The last place Fern wants to be is back home as the Maid of Honor in her cousin’s wedding.

She’s at a cabin by herself for a few days getting ready for a bachelor/bachelorette party weekend when rough and tough Gabe bursts through the door. Thinking he’s an intruder, she starts throwing punches, causing a brawl in the kitchen. She finds out he’s a professional hockey player and a teammate of her brother.

Fern doubts every instinct she has due to her horrid past decisions with men, but after a few days of mind-blowing chemistry, they hatch up a secret “weekend pass” option so they can be close. But after an out-of-control bachelor/bachelorette weekend, a high-speed chase, and bar brawls, Fern hears a shocking conversation, causing her to bolt.

Gabe finds her and persuades her for another chance at the same time her brother finds out, and all hell breaks loose. After an unexpected twist and a decision that ends up with her bringing a fake date to the wedding, the bride disappears with cold feet. Fern has no option but to turn to Gabe to help find the bride in time.

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Release Date: June 23, 2025
Genre: Contemporary

A Pink Satin Romance

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Excerpt

 

It was go time.

I put my ear buds in before looking around the kitchen, grateful to the tips of my toes that I had three days before the wedding party arrived for the bachelor/bachelorette shindig to complete my stupid projects. Thank God, my brother knew what a crappy Maid of Honor I was and arranged for a little extra time for me to complete the Pinterest tasks once I finally landed back in Minnesota. While I didn’t know the dude who owned the place I was in, the cabin sat an hour outside of St. Paul surrounded by a forest with a frozen lake out back; it reminded me how much I missed the state I’d grown up in.

The kitchen floor of the cabin had been converted into a meadow of white flowers that I was attempting to use my hot glue gun to stick onto foam boards that leaned against the wall to provide a magical photo backdrop at my cousin’s wedding. Whoever invented Pinterest should burn in hell like my poor little thumb.

I pulled up my “kicking ass” playlist, with everything from Olivia Rodrigo and