“Or Joseph Gordon-Levitt in (500) Days of Summer.” Andie placed a hand over her heart. “So terrible, but so wonderful at the same time.”

“He was drunk off his ass in that scene, right?” Julia asked.

“Adorably so.” Bridget smiled wickedly and pointed to herself. “While we are on the topic of adorable drunken karaoke…”

“Bridget Jones’s Diary!” Andie crowed. “Oh, she was so smashed.”

“Oh, yeah?” Curt grinned. “I admit I’ve done some drunk singing myself.”

“And I bet it was charming,” Andie remarked.

Despite her caustic tone, Julia thought she caught a note of fondness in her friend’s voice. She glanced at Andie, considering. Perhaps Curt was growing on her. Which was wild, because they were total opposites.

Though now that she thought about it, the possibility was actually hilarious, especially considering how “opposites attract” was a standard rom-com trope. A thrill ran down Julia’s spine and she had to remind herself that this was a game. None of it was real.

CHAPTER 13

JULIA

After breakfast, Julia and her friends joined the large crowd of guests gathered in the lobby, where Mrs. Weatherfork welcomed them again. Today the resort owner was decked out in a lime-colored wrap dress topped by a creamy pale green scarf.

“She looks like a piece of key lime pie,” Andie muttered.

Julia swallowed a giggle as the outlandishly attired woman proceeded to launch into a lengthy history lesson of the hotel, including a detailed description of the original oak balustrades lining the foyer staircase and balcony, courtesy of some nineteenth-century lumber baron who made all his money chopping down half the forests of Wisconsin. Then it was on to the terrace, for more detailed description of the brickwork patio and stone steps. The speeches continued at the gazebo, the tennis and croquet courts, and the garden conservatory.

After viewing the resort’s private pond, outfitted with several canoes and paddle boats, they were now making their way up a winding gravel trail. Julia tapped her notepad irritably. She’d been planning to take some notes for her review, but so far, the “tour” had been one endless, boring lecture.

Boring and exhausting. Before hitting the trail, Mrs. Weatherfork had commandeered a golf cart for herself and her contingent of corgis. The woman even had little car seats for each of them. Meanwhile, the guests were forced to trudge along on foot.

“How long is this tour supposed to last?” Julia asked, pushing back the heavy curtain of her hair, which had been getting wilder and frizzier by the moment in the growing humidity. Soon she’d be fluffier than Mrs. Whackadoodle’s pampered pets. Julia glanced up at the golf cart, envious of the four fur balls bouncing along in contented comfort, their owner’s long silk scarf flapping in a breeze Julia had yet to feel. “We’ve been walking for hours,” she whined.