When Girlfriends Take Chances Read online

  Table of Contents

  When Girlfriends Take Chances

  Also By Savannah Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  When Girlfriends

  Take Chances

  a novel by

  Savannah Page

  Also by Savannah Page

  When Girlfriends Find Love

  When Girlfriends Let Go

  When Girlfriends Chase Dreams

  When Girlfriends Make Choices

  When Girlfriends Step Up

  When Girlfriends Break Hearts

  When Girlfriends Collection, Books 1-3

  Bumped to Berlin

  When Girlfriends Take Chances

  Copyright © 2013, Savannah Page

  Print ISBN: 978-1490944371

  Digital Release: July 2013

  Trade Paperback Release: August 2013

  Publisher: Pearls and Pages

  Cover Art and Book Design: Pearls and Pages

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, events, and places portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be used, reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, or stored in any information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Information about the author and her upcoming books can be found online at www.savannahpage.com

  For the adventurous soul in all of us.

  “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

  —Mark Twain

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my dear family and friends for your love and encouragement. I am forever grateful.

  Many thanks and hugs to my great girlfriends and beta readers, Anne, Erin, and Ginger. I couldn’t ask for better friends (or teammates!).

  Thank you to my friends Kate and Ginger, whose intrepid travels not only inspire me to seek my own adventures, but also inspired me to write this book and create such a fab leading lady.

  Special thanks to my editor, Liam Carnahan of Invisible Ink Editing, for your ever-helpful edits and advice.

  And the biggest of thanks and hugs to my husband for going along on this writing journey with me, believing in me every step of the way. Ich liebe dich, Christian.

  Prologue

  nomad |ˈnəʊmad|

  noun

  • a person who does not stay long in the same place; a wanderer.

  My friends call me a nomad. Sometimes they’ll call me a wanderer or a travel junkie. A vagabond, even. Oh! Sometimes it’s a gypsy, or a Bedouin, or just plain ol’ traveler. Did I already mention drifter and adventurer? Globe-trekker and explorer? My favorite term of endearment has to be “wanderluster.” My best bud on the planet, Jackie Kittredge, gets credit for penning that one.

  What can I say? I was made to travel, born to “wanderlusting” parents. I have an ingrained sense of the value of getting lost, letting go, and wandering with open eyes, an open mind, and wide-open arms.

  My friends also say I’m going to be forever-solo on my journeys if I don’t hunker down and get serious about, well, getting serious. With a man, that is. I have no problem with being serious about forever-journeying. The trouble is, though, that finding someone who shares my penchant for travel and getting lost in a village, in a culture, in life, isn’t exactly easy. I mean, learning after dozens of trials and error how to set up a hammock in the environs of the Mayan ruins is a cakewalk compared to settling down with someone!

  That’s just it. Settling down and traveling do not go hand in hand. How am I supposed to get serious with a guy and settle down when I can’t keep myself from reaching for my passport, strapping on my backpack, and catching a flight to an exotic location thousands of miles away? Maybe “settling down” would work out if I were to find a guy who wouldn’t mind dropping everything and taking off, just like that, because of pure whimsy, or because the muse is calling, or because a village in the sub-Sahara needs fresh water.

  I’ve met tons of guys—fellow “wanderlusters”—who have as deep a passion for travel as I do, and even for photography (my other greatest love). You’d think that’d be a match made in heaven, right? Tiny hitch is, my compass will be pointing North (or spinning all zonky-like in circles), and his will be pointing East…maybe West… If I had a nickel for every time that’s happened…

  But even though my friends say I’m a nomad, and even though they warn me of the supposed perils of never settling down, they also really believe that my perfect match is out there, somewhere. Somewhere in the celestial globe, somewhere between Afghanistan and Zimbabwe, somewhere between here and there. They tell me I just need to take chances. “Take chances?” I ask. “I’m an adventurer! Chance is my middle name!”

  “Not that kind of chance,” Jackie says. “A love chance. A chance at a real love.”

  I don’t know. Maybe she’s on to something. Maybe they’re all on to something. Perhaps I haven’t exactly put my best foot forward taking real chances when it comes to love…when it comes to real love. I have tried, though. I mean, everyone wants to find their soulmate, don’t they? And everyone’s got one out there; probably even more than one. The question is, which one will it be? And will I find him?

  “He’ll find you,” the girls all tell me. “He’ll definitely find you.”

  Well, we’ll see.

  Chapter One

  “A baby. Can you believe it, Em? Another baby?” Lara says incredulously. She glances at me, eyebrows raised and an expression nothing short of pure joy plastered on her face. “I’m so happy for her!”

