A bit later, when Clark had managed to get dressed and Riley had finished her breakfast, a pounding on the camper’s front door preceded it flying open.
“Oy. Would you lot quit faffing about in there?” Patrick, decked out in full winter regalia, stepped inside. Behind him, Clark could see that once again it had started to snow, turning the mountainside into an endless sea of white. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep Dad from leaving without you. The man keeps muttering that we’re wasting daylight.”
“Wind your neck in,” Clark hollered back, though he couldn’t fully suppress the desire to grin that came at seeing his brother hale and in the flesh. “We’re coming.”
After returning to Europe following reconciliation with his father, Patrick had agreed to come out to France. He was helping them use a handheld lidar device to create 3D scans of the cave so they could better study the extensive ancient markings.
The “family project” was going a long way toward repairing relationships between the Edgeware men. And while Patrick had turned down his father’s somewhat reluctant offer to have his PR firm “quietly” work on a “professional rehabilitation plan,” he was considering trying to teach once he got a bit more settled back in the UK.
Spotting Riley, his brother straightened up.
“Good morning.” The wanker even made his accent more posh. “Say, will Ceilidh be joining us on the trek today?”
He’d been introduced to Riley’s tiny redheaded friend—who had come out for a weekend visit—last night when they’d all gone to dinner at the nearby mountain chalet where she was staying.
“No.” Riley smirked, probably picturing the way his brother had chatted Ceilidh’s ear off all evening. “But I told her we’d meet her after for fondue.”
“Brilliant.” Patrick ducked out again with a tiny sigh.
Riley laughed after him. “Have you ever seen a man go so completely to pieces over a woman he just met?”
Clark gave that remark the only reply it deserved: a long, heated look.
“Oh,” she said, flushing prettily. “Well, I guess it runs in the family.”
Acknowledgments
Writing books is the best, scariest job I’ve ever had. Do Your Worst would not have been possible without the support of the following people.
Jessica Watterson. Thank you for always making yourself available for a phone call and for holding space as I found a path to publication that would enable me to keep writing from a place of joy.
Kristine Swartz. Thank you for all you’ve done to shepherd this book. Even more, thank you for the grace you’ve granted me as a writer while I continue to find my footing in this craft and in this industry.
Hannah Engler, Mary Baker, Kristin Cipolla, Yazmine Hassan, and the entire Berkley team. Thank you for your warmth, enthusiasm, and the tremendous skill with which you help my work reach readers. I look forward to every email, every call, and, of course, every taco I get to share with you.
Lauren Billings and Christina Hobbs. The two of you are my North Star in so many ways—in how to be good to people, in how to advocate for myself, in how to mentor, and in how to chase joy. I’m so grateful for your guidance and for your friendship.
Sarah MacLean. I would follow you into battle. Thank you for giving advice in the exact way I prefer to receive it: direct, hilarious, warm, thoughtful, and as an invitation to be brave.
Margo Lipschultz. Thank you for, in the dark days of 2021, treating me so delicately and generously, but still telling me what I needed to hear.
Leigh Kramer. Thank you for delivering such a considered sensitivity read.
Rachel Lynn Solomon, Mazey Eddings, Susan Lee, Alexa Martin, Charlotte Stein, Denise Williams, Tessa Bailey, Meryl Wilsner, and KT Hoffman. Thanks for making the solitary endeavor of writing less lonely and the public endeavor of publishing less soul-crushing.
Sonia Hartl, Meg Long, and Ellen Lloyd. Thank you for generously reading the shelved (for now) book before this book. Do Your Worst might not exist if not for the kindness and advice you extended to me then. You are each so dear to me.
Lea. Thanks for guiding me through breakthroughs, on the page and off.
Jen. Thank you for helping bring out the best in this book and in me as a writer.
Quinn, Marisa, Emily, Ilona, Dave, Ryan, and Frank. Thanks for always being down to brainstorm in the group chat. I’m still really sad I couldn’t figure out how to make Clark’s butt tattoo work. It was not due to a lack of our collective effort.
Alexis De Girolami. You’re an incredible friend and an incisive critique partner. I love making margaritas, watching campy movies, and going on vacation with you. Thank you for being there for me through thick and thin over the last few years. I can’t imagine them without you. Please move to Philadelphia.
Ruby Barrett. You’re the only audience I write for every time. Thanks for holding my hand from 3,341 miles (sorry, 5,377 kilometers) away.
My family. Thanks for letting me steal away during vacations and holidays, for setting up desks for me in your homes, for constantly worrying about how stressed I get but supporting my writing career all the same. I love you all so much.
Romance readers and reviewers. I will never stop being humbled and blown away by those of you who go out of your way to recommend my books. Thank you for sticking with me through my gap year. You make all the difference.
My husband, Micah. You once bought me a vintage writing desk you couldn’t afford. Even though we’d only been dating for six months. Even though I hadn’t finished a book yet and for all you knew might never finish one. I get as much comfort from your boundless faith in me as I do in the knowledge that you’d love me, just the same, if I never wrote anything.