The Wedding Bet: The Wedding Whisperer, #4

By Susan Hatler

A fun and uplifting story that will make you swoon and smile as two best friends fall in love.

Kennedy needs to slow down, which is why her last boyfriend broke up with her. No matter, finding a date to her friend's wedding should be easy enough. But when her handsome co-worker challenges her that she dates the wrong guys, he bets she can't go a month without dating. Will this bet make her realize her fairy-tale prince has been right here this whole time?

From a New York Times bestselling author, join this friendly competition that leads the heart to win in THE WEDDING BET.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hatco Publishing
• Release date: Aug 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201298425

Susan Hatler

SUSAN HATLER è una Scrittrice Bestseller del New York Times e di USA Today. Scrive romanzi contemporanei umoristici e sentimentali e racconti per giovani adulti. Molti dei libri di Susan sono stati tradotti in tedesco, spagnolo, italiano e francese. Ottimista d’indole, Susan crede che la vita sia strabiliante, che le persone siano affascinanti, e che la fantasia sia infinita. Ama trascorrere il tempo con i suoi personaggi e spera che anche tu lo faccia. Puoi contattare Susan qui: Facebook: facebook.com/authorsusanhatler Twitter: twitter.com/susanhatler Sito internet: susanhatler.com/italiano Blog: susanhatler.com/category/susans-blog

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

There were so many people I could blame for my current predicament: my first boyfriend, my second boyfriend . . . or, maybe even the last guy I dated. At twenty-nine and single, it was hard to keep count of my failed relationships. However, I preferred to go the more traditional route and blame my mother.

After all, she was the one who read me fairy tales about pretty princesses whose perfect princes appeared out of nowhere one random day. She’d put that dream scenario in my head, page after page. Had she bothered to add that in actuality the princess could go on a bazillion coffee dates via the latest dating app and still not find her prince charming?

No, she’d left out that cheery factoid.

According to my deeply embedded fantasies, I’d be secluded in the tower of a faraway castle—well, living in Sacramento I figured a Tudor in the Fabulous Forties neighborhood—and Mr. Perfect would suddenly appear below my window, ready to fall in love with me. Or maybe he would ride in on a horse? Or perhaps he’d take an uber? I wouldn’t be picky on how he arrived as long as I received the basics: prince, love, happily-ever-after.

Sadly, this hasn’t happened.

In fact, at my twenty-seventh birthday celebration at The Oasis dance club two years ago, I discovered that going home from a ball without one of my shoes didn’t mean a rich guy would show up the next morning to slip that heel back on my foot and be my happily-ever-after. Instead, consuming a couple of strawberry daiquiris made me misplace my shoe and then tell the guy I was seeing what I thought of him showing up an hour late to my birthday party. Needless to say, we ended our short relationship that night.

Maybe I’d been too blunt with Cal, but was it so much to ask that my prince be punctual? No, not according to the dating article I’d read in Sacramento Living magazine, and the article sounded way more realistic than Cinderella if you asked me.

Currently, I had no heels to match my favorite dress and no prince in sight, which brought me to my dilemma: one month left to find a date to my friend Melanie’s wedding.

Yeah, I could go to the wedding solo, but as a Zumba instructor I knew it would be much more fun to bring a dance partner. With that thought in mind, I strode into the Totally Fit gym where I worked and shared this problem with my friend Carrie, who worked at the front counter.

Why don’t you take Brent to Mel’s wedding? she asked.

We broke up last weekend, I said, shrugging.

Oh, Kennedy . . . I’m sorry, she said, letting out a little gasp. What happened?

I lifted an arm in a helpless gesture. He dumped me.

"What? Why?" she asked, in a tone that said there was clearly something wrong with him to have broken up with me. Ah, I loved my sweet friend.

He said we weren’t compatible, I said, relaying the exact conversation to Carrie.

You’re too fast-paced for me, Kennedy, Brent had said.

Me? I’d asked, in a shocked tone. I teach Zumba and Pilates and meditate three times a day.

Three times? That’s intense . . .

I’d rolled my eyes. Yeah, whatever, Brent.

Okay, maybe I can be a little intense sometimes, I admitted, letting out a sigh. Thus, the necessary meditations that I didn’t tell him were sometimes only a minute on my app.

"I love those quick meditations, Carrie said. They’re great for refocusing."

Right? And for him to dump me right before Mel’s wedding means I’m not only left, yet again, without a prince but also without a dance partner for the wedding.

Ugh. Carrie slumped against the counter. Not okay, Brent. Not okay at all.

Exactly. I blew out a breath and my blonde bangs flew upward and out of my eyes. Yes, my life is sometimes super-fast-paced. But who wants to date someone boring?

Not me, Steve Burns said, coming through the front door and slipping an arm over my shoulder in a casual gesture. Who’s boring? Certainly not you, princess.

Thanks, I think, I said, as my belly did a little dance at the nickname Steve used for me since I’d lost my stiletto two years ago.

Steve was our resident trainer at the gym and part of our gang here. It had actually been his best friend who had dumped me that birthday night and Steve had driven me home, which had been an extra kick in the gut. After all, I’d been interested in Steve when he’d set me up with his friend, making it clear he didn’t think of me in a romantic way. Ouch.

My belly fluttered again, probably due to the warmth of Steve’s arm draped around me right now, which, incidentally, made me want to melt into him. So, I did what any smart gal would do: I bumped him away with my hip so he wouldn’t suspect my secret feelings for him.

Hey, what did I do to deserve that? he asked.

I like to mope alone, I lied, admiring how good he looked at four-thirty in the morning.

Steve basically looked like what you’d expect to see if a dark-haired Greek God appeared and chose a career helping people get in shape. The way the sleeves of his athletic shirt hugged his biceps was a part of his work attire that never failed to capture my attention. And the way his jet-black hair fell over his forehead made it impossible not to notice his striking blue eyes.

If I didn’t have my dignity, I would’ve full-on swooned and asked him to be my date to Mel’s wedding. But he’d made it perfectly clear two years ago that he wasn’t interested in me that way, so I buried my feelings. As always.

Good morning! What’s going on, people? Erica Conner asked, coming through the front door. Erica was the yoga instructor, and she completed our gang here at the gym. We still had about fifteen minutes before the gym officially opened and it wasn’t unusual for us to chat before work. Have we picked a word of the day yet? she asked.

No, we’re talking about the fact that I got dumped, I admitted, because there was no getting around that fact and no way to paint it in a better light.

That joker broke up with you? Steve asked, sounding surprised.

Right before he could be my date for the wedding, too, I said, fiddling with a long strand of blond hair that had found its way out of my ponytail.

Did he say why? Erica asked, dropping her gym bag onto the counter.

I tucked my hair back into the band. He said I’m too fast-paced for him.

"Teaching Zumba requires you to be perky and upbeat," Carrie pointed out, reasonably.

I tilted my head. It would be wasteful to toss aside all of that energy the second I walk out the gym’s door, right?

Right, Erica and Carrie said in unison.

The guy’s a moron, Steve said, as if this were a forgone conclusion.

It’s over. I’m fine, I said, because I’d liked Brent but, in truth, my heart hadn’t been totally in it. And so, I had bid Brent a fond-but-still-reasonably-disdainful goodbye and now needed a fun dance partner. Anyone want to set me up with a date?

"When are you going to stop looking for Prince Charming and go out with me?" Steve asked, putting a hand to his heart.

Carrie giggled. Yeah, when Kennedy?

After all the men who actually believe in true love are gone, I suppose, I said, noticing my pulse had picked up at the thought of going out with Steve. I reminded myself he was joking and also that he hadn’t dated a woman more than a few times in the two years I’d known him.

Steve leaned against the counter. Actually, I might know a guy for you . . .

Really? Who? I asked, a feeling of disappointment washing over me.

I’ll tell you if you can do more sit-ups than me, he said, the corner of his mouth hitching upward.

You’re on, I said, smiling back.

Another bet between you two! Erica exclaimed, clapping her hands. What an awesome way to start the morning. I’ve got five bucks on Kennedy.

Five on Steve, Carrie said, giving me an apologetic grimace when I gave her a fake glare.

A few seconds later, I found myself lying on my back in the front lobby, with Steve on the floor next to me.

On your marks, get set . . . Carrie emphasized each word and then paused long enough to build up serious tension in my chest. Was Steve really going to set me up again? Why did he think I was good enough for his friends but not for him? It made no sense. . . Go!

Oh! I exclaimed, getting my head back in the game and working my abs.

One, two, three, four . . . Carrie and Erica counted aloud as Steve and I crunched up and down, racing to see who could do more sit-ups before the timer on Erica’s phone went off.

Bets like this happened often between Steve and me. I always felt determined to win as if my winning a bet might make him finally see me as more than a friend. Obviously, that hadn’t happened yet but hope flickered on. The gang enabled my illusions by kicking in cash on bet after bet, and after we’d all have a good laugh. Louder, if I won.

Bells chimed from Erica’s phone and she yelled, Time!

I’d been far too focused on my unrequited crush and the burn in my abs to pay attention to the numbers my friends had been calling out. Who won? I asked, panting.

Sorry, Kennedy. Steve won, Erica said, tapping on her cell screen.

Carrie pumped her fists into the air. I’m five bucks richer now, thank you very much.

Thanks for nothing, Steve, Erica joked.

Come to mama, Carrie said, moving to the front desk where two bills sat. She picked up one and pocketed it before handing the other to Steve as I tried to catch my breath.

You’re really not going to tell me who this guy is, Steve? I asked, pulling my knees to my chest.

Sorry, princess, he said, giving me a side-glance that made my belly do a flip. Rules are rules. And you lost the bet.

Only because I’d been distracted thinking about him. Whatever, I said, willing my nerves to chill out. Ogling the sexy smile on his full lips did nothing to help my current situation.

I imagined how those lips would feel on mine. . .

Hello? Earth to Kennedy? Erica snapped her fingers in front of my face, yanking me back to reality.

Huh? I said, unintelligently.

She extended a hand and pulled me up. I said, it’s your turn to choose the word of the day.

Oh, I said, my cheeks heating as if everyone could read my mind and know I’d been thinking about Steve, yet again. Taking a deep breath, I pursed my lips while I racked my brain for a word of the day. How about, frazztimistic?

Interesting choice . . . Carrie settled behind the counter, while Erica and Steve both leaned against it and stared at me expectantly.

Erica raised a shoulder. Meaning . . .?

I waved a hand in a grand gesture. Meaning frazzled, but still optimistic. That’s how I feel right now. Or, how I’m trying to feel.

More details please, Erica said.

Well . . . My voice trailed off as I saw Steve pull out his cellphone and become completely enthralled by whatever was happening on the screen. It was bad enough that he didn’t want to be a part of my love life, but now he didn’t even want to hear about it?

Erica’s gaze turned to Steve and she jabbed his arm. Not hard enough to hurt him, just hard enough to bring his attention back to our group.

Ouch! What was that for Conner? he asked.

Your friend is having a crisis, pay attention! Carrie pointed out.

There it was again. That word: friend. If I were alone then I would have sighed aloud, but I settled for doing it mentally.

I’ve got very important . . . er . . . business happening here, Steve said, turning back to his