ote to self: When your friends and family tell you not to drink away your sorrows, you should probably listen.

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Too little. Too late.

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Three-and-a-half months after catching my ex-fiancé cheating—and spiraling straight into a drunken, ill-advised one-night stand in a bathroom stall with my best friend—I’ve officially reached burnout. The weight of the world is crushing my chest, and I can barely remember what genuine happiness even feels like.

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So naturally, I chose the most reasonable solution.

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Run away to Dad’s ranch in Whiskey Creek, with the hope that I can remember who I was before my life imploded.

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The problem?

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My dad invited my best friend, Lenny, too.

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The bigger problem?

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There’s only one room. One bed.

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And apparently, between my father’s matchmaking tendencies and Lenny’s stupidly charming grin, they’ve already decided they know exactly how to coax the sunshine out of me again.

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Whether I’m ready for it or not.

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Birdie

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