  “Robin’s already such a great mom,” I say, now paying empty attention to the cars behind us reflected in the passenger’s side mirror. “No doubt second time around she’ll be just as awesome a mother.”

  “She’ll definitely have her hands full, that’s for sure!”

  The car’s steady pace down Aurora Ave is soothing, and the August sun shining brightly down onto Green Lake, beckoning masses of rollerbladers and sunbathers, is warming and charming. Landscapes (and car rides with BFFs) li
ke this are simple reminders of why I love my home of Seattle. Well, as my girlfriends would say, it’s “home” only in the theoretical sense, really.

  Seattle is my home base, I guess you could call it. Although, for the past year, nearly year-and-a-half, Seattle has consistently been home. God, has it really been that long? I’m rarely in one place for so long, but a lot of big life events have happened recently for my friends, some that I definitely couldn’t miss (not to mention, my best friends would have a cow if I had skipped out).

  “Bobby is such a great help with baby Rose,” Lara says in assured tones. “Robin couldn’t have chosen a better man, honestly. The way he’s so natural with Rose… Oh! This is so exciting!” She makes a small jump up in the driver’s seat and slaps the steering wheel. “So exciting!”

  I can’t conceal my smile. Lara Kearns, one of my best friends in the whole world, is very much all-business, the total career-focused type. You wouldn’t think, judging by the BlackBerry that’s glued to her hand, the fancy pant suits she wears, and the smart attaché case and stacks of file folders coating the backseat of her equally smart Audi, that she’d be the type to go all soft over a bun in the oven. But here she is, positively ecstatic that Robin Sinclair, one of our best friends from college, is going to have a baby. Another one!

  If we thought it was exciting (not to mention rather dramatic) news that Robin was pregnant the first time around, this second time is a whole new story. We couldn’t be more elated for her, especially now that everything seems to be going swimmingly in her life.

  “I’m really happy for her with this pregnancy,” I say. “Obviously I was happy for her with Rose.” Lara nods earnestly. “This is different, though, you know?”

  “Yeah. She’s in a stable and real relationship,” Lara says. “A reliable man.”

  “That’s for sure.” I stare ahead at the now arrow-straight, tree-lined road as Green Lake passes in the distance. “It’s different in a good way,” I say. “In many good ways. I’m sure she and Bobby are super excited.” I look to Lara. “You think they planned this? I mean, Robin said it was a surprise, but—”

  “Oh, definite surprise,” she replies without hesitation.

  “Someone already knew…” I sing.

  It doesn’t surprise me. Lara and Robin are best buds. They were super close in college and today their friendship is probably even stronger. When Robin had found out she was pregnant with her daughter Rose (thanks to a really disastrous one-night stand), Lara came to the rescue, and the two were once again roomies, like the college days.

  Now Robin’s got this amazing boyfriend, Bobby Holman, whom she met at the publishing house they both work for. They’re head-over-heels in love with each other and share a really nice home here in Phinney Ridge—a perfect place for their growing family. Not only is Bobby a sweetheart to Robin, but he’s picked up parenting just like that, and has been a really great father figure for Rose.

  “I admit,” Lara says, “I already knew Robin was preggo.”

  “Before Claire?”

  Claire Whitely, née Linley, married her forever-time boyfriend Conner only yesterday, and during the event she got early news direct from the source that Robin was expecting baby number two. Apparently Lara was already privy to the info, too. So, naturally, Robin couldn’t contain her excitement, or the major news, and all us girls got together this afternoon for a post-wedding/must-share-news get-together over at Robin and Bobby’s place.

  “Yeah,” Lara says. “Only like a week ago, and it was a total surprise for Robin.” She quickly shoots me a smile. “A great surprise, but a surprise for sure. But Bobby was really happy about it.” She slows the vehicle and turns into Fremont, my neighborhood. “Of course, I’m sure we’ll hear wedding bells peal again soon…”

  “I don’t see why they should be pressured into getting married,” I say nonchalantly. I roll the chunky beechwood ring around my finger that I got at an art market in Thailand a few summers ago.

  “Oh, Emily. You and commitment.”

  “Not this again, please, Lara,” I whine playfully.

  “I’m only saying it seems like marriage is something that two people who have two children would, well, do.”

  “In this culture.”

  I can see Lara roll her eyes. It’s the usual response I get from her and the rest of my friends when it comes to topics like this (culture, religion, politics, forward or alternative ways of thinking…). The eye rolls and heavy sighs and joshing, though, are always done in a loving kind of way.

