walls and the endless stashes of makeup, sex toys, face products, and clothes likely differentiated it from the others. She liked the open space and the feeling of being around everyone all day-having someone else to stare at, cry to, or talk things through with was instrumental when she was writing. Not that she was doing much of that these days.

Their small kitchen was tucked away in a corner behind the fire exit stairs, down a short, dark, brick-lined corridor that played a sharp contrast to the bright, open office. It had taken Dylan six months to realize this kitchen was here.

Dylan grabbed a pair of mugs off the mug tree in the corner and, after refilling the kettle, leaned back up against the cupboards.

She shouldn't check WhatsApp.

She knew she shouldn't.

The first few times Dylan's mam had spouted off, Dylan had been reduced to tears (in this very kitchen, in fact), but now, after nine months of this, she knew what to expect. It was the same line of argument, the same "points," and as much as Dylan wanted to say it didn't faze her anymore, the hard knots in her gut begged to differ.

She clicked out of the family chat without reading the most recent wall of texts and popped into her private conversation with Sean.

Dylan: nothing like a bit of family drama to spice up the morning

Typing appeared almost immediately underneath Sean's name at the top of her screen.

Sean: mam literally needs to get herself together I'm sick of this

Dylan exhaled, the knots in her stomach pulling tighter. It was easy to hope that it really could be that simple. That her mother could just... decide not to care about something that really wasn't worth all this emotional turmoil.

Dylan: couldn't have put it better myself

Sean: funny, seeing as your the writer

Dylan snorted.

Dylan: *you're

Sean: asksdf piss off you know I dont care about grammar

Sean: its a social construct, etc etc

Dylan: I mean yes, but I think we can also agree you only think so because you were rubbish at English

Sean: I can't be good at everything dill

Sean: it'd be massively unfair

Dylan: alsjdhdiskahdka

Sean: it would be

Sean: im an adonis

Dylan: omg

Sean: god at maths

Dylan: do people LIKE people who are good at
maths???
 
Sean: im basically a comedian

Sean: [replying to: do people LIKE . . .] yes. Yes they do

Dylan: right. That makes sense given how many friends you had at school

Sean: THAT WAS OUT OF ORDER

Dylan laughed, a deep, genuine laugh, for the first time that day.

For as long as she could remember, Sean had been the main constant in her life. They were only eleven months apart, but as children they'd moved as a duo, inseparable, as though they were actually twins. Most of her school friends hated their younger brothers, but (barring the Attempted Drowning of 1993) Dylan and Sean had always been as thick as thieves.

Dylan: somehow I think your ego will survive it

Sean: you're cruel

Dylan: that's what they tell me

Afua smiled up at Dylan as she approached, five minutes later, with their tea.

"Ah, cheers, Dylan."

Afua accepted the mug and took a sip, and Dylan tried not to drop too pathetically back into her chair.
 
She loved her job-really, she did-but she also knew that the people who told you they loved their job (that they really did) were also the same people who spent at least thirty-six of the unnecessary forty hours a week staring up at the ceiling tiles wishing everything about said job was completely different. But Dylan did love her job.

Really.

It was just that her editor was fucking sadistic.

"How's it coming along?"

Afua was eyeing her over the edge of her mug. Dylan groaned and leaned back in her chair, barely stopping herself from going full teenage angst and throwing her head back against the headrest.

"I don't know anything about astrology. Chantel just gave me this assignment to torture me."

Afua laughed softly, her box braids sliding over one shoulder as she leaned forward and set her mug down. Afua had a small coaster in front of her pen cup, a neat resting place so she didn't end up with rings and tea stains all over her desk. (The same could not be said for Dylan, whose desk looked, most days, like the recycling bin had thrown up on it.)

"I doubt she wanted to torture you."

"This is my payback for asking about a column again."

"Well, that might not be entirely off the mark," Afua...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2023
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593545087
• ISBN 13: 9780593545089
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 368
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland