Some Sort of Happy (Skylar and Sebastian): A Happy Crazy Love Novel (39 page)

SOME SORT OF CRAZY (Natalie and Miles)

When a psychic tells Natalie Nixon her life is about to be upended by a mysterious stranger, she laughs it off. After all, she has everything she’s ever wanted—a successful bakery, a the perfect boyfriend, and the keys to her dream house.

Who could possibly make her want to throw all that away? 

Then Miles Haas comes back to town. 

But he’s no stranger—they’ve known each other since high school. Plus, he’s only around for the summer, he’s still a shameless playboy, and he makes a living writing articles for a men’s magazine with titles like 'Should You Bang the Boss’s Daughter? A Flowchart' and 'Butt Stuff for Beginners: A Field Guide.' 

He’s not the man of her dreams, and she’s not about to abandon everything she’s worked so hard for just for a little fun. Except he makes her laugh like no one else, smells like heaven, and looks sexy as hell in those panty-melting glasses.

**SOME SORT OF CRAZY is a full-length standalone romance.** 

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Keep reading for a sneak peek at chapter one...

I blame the vodka.

My sisters and I were out celebrating—oldest sister Jillian had finished her pediatric residency and gotten a job in a busy, successful practice; middle sister Skylar was recently engaged and planning a fall wedding, and the offer I’d made on my dream house had just been accepted. It was only about eight o’clock but we’d consumed three dirty martinis apiece in the last hour and a half. Since we’d eaten nothing but the stuffed olives in our cocktails, we were functioning somewhere between Shhhh Don’t Tell Anyone I’m Drunk and Oops My Barstool Fell Over and I Was On It.

We managed to get out the door on our feet, albeit with arms linked, and I’m pretty sure everyone in the place was glad to see us go, since everything was hilarious to us and our laughter had grown increasingly loud and obnoxious.

“We need Uber,” announced Jillian, breathless from giggling. Her hair was a mess—when she’d arrived at the bar it had been tucked into a pretty chignon but several rounds of arm wrestling had shaken it loose. She had spilled something on the front of her peach blouse too, right on her left nipple. It looked like she was leaking. “No way can any of us drive.”

“We need food,” I said. “Let’s walk down to O’Malley’s for a burger.”

“Good idea.” Skylar hiccuped. “Then I’ll call Sebastian to pick ush up.”

“Ush?” I elbowed her as we started walking down the sidewalk three abreast. But my tongue felt a little numb too.

“Hey, look!” Jillian stopped walking but since we were still all connected we yanked her forward a few more steps, and she stumbled. “Is that for real?” Detangling her arm from mine she pointed up to the second story of an old Victorian brick building.

I looked up and squinted at the hand-painted block-lettered sign in the window.

PSYCHIC MEDIUM

FREE READING!

OPEN LATE TONIGHT!

Skylar gasped. “Let’s do it! Let’s get a psychic reading!”

“No, I’m starving.” And my bladder was suddenly at max capacity. How had I not noticed it three minutes ago? Vodka was insidious.

“Well, I want to.” She looked around for a way into the building and took off for a narrow wooden door between two storefronts.

“Sky, you’re already engaged! You don’t need to know your future.” I hopped from one foot to the other and tried not to think about lakes and rivers and gushing waterfalls, which were of course all I could think about.

Skylar pulled the door open and looked over her shoulder at me. “So you get the free reading. Maybe she’ll tell you Dan’s finally going to propose after ten years.”

“Dan basically told me himself he was going to propose soon. I don’t need a psychic for that.”

“He did?” Rolling her eyes, she went on, “God, you guys are so boring. OK, maybe she’ll see a tall, dark, and handsome stranger on the horizon for Jillian!”

“I’m in.” Jillian made a beeline for the door and slipped through it.

Groaning, I gave up and followed her. If two of us wanted something, the third always ended up giving in. I hadn’t meant to let that slip about Dan proposing. It did make things a little anti-climactic if everyone knew it was coming…nothing like Sebastian’s impromptu airplane proposal to Skylar. But then, Skylar was an impromptu kind of girl. I was more of a planner, and I sort of liked the knowing-but-not-knowing…the added anticipation of each date we went on this summer. Every time I got dressed, I’d think, Will this be what I’m wearing when I say yes?

Because of course I’d say yes—we’d been together for ten years with only one rocky patch last summer when I’d discovered a dick pic on his phone when I was looking for a shot he’d snapped at my birthday dinner. It was definitely his junk, and I knew he hadn’t sent it to me, so I felt justified is glancing at his texts—and there it was. He’d sent it to a girl at work, amidst a whole flurry of flirty activity. When confronted with it, he’d admitted to some “minor indiscretions,” the details of which I hadn’t wanted to know. He said they didn’t sleep together, begged my forgiveness, and promised to try harder, and after some thought, I forgave him and we moved on.

After all, ten years was a long time, and I hated to think we’d wasted it on each other if we weren’t going to make things work for the long haul. All relationships take work. Plus, I loved him and he loved me. We knew each other inside and out. We were comfortable together, had the same dreams for the future, had the same taste in music, movies, and takeout food. Those were important things, right? People had probably gotten married for worse reasons. Dan and I were compatible. Maybe not as passionate as we once were, but after ten years together, who is?

I asked myself that question a lot.

“Come on, Nat. It’ll be fun!” Skylar thumped me on the back as I passed her. “Live a little, why don’t you! You’re always so fucking sensible.”

“I’m not being sensible, I’m being hungry. But fine, whatever. I hope the psychic has a bathroom otherwise I see wet pants in my future.” Marching through the door, I followed Jillian up the narrow staircase beyond it. “It smells like cat pee in here,” I whispered. At least I tried to whisper, but I was still half drunk so it came out a little louder than intended, and Jillian shushed me.

At the top of the stairs were two doors. The one on the right said 2B, but the one on the left had a sign on it:

Madam Psuka

Psychic, Medium, Clairvoyant, Intuitive

Palm Readings, Dream Analysis, Spiritual Channeling, & Numerology

FIRST READING FREE*

*does not include Spiritual Channeling

Jillian sighed. “Fucking spirits. So expensive all the time.”

I laughed, crossing my legs at the ankle and squeezing my thighs together. “That’s it. No one make any jokes until I find a bathroom.”

“Do you think you pronounce that P in her name?” Skylar wondered. “Like, it is Madam Puh-suka?”

“No.” Jillian looked back at Skylar with what we call her You’re Dumb and I’m a Doctor face. “You don’t say puh-sychic, do you?” Suddenly she looked down at the big wet spot on her boob. “Shit. When did that happen?”

Moaning in agony even as I laughed, I bent my knees and cupped my crotch as Jillian knocked. “I’m going to wet myself. I’m totally puh-serious.”

Immediately the door opened and an acrid, smoky smell drifted into the hallway. The woman who’d opened the door looked nothing like what I’d imagined a psychic medium would look like—no purple turban or chunky gold jewelry or flouncy ruffled skirt. In fact, she looked more like an evening newscaster: blond helmet hair, too much makeup, horn-rimmed glasses. She was barefoot and wore jeans and flowy black top.

“Velcome,” she said in a thick accent. At least she sounded like a medium. She looked at each of our faces as we tried to stop snickering and appear presentable, which wasn’t that easy since I was still holding my crotch, Jillian was trying to cover her left nipple, and Skylar hiccuped. “Hm. Three sisters.”

Skylar poked me in the back, as if she were impressed, but I thought we looked enough alike that anyone could tell we were related, even though Jillian was dark-haired and built more like our dad, tall and thin, while Skylar and I were blond and curvy like our mom.

“I am Madam Psuka,” she said grandly, pronouncing the P. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Skylar poke Jillian in the shoulder. “Vould you like reading tonight?” Madam Psuka’s eyes narrowed. “I am getting verrrry strong energy from you.”

“Yes.” Skylar clapped her hands.

“Vonderful. Please to come in.” The woman stepped aside and we entered a small, dimly lit front room. I was about to ask vhere the bathroom vas when color and texture and warmth bombarded me. The walls were covered in tapestries, rugs, and blankets in every imaginable hue and pattern. The windows overlooking the street were covered in dozens of sheer jewel-toned scarves, several of which billowed in the early summer breeze. In front of them was a round table covered with a Moroccan print cloth with a chair on each side. The floor was covered by faded Persian rugs in tones of ruby and gold and coral, and large square pillows in royal blue, hot pink, lime green, and leopard print lined the walls. On every available surface not covered with books, and sometimes even on top of the books, candles glowed—most inside lanterns, but some in glass holders or simply set on a plate. From the ceiling hung swooping of beads and charms and other trinkets, criss crossing the room clothesline style, and the two front corners were huge green plants. My eyeballs hurt.

“Wow,” said Skylar, turning in a slow circle. “This is amazing.”

“Thank you.” Madam Psuka shut the door. “I am not here very long, but I try to make space my own.”

“It’s beautiful,” Skylar gushed, then hiccuped. “I love all the colors and patterns together. Very bohemian.”

I made a face at Jillian and she wrinkled her nose. She and I had more understated taste than our fashionably trendy middle sister.

“What’s that smell?” Jillian asked.

“Is burning sage. I just finish smudging.” Madam Psuka sounded pleased with her puh-self.

“What’s smudging?”

“Is ancient practice used for clearing away negative energy and purifying a space. You are very lucky to be my first reading after is done.” She gestured toward the rug. “Please have seat.”

“Can I please use your bathroom?” I asked, fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Of course. Is right over there.” She pointed toward the small galley kitchen, and I found the bathroom right across from it. There was no door, just a curtain of beads, but at this point I didn’t care. After relieving myself of what seemed like fifty pints of pee for every ounce of vodka I’d consumed, I washed my hands and joined my sisters and Madam Psuka on the rug, where they were all sitting cross-legged in a circle like Story Time at the library.

“She’s going to a short reading for each of us!” squealed Skylar.

“Normally I do only one reading per group for free,” explained Madam Psuka. “But the energy is so good tonight that I feel the spirits vant me to be generous.”