Prancing Around With Sleeping Beauty: Storybook Valley, #2

By Stacy Juba

This Sleeping Beauty isn't sure she wants to wake up . . .

 

Dance instructor Rory Callahan likes to play it safe. When she meets Kyle, he's impulsive, persistent, and her exact opposite. He's pushing her to tango way past her comfort zone and keeping Rory on her toes more than twenty years of dance teachers ever had.

 

Unfortunately, he's the grandson of her family's archrival and she doesn't want to disappoint them. After all, her parents imagine her as a proper princess - hence her namesake Aurora, AKA Sleeping Beauty. Complicating matters, Rory's also dealing with a surgeon boyfriend who's perfect for her (sort of), an obnoxious boss, and desperate dance moms. Kyle wants to change her whole life, but Rory doesn't like the stakes. After all, princesses are the ones who get the happy endings . . . aren't they?

 

Welcome to Storybook Valley . . . Your Vacation Escape

 

The Storybook Valley Theme Park sweet romantic comedy books are the perfect beach reads. If you love small town romance with entertaining characters, amusement parks, fairy tale fun, and humorous chick lit love stories, then Storybook Valley will be your new favorite series. Order Fooling Around With Cinderella and Prancing Around With Sleeping Beauty today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacy Juba
• Release date: Mar 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386605980

Stacy Juba

Stacy Juba has written about reality TV contestants targeted by a killer, an obit writer investigating a cold case, teen psychics who control minds, twin high school hockey stars battling on the ice, and teddy bears learning to raise the U.S. flag: she pursues whatever story ideas won’t leave her alone. Stacy’s titles include the adult mystery novels Sink or Swim and Twenty-Five Years Ago Today, the children’s picture books The Flag Keeper and the Teddy Bear Town Children’s E-Book Bundle (Three Complete Picture Books), and the young adult novels Face-Off and Dark Before Dawn. She is also the editor of the essay anthology 25 Years in the Rearview Mirror: 52 Authors Look Back. She is a former journalist with more than a dozen writing awards to her credit.

Book preview

Chapter One

High above the crowded beach, an airplane skimmed the cloudless blue sky, its hum a distant whine over the thunderous surf. Behind it trailed a banner with red block letters. Cupping her hand over her brow, Rory Callahan squinted in the glaring sunlight.

WILL YOU MARRY ME, RORY?

She gasped, and her bare feet pressed into the gritty sand. Rory gripped the sides of her sunken beach chair. Her boyfriend, Dr. Brad Walker, a general surgery medical resident at Mountain View Medical Center, occupied the second chair, engrossed in a sports magazine, oblivious to the romantic gesture—or pretending he was oblivious.

Rory had accompanied him to the Jersey Shore for his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party. When Brad suggested a morning at the beach before driving back to the Catskills, she never expected a marriage proposal. Her stomach clenched, the semi-queasy reaction surprising her.

After all, she had wanted this—well, maybe not this, not yet—but Rory had wanted a declaration of love from the guy her mother worshipped and that her annoying big brother insisted wasn’t that into her. Obviously Brad was into her. This proved his willingness to make their relationship work. She would show her brother, and her friends, too. Rory knew her roommates worried that Brad didn’t carve out enough time for her, but unlike Dylan, the girls minded their own business.

All brides-to-be probably felt jittery during the proposal. She choked down the very normal mound in her throat, reached over, and touched Brad’s hand. I had no idea you were planning this. Yes. I’ll . . . I’ll marry you.

Brad dropped the magazine onto his nearby flip-flops as if sand fleas had nested inside the pages. His chiseled face had blanched whiter than his pale chest, arms, and legs. Summer was almost over, and Rory would bet this was the first time he’d worn the charcoal print swim trunks she bought him. What? What the hell are you talking about?

The airplane. Didn’t you hire them to fly that banner? Rory inclined her head toward the sky, even as she submerged her trembling fingers in the hot grains.

When she was a kid, she and her brothers used to dig holes at the beach. They never bothered building castles as they saw Cinderella’s castle every day at their family-owned fairy-tale theme park, Storybook Valley. The boys preferred burying each other in the sand. To lure Rory into helping, her brothers insisted that if they burrowed a deep enough hollow, it would lead to China. Naively, she accepted their words every time.

She wished that mythical tunnel to China would engulf her right now. Apparently, there were two Rorys sunbathing today.

