Losing my job wasn’t on my to-do list for this work trip.
But here I am—unemployed, craving a decent iced latte, and one bad mood away from a full-on identity crisis.
No job? This too shall pass. No plan? Story of my life. No boyfriend? Please. Men are exhausting.
At least, that’s what I tell myself, right up until a grumpy ball of hotness offers to help me at the airport. Tuxedo in disarray. Jawline perfectly chiseled. Smolder for days.
He looks like heartbreak suited in expensive cologne. The kind I could get drunk on.
So imagine my shock when he doesn’t just greet me, but invites me on the trip of a lifetime. No flirting. No expectations. Just company. Like I’m a checkbox on his to-do list. And honestly? Why not?
My life’s a chaotic dumpster fire. I’d be stupid to turn down a free adventure. Destination: Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Sounds dreamy. Fresh air, scenic views, maybe some time for self-reflection.
But it’s not until we get there that the plans are finally revealed. A marriage retreat. Yet, we’re not married. But something tells me he should be?
Now, I’m stuck roughing it with a broody stranger in a rundown camper van, heading straight into the wilds of Yellowstone National Park. No Wi-Fi. No escape.
Just me, the grumpy groom, and not a wedding band in sight. This might just be the kind of trouble I’ve been avoiding.
I wanted a distraction. A quick sabbatical. Never expected it to be falling for the one person more lost than I am.