  “Honestly,” I continue, “why should Bobby and Robin feel pressured into getting married just because society says they should? They can have a family—have another baby—and keep having a happy life together, even if they don’t tie the knot.” I continue twirling around my ring. “In the end it’s just a piece of paper that says that two people are together.”

  “It’s a promise to each other,” Lara counters. “A promise that you make to the public, and a promise that you hold yourself accountable to.”

  “I can very well do that by getting his and hers monogrammed stationery,” I say in jest. “Or tea towels or bathrobes.”

  “Aww, sheesh.” She glances at me with a half-grin as she gives the car another turn. “And, I never said anything about ‘pressure,’ to be clear. Just saying I wouldn’t be surprised if a wedding is in the works.”

  “If it’s what they want, then I think that’s great.”

  I stop fiddling with my ring and reach for my patchwork bag that I pieced together with collected cloth from my time going on African safaris.

  I’ve gone to Africa a couple times. It’s one of the few earthy and rugged and inherently spiritual places left on this planet—naturally one of my favorites. I usually go explore the continent to photograph wildlife or join a volunteer team. I met a fellow backpacker somewhere in Europe who had a patchwork bag similar to mine here, and I thought it a neat idea to collect cloth memories and stitch them all together. Pieces of saris or head wraps, tunics, ribbons, bags or daypacks used during travels, even towels. As one square, I have a lens cap rag. This bag is my “African one,” and I’ve been meaning to work on a new one.

  “Em?” Lara’s voice breaks my reminiscing. “I was saying, what do you think the odds are that Robin will say she’s engaged in the next couple of months? Or even weeks?” She looks even more excited than she had minutes earlier when talking about the new baby.

  “Probably. But still,” I raise a finger, “I’d rather see Robin and Bobby do what they personally think is best.”

  She rolls her eyes in that familiar, playful way again and slowly approaches my apartment complex.

  It’s a peculiar little complex in an even more peculiar corner of Seattle. I love Fremont, though, for its quirkiness. I love it for all of its junk stores, its lively mix of ancient hippies and young hipsters, up-and-coming career enthusiasts and penny-pinching students, and, of course, the funky public art, plethora of pubs and coffee shops, and the occasional and not-so-discreet head shop.

  I have a no-frills one-bedroom apartment here that I’ve had for years, to have some quasi-permanent place to hang my hat. It’s convenient, cheap, and it has made for a good temporary home for my best friend, Jackie. Jackie used to always be in and out of relationships, and therefore homes, so her needing a place to stay when things got rough was a major reason I kept this little joint even when I was away. She’ll still use it as her second home now and then, even though she got married nearly a year ago to a rich investment broker twice her age named Andrew.

  “Want to come in for a bit?” I ask Lara, climbing out of the car.

  Lara, ever on a schedule, looks at her gold designer watch and says, “I’ll come in for a few. I’m meeting Nathan for dinner and drinks tonight.”

  I unlock the apartment’s front door and give it a hard shove. It makes a grating screech as it lurches open.

  “Hon,” Lara says as I start to pull up the front window’s mini blinds, �
��you’re loaded and you’re still living in this heap?” She shoves the door closed behind her.

  I look around quickly, at first wanting to defend the reference to my apartment as “a heap,” but at a glance it really is rather shoddy. I guess I figure I’m never around too much, so why pay high rent for something that’s not really lived in? And what’s the point in sprucing up a temporary residence? (Hence the old mini-blinds and furniture that are in desperate need of retirement.)

  “Yeah, well.” I give a shrug. “I’m kind of thinking of relocating again.” I head for the kitchen. “But I suppose you’re right. I could spring for a better place.”

  Lara chuckles and plonks down onto the futon I’ve had for about a century—an old college buy that I believe was deemed the couch, bed, contraption that helps with ab workouts, thing that helped keep the bookcase from toppling over, and meditation platform. See? Why get rid of something that’s so practical and kind of sentimental? Come to think of it, I should probably cut a square out of the fabric when I feel ready to chuck it.

  “You’re seriously thinking of leaving again, Em?” Lara pushes a thick brunette, highlighted lock behind one ear.

  I bring out two glasses of water and hand one to her. “Maybe.” I take a sip. “You know it’ll be going on eighteen months that I’ve stayed put here? Eighteen months! That’s crazy-long for me.”

  “Well…you had Rose’s birth…” Lara begins to tick items off with her fingers. “You had Claire’s wedding…all of that insanity. God, just between the two of us, I am glad that wedding’s over.”

  I laugh into my glass and water splatters about. “I don’t think you’re the only one to be happy the chaos of planning that wedding is done.”