Brad fastened his gaze on the plane. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. When he finally did, his confident voice wavered. I . . . I don’t know what to say. I didn’t hire that pilot. There must be another Rory here.

His Adam’s apple bobbing, Brad glanced around at their fellow beachgoers sprawled on towels, under striped umbrellas, and relaxing in chairs. He looked everywhere but at Rory. Lobster redness crept up her neck, into her cheeks. Her SPF 30 sunscreen couldn’t prevent this kind of burning.

Following his lead, she joined in the happy couple search. No sign of an emotional bride-to-be on the sand, or in the water. Most everyone in the ocean continued leaping waves and bodyboarding, ignoring the life-changing banner streaming above them, and the few that pointed seemed like observers. The future newlyweds must have chosen another section of beach.

Was Rory short for Gloria? Lorelai? Victoria? She highly doubted the other Rory was named after Princess Aurora from Tchaikovsky’s The Sleeping Beauty ballet. Her middle name probably wasn’t Rose, either—in some renditions of the fairy tale, the princess was called Briar Rose, or Rosamond, hence Rory’s full, embarrassing moniker of Aurora Rose Callahan.

I didn’t realize you thought we were so serious. Brad watched a couple preschoolers chase a seagull. Rory, I’m not ready to get married. I still have a couple years left in my residency, and you know I want a fellowship in surgical oncology. I need to focus on my career right now.

Rory was also a masculine name of Irish and Scottish origin. Who knows, perhaps a gutsy female had proposed to her boyfriend. Rummaging in her canvas bag, Rory located a water bottle. She untwisted the cap and gulped the liquid, warm from too much time in the sun. Her eyes welled behind her sunglasses.

Why was she upset, anyway? It wasn’t as if she had been angling for a proposal. Rory turned twenty-five tomorrow. Most of her friends were still single. She had plenty of time to settle down. If Rory was truthful with herself, she answered yes because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, not from a strong desire to get engaged. No, it wasn’t the lack of a proposal that disappointed her. It was Brad’s thunderstruck, almost disgusted, expression at her acceptance. As if they never had a future together.

Act like you don’t care. Like you’re not humiliated.

She lowered the bottle into her cup holder and adjusted her bathing suit strap. Brad had loved her ruffled black bikini top and high-rise bottoms that bared her flat abs and long legs toned from twenty-plus years of dancing. But maybe he didn’t love her. After all, he’d never told her I love you. When she wrote it in a Valentine’s card, curious to see his reaction, he hadn’t acknowledged it.

It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting a proposal. Not anytime soon. I want to concentrate on my career, too. Rory studied the guy she had convinced herself was perfect for her. They met in the hospital cafeteria when she was visiting a friend whose appendix ruptured and had dated a year and a half.

Not only was Brad handsome, successful, and ambitious but a future with him felt safe. At least that’s what her mother kept hinting. Once she learned Brad was a surgeon, Therese Callahan decided he was perfect for her only daughter.

Brad’s square jaw remained taut. But you said yes. Listen, Rory, I really need to keep my personal life low-key right now.

Rory’s heart stilled. Was he breaking up with her? Not the singles scene again, the world of loud bars, inept pickup lines, and clumsy first kisses. It happened so fast. I was shocked and hated to disappoint you. But now that I realize it was a mix-up, I agree with you. This isn’t the right time.

I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. That we both understand things are casual. With no expectations.

No expectations? Ever? In other words, Brad wanted friendship with benefits. Rory slouched lower in her chair. There might never be a right time. Did that possibility devastate her or relieve her? Rory honestly didn’t know, her nerves too frazzled for her to think clearly. Evidently she had some soul-searching ahead regarding her love life, but for now she just wanted to end this discussion. Pretend it didn’t matter.

Look, Brad, I think you can see why I jumped to the conclusion. Rory isn’t the most common name.

Brad considered that for a moment and then nodded as if finally dismissing his worry that she would show up on his doorstep in a wedding gown. He retrieved his magazine and agreed, That’s true. It was a pretty tacky proposal if you ask me. I wonder if she said yes.

Rory didn’t want to dwell on it. I’m going for a dip. Want to come? She sprang up from her chair and tightened the fabric band around her auburn ponytail, still damp from an earlier swim.

As she had anticipated, he declined. Brad adjusted his baseball cap over sweaty dark hair and flipped the page of a tennis article. I’m good. I never get a chance to read. We’ll head home in an hour, okay?

Sure. Rory escaped to the slick layer of sand near the shore, stepping over an abandoned pair of child-sized sandals. Crashing waves dissolved into the foam, and icy whitecaps gushed over her toes. Snatches of conversation and music carried in the breeze. She inhaled the salty ocean air, trying to calm herself.

Overhead, the airplane veered around and droned in the opposite direction, letters backward as if reflected in a mirror. Rory watched the plane glide through the sky, growing smaller in the distance until it dwindled to a speck.

That night, Rory dragged her suitcase into the rustic cabin she shared with her cousins, Wendy and Tiara, and their friend Krystal who was practically family herself. They rented the two-level A-frame from Rory’s aunt and uncle, owners of the Storybook Valley Inn and Grill. Guests could either book the inn with its line of exterior rooms or reserve one of the cabins on the sprawling property. Spring, summer, and fall brought tourists visiting the theme park and the rival Duke’s Animal World while winter attracted snowboarders and skiers.

Rory adored the cottage’s front and back balconies with rocking chairs overlooking the mountains, and the built-in fireplace that warmed chilly evenings. Brad had delivered her suitcase to her front door, but he hadn’t stayed. She couldn’t remember the last time he visited. They usually hung out at his place, a half hour away, so he could avoid driving before or after a long shift. Her boyfriend had met her friends, but Rory doubted he recalled who was who.

Rory rested her suitcase onto the red-hued heart pine floor and trudged into the kitchen. She found Wendy at the table, aiming a hot glue gun onto a flat pebble. Her cousin had affixed dozens of gray, tan, and ivory pebbles onto a wood circle. Wendy worked at her parents’ inn, restaurant, and miniature golf course, and served as the backup Cinderella for the theme park. In her spare time, she was the Queen of DIY projects that she dispensed as gifts. Rory occasionally used the clothes hanger jewelry organizer and almond lip balm her cousin had given her, but she hadn’t yet experimented with the grapefruit bath fizzies or worn the pistachio shell brooch.

Although she and her roommates liked the spray-painted window shutter-turned-mail holder brightening the dark knotty wall, they dreaded another recycled picture frame with chalkboard paint covering the glass. Wendy, named after Wendy Darling from Peter Pan, had hung four chalkboard frames throughout the house, and thus far, was the only one who used them to scribble messages and reminders. Luckily, Wendy’s parents didn’t mind her hammering nails in the walls as even once the girls moved out someday, they planned to keep the cabin available for family members.

What’s today’s project? Rory bent over the table, inspecting the round cluster of rocks.

Despite the late hour, Wendy’s ebony side braid and grayish blue tie-dye maxi dress appeared neat and fresh. Rory hadn’t even bothered changing out of her bathing suit and zip-front cover-up tunic. Nor had she taken out her ponytail and combed her hair, matted from the salt water and humidity. People usually told her that she resembled Emma Stone in La La Land, but no one would claim that tonight. After the airplane humiliation, Rory didn’t have the energy to put in her usual effort. All she’d wanted was for this day to end. She would figure out what it all meant another time.

Wendy pushed the freshly glued cream pebble onto her collage and set the gun on a spattered newspaper sheet. A wrap bracelet with glass beads that accented her dress slid down her wrist. It’s a placemat for teapots and serving bowls. How was your weekend? Did Brad do anything special for your birthday?

Wendy, who once crafted twenty clocks as Christmas presents, probably wouldn’t consider a bookstore gift card special. Rory’s fingertip brushed against the newspaper, and she peeled a stringy glue clump from her skin. We went to the beach and dinner.

At McDonald’s, but they’d feasted at his parents’ anniversary party that weekend, so neither of them wanted a big meal.

Where are Tiara and Krystal? Rory continued. It’s so quiet.

Their roommates—nicknamed Glitter and Glitz—were never quiet. They would blast music, watch movies in the living room, or play board games as neither one of them could sit still.

They’re out with Dylan and Jaine. Dylan wanted to thank them for helping with the employee appreciation banquet. Wendy inserted another glue cylinder into the gun and waited for it to heat up.

Nice. Good luck on your craft. I’m off to bed. Rory wondered if this project would bomb like last fall’s star-shaped bird feeders that crumbled apart.

The pebble mats looked bumpy, perfect for the Mad Hatter’s tea party, problematic for those who didn’t reside in Wonderland. Still, she admired her cousin’s persistence. Wendy never let fear of failure discourage her; Rory wished she could say the same.

