Misunderstandings

Praise for the Woodfalls Girls novels

Misunderstandings

“A beautifully woven story of a love that can withstand anything.”

—Molly McAdams,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Funny, real, moving, and passionate,
Misunderstandings
is a MUST-READ for New Adult contemporary romance fans.”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Samantha Young

“Sweet and sexy! Great characters and an intriguing romance . . . So good!”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Cora Carmack

No Attachments

“Allow me to summarize
No Attachments
: Great story. Amazing characters. Awesome read.”

—
Book Freak Book Reviews

“Readers will spend the first half of this story on the edge of their seats and the last half hugging a box of tissues.”

—Priscilla Glenn, bestselling author of
Back to You
and
Emancipating Andie

“Sweet, beautiful, funny, and heartbreaking all rolled into one amazing story.”

—Tara Sivec,
USA Today
bestselling author

“Super sweet and swoon-worthy!”

—#1
New York Times
bestselling author Jennifer L. Armentrout

“The story itself is heartwarming, which really is a characteristic of a Tiffany King book. Her stories always turn struggles into strength and her characters always find the good. That’s one of the reasons I love to read her books. They’re real. They’re emotional. They’re heartwarming.”

—
Stuck in Books

“
No Attachments
will leave you more than a little attached to Ashton and Nathan.”

—
Book Angel Booktopia

“Absolutely heartbreakingly beautiful.”

—
Once Upon a Twilight

“Anyone who loves a great contemporary should check out this title. You’ll laugh, you’ll swoon, and you’ll love these two characters just like I have.”

—
A Life Bound by Books

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

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A Penguin Random House Company

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

Copyright © 2014 by Tiffany King.

Excerpt from
No Attachments
by Tiffany King © 2014 by Tiffany King. Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

BERKLEY
^®
is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-15874-0

King, Tiffany.

Misunderstandings / Tiffany King.

pages cm.—(A Woodfalls Girls novel)

ISBN 978-0-425-27479-8 (pbk.)

1. Homecoming—Fiction. 2. Electric power failures—Fiction. 3. Elevators—Fiction. 4. Relationships—Fiction. 5. Miscommunication—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3611.I5863M57 2014

813'.6—dc23

2013049250

FIRST EDITION
: May 2014

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley trade paperback edition / May 2014

Cover art by Lóránd Gelner / Getty Images

Cover design by Lesley Worrell

Interior text design by Tiffany Estreicher

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Being a writer is a solitary job, b
ut creating a book is a group venture. As writers, many people play a part in helping the words we see in our heads make it into the hands of the readers. I will be forever grateful to everyone who makes this possible.

To my husband: for being my first reader, editor, and critic. Thank you for always believing in every story I write. I know I’m not the easiest person to work with, but I appreciate that you never give up on me. None of this would be possible without you.

To my Ash: You make me feel special every time you read one of my books. I started this journey because of you, and I could not imagine ever doing it without you.

To my Ryan: You are my creative inspiration.

To Hollie Westring: for always making time for me and my stories. I am so thankful for the forces that brought us together.

To Kevan Lyon: for helping me reach a dream I never thought was possible. I am incredibly fortunate to have you in my corner.

To Kate Seaver: for believing in me. You will never know the impact your words had on me. You make me strive to be a better writer.

To Tara Sivec: for being my sanity. You are my sounding board. You make me laugh when I need it most, and you are the voice of reason when I begin to doubt myself. Thank you for always being my friend.

To my amazing Wolfpack: for inspiring me each and every day. Your kindness and support are what make this the best job in the world.

To all my readers: Thank you for giving me an opportunity to do what I love the most. Without you, my stories would cease to exist. Your support allows me to carry on.

Finally, to the three amazing people who completely changed my life, Carol Kunz, Adam Kunz, and Jennifer Armentrout. Your helping hand when I least expected it took my breath away. I will never be able to thank you enough for standing by me.

Present Day
11:02
AM

The rain was coming down in steady sheets as I stepped from the yellow taxi that had deposited me in front of Columbia Center in Seattle. “Keep the change,” I said to the driver as I reached back inside the taxi to pay my fare. I stood momentarily with the rain pelting my face, tilting my head back to see the top of the tallest building in the state of Washington—all seventy-six floors of it. I knew that fact because I looked it up on the Internet. I needed to get an idea of what I would be dealing with. Not that my friend Rob, who I was here to see, worked on the top floor, but it was close. His office was on the fifty-second floor, which meant a long torturous
elevator ride. Something I wasn’t looking forward to at all. Back home in Woodfalls, Maine, the tallest building was the three-story Wells Fargo bank they had built across from Smith’s General Store a few years back. I was attending college at the University of Washington at the time, but back in Woodfalls it was big news. My mom, the town’s resident busybody, made sure I received daily updates about the construction. Now, as I stood here, the building in front of me made our little bank back home look like a dollhouse.