Just think. You’ll be twenty-five in a few hours, Wendy said. Can’t wait for your party tomorrow night. Wait till you see the present I made. It’s the best yet!

Even better than the stationery?

Wendy had created custom-made writing cards for Rory’s last birthday, depressing the head of a Treviso Radicchio, a plant that resembled romaine lettuce, into a stamp pad to yield rose-like prints. Pink calligraphy displayed the words A Note From Aurora Rose. Rory had used them for a few relatives, but that was it. When dance students gave her end-of-the-year gifts in June, she locked herself in her bedroom and dug out her secret stash of thank you cards from an online store. Chipmunks in pink and purple tutus.

Oh it’s way more original than the stationery, her cousin assured her.

Wow, I can’t wait. With a sense of mounting dread, Rory picked up her suitcase from the wide wood planks in the living room.

She carried her baggage up the steep staircase to the second floor. Rory opened the door to her bedroom, which her family had affectionately dubbed the Rose Room. Tomorrow night’s celebration marked her twenty-fifth year of rose-themed gifts in honor of her middle name.

Ugh.

Rory situated her luggage on a small needlepoint throw rug with pink roses on an ecru background. She sank onto her white cabbage rose bedspread and surveyed the other floral offerings of past birthdays. A rose-scented Yankee candle, hand-painted rose trinket box, and rose-patterned piggy bank topped the maple bureau. Vintage rose pillows crowned the chairs against the wall. And who could forget the rose petal hand soap and origami money rose fashioned out of dollar bills and a paper clip?

She had been so tempted to spend that money rose . . . but it would have devastated Aunt Gretel, the one who gave it to her. Rory had never admitted to her relatives that she kind of, sort of, okay, totally, hated roses. Any affinity toward the flowers died long ago.

Maybe the whole airplane fiasco had put her in a grumpy mood, but this year her family’s rose fetish bugged her more than usual. Rory kicked off her sandals and released a sigh. It wasn’t their obsession that bothered her. All the craziness grew out of love and she appreciated their efforts. She really did. Rory accepted her extended family’s quirkiness a long time ago.

Face it. You’re upset because you’re too chicken to tell them the truth.

Her phone chimed with a text. Rory read the message from her older brother Dylan.

Hey B-day girl, come by my office tomorrow afternoon. I have a proposal for you.

She quickly tapped back: What kind of proposal?

Business. Talk later. I’m at Jaine’s.

See you tomorrow. Say hi.

Despite her ill frame of mind, Rory’s lips curved into a slight smile. Who would have believed that her bad boy brother would end up with the park’s good girl Cinderella? She had a hunch about those two.

Rory set her phone on the nightstand and got up to rummage in her bureau for pajamas. She yanked out a tank and flamingo-patterned shorts from two separate sets. Her day began with a mistaken marriage proposal and ended with a genuine proposal . . . from her brother.

Happy birthday to me.

Chapter Two

Thank goodness for merry-go-rounds and sentimental roommates. Rory wrapped her hands around the brass pole as her favorite horse, an ebony outside jumper with a flowing mane, large teeth, and laid-back ears, coasted up and down on the carousel her grandparents bought six decades ago for their brand new park. Rows of intricately carved wooden horses and two Roman chariots revolved around mirrored panels and cherub paintings. Glowing white lights studded the canopy, and cheerful band organ music piped through the air.

When Tiara and Krystal heard she was visiting her brother at Storybook Valley, they convinced her to meet at the merry-go-round first. As kids, they always rode the carousel on each other’s birthdays. Since Tiara worked at the park as food services director and Krystal as wardrobe supervisor and Little Red Riding Hood, those two still went on rides, but it had been a long time for Rory.

A few rows ahead, her cousin Tiara sat atop the fanciest steed. Gleaming jewels, brilliant florals, and a magenta saddle adorned the creamy white horse, flamboyant like its rider. Tiara’s sparkly headband and necklace winked in the distance, and a smattering of pink glitter dusted her blonde spirals.

Glancing over her shoulder, Rory saw Red Riding Hood parked between two small girls on the elegant maroon chariot. Each rotation, Krystal, AKA Little Red, waved to the kids awaiting the next ride. Krystal maintained the character job even after her promotion to a management position. Each day, she guided the wardrobe staff dressed in her knee-length cape, lace-up bodice, and checkered skirt. At least Krystal dressed in regular clothes during the off-season when she worked in the office doing general administrative work; her