The rain was beginning to find its way down the generic yellow raincoat I had purchased from the Seattle airport just that morning. The pilot had gleefully informed us before landing that Seattle was having its rainiest September in years. The irony that the rainiest state in the country was having its rainiest year in history was not lost on me. Why wouldn’t it be cold, rainy, and miserable? It matched the way I felt about this place. Of course, that wasn’t always the case. When I first arrived in Seattle three years ago, I was a greenhorn from my podunk hometown. That was why I had chosen UW. It was as far away from Woodfalls as I could possibly get without applying to the University of Hawaii. Three years ago, I had decided that nine months of rainy weather was a fair trade-off to finally be surrounded by civilization. That and it was hundreds of miles away from my often annoying but well-intentioned mother. The endless array of restaurants, museums, and stores and the music scene had tantalized me, making me vividly realize just how lacking and uncultured Woodfalls was. Everything about Seattle intrigued me, making me never want to leave, but Puget
Sound was by far my favorite thing about being there. On the weekends I would haul my laptop and textbooks down to one of the cafés on the waterfront. I would spend hours drinking coffee and working on schoolwork. That is, when people-watching didn’t distract me. That trait is something I had obviously inherited from my mom. Still, everything had been going along just the way I had imagined it would. It was liberating to be out from under my mom’s thumb and the prying eyes of everyone back home. Here I could be my own person, with my own life. Then everything went to hell. I met Justin Avery—the whirlwind hurricane who left my head spinning and my stomach dropping to my knees like I was on a roller coaster.

My thoughts were broken when a wave of water splashed up from the road, soaking my pants from the knees down. “Terrific,” I grumbled, looking down at the ruined pair of strappy sandals I had just bought. This was what I got for abandoning my typical attire of jeans and Converse shoes.

Stepping away from the offending curb before another rogue wave of nasty puddle water could finish the job, I focused on making it into the building without busting my ass, or, worse yet, breaking my neck. The fake leather that had seemed so smooth and comfortable when I bought the sandals was now doing a great impersonation of a roller skate. My toes were also threatening mutiny from the cold, only adding insult to injury. This was the gajillionth reason why I had vowed never to return to Seattle. The city and I had bad blood between us.

The only reason I was standing here now was for Melissa and Rob, my two best friends from college who had demanded
that I be here for their engagement party. I’d tried every feasible excuse I could come up with—“I’m sick,” “I’m out of the country,” “I can’t get off work.” No excuse seemed to stand up to Melissa’s bullshit meter.

“You’re one of our best friends. You have to be here,” Melissa insisted.

“No. I hate you. I’m not your friend. I never was your friend,” I said.

“I wish you could see the world’s smallest violin I’m playing for you right now. Come on. Pull on your big-girl panties and stop hiding.”

An uncomfortable silence interrupted the conversation before Melissa finally spoke up again. “I’m sorry, Brittni. I’m a bitch for even saying that. I just mean you can’t let what happened dictate your life forever,” Melissa had reasoned. “Besides, you’re my maid of honor. I need you. Just think of this trip as a test, like dipping your toes in water. Chances are you’ll hardly see him, and if you do, it’s not like you guys even have to talk.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“You mean you’ll see me lat—” Her words were cut off as I ended the call.

“Maybe” was the best answer I could give at the moment. The only hope I had left was my boss.

“It’s a good time to go since I’ll need you more next month,” Ms. Miller, my principal at Woodfalls Elementary, had stated. “Mary Smith has her wrist surgery scheduled for October and won’t be able to return to work until February. I swear, I’ve never seen someone so damn gleeful over a surgery. I’m sure it
has something to do with that god-awful book-reader thingy she got for Christmas. She’s always crowing about some new author she’s discovered,” Ms. Miller added, looking perplexed. “Me, I need an actual book in my hand, not some electronic doodad that will most likely come alive and kill me in my sleep.”

“I’m thinking now might be a good time to lay off the science fiction flicks,” I had countered dryly as I tried to squish the unease that had settled in the pit of my stomach. That was that. Ms. Miller was the only obstacle left. It seemed fate wanted me in Seattle.

Now, two weeks later, here I was with my shoes squishing across the tile floor of Columbia Center. It was glaringly obvious that nothing good could come from me returning to Seattle. I skirted around a security guard and headed for the women’s bathroom so I could survey the damage.

“Holy shit,” I muttered when I took in my appearance in the long expanse of mirrors that lined the wall. I looked like a drowned rat. My long hair, which I had painstakingly straightened earlier, had been replaced with my typical corkscrew curls that were the bane of my existence. “Damn,” I sighed as I pulled my compact from my purse so I could repair my makeup-streaked face. This was just another sign I shouldn’t be here. If my friend Rob hadn’t been expecting me for lunch, I would have chalked it up as a lost cause and headed back to my hotel. At the moment, I’d gladly trade my soaked clothing and frozen toes for solitude in my hotel room.

“Get a grip, wimp-ass,” I chastised myself out loud, ignoring a startled look from a form-fitting suit-clad woman before
she hustled out of the bathroom. “Yeah, keep moving. Nothing to see here but the freako talking to herself in the bathroom,” I said, grabbing a handful of paper towels to mop up my feet and legs. Tressa, my best friend back in Woodfalls, would have a field day if she saw what a mess I was, and Ashton, my other friend, would laugh and make a joke about it. I was supposed to be the one who never got frazzled and always held it together. Tressa was the more dramatic one of our trio. She made snap decisions often, never giving any thought to the consequences. Growing up, I was often left holding the short end of the stick in most of her escapades, but I didn’t care. I envied her fearless attitude. I could have used an ounce of her fearlessness at the moment. I was the cautious one. The overanalyzing, skeptical, glass-is-half-empty kind of girl. Only once had I thrown caution to the wind, and it had bitten me in the ass. That one mistake was never far from my mind. How could it be? I left town and ran back home because of it. Being back at the scene of my troubles didn’t help the situation. I needed to get my act together. Two years was a long time ago. I needed to buck up or whatever shit they say to get someone to stop freaking out.

I pulled my brush from my bag and ran it through my damp blond locks, cringing as it tugged through the tangled curls that had taken over my head. After a futile moment of trying to make my hair look more dignified and less like a refuge for wayward birds, I gave up and threw it in a clip, which at least made it so that I no longer looked like the bride of Frankenstein from those cheesy black-and-white movies. I added a layer of my favorite lipstick and finally felt halfway normal.

“You got this,” I said, pivoting around and striding out of the bathroom. I ignored the eruption of laughter from the two giggling girls who were entering as I was leaving. Obviously I would be their comedic relief for the day.

I straightened up, finding the backbone that had liquefied and all but disappeared the moment the plane’s wheels had touched down on the wet tarmac that morning. “Screw him. He doesn’t own the city. I have every right to be here,” I told myself as I headed for the long bank of elevators to the right of the bathrooms. A small crowd of people hurried onto one of the elevators as the doors slid open. I declined to join the overflowing box, waiting instead for the next elevator, which would be less crowded. Being closed in with a group of strangers wouldn’t cut it for me. I couldn’t stand being in confined spaces anyway, but elevators and I had a hate/hate kind of relationship. I hated them, and if the seventh-grade hand-crushing incident was any indication, they hated me too.

“No problem. The doors will open and you will step inside. Nice and easy,” I whispered to myself. I knew it would require all my will and strength to remain sane on the elevator as it carried me up fifty-two floors to Rob’s office. As is always the case with my luck, he couldn’t have been on the first five or so floors, making the stairs a viable option. N-o-o-o-o-o, it had to be practically up in the clouds.

The ding signifying the arrival of the next car prompted me out of my inner whine-fest. I took a deep breath as if I were about to jump into water before cautiously stepping aboard the elevator. I exhaled a sigh of relief as the doors slowly closed and
I found myself alone for the impending ride up. This was a good thing in case my hyperventilating, I-wish-I-sucked-my-thumb-or-at-least-had-a-stiff-drink elevator behavior decided to surface.

My relief was short-lived when a hand reached between the closing doors, causing them to reopen.

“You know, sticking your hand in like that can result in serious injury.” Personal experience had me pointing that out before the words locked in my throat.

All the air escaped from my lungs and I wheezed out a startled swear word as the elevator doors slid closed, trapping me inside with him. I would have gladly shared the ride with a couple of brain-starved zombies instead of him.

Our eyes locked as all the animosity and hatred from two years ago radiated off him in waves.

“Justin,” I squeaked out in a voice that was totally not my own.

“Selfish bitch,” he greeted me with venom dripping from each word as he punched the button for the fifty-second floor with the side of his fist.

I cringed as the elevator walls began to close in on me. I knew he hated me. He had all but shouted it in my face the very last time we’d been in the same vicinity. His eyes and words had cut me like razor blades. Every syllable had traveled across the quad until all the students who had been lounging around had turned to stare at us with morbid fascination.

Justin was the love of my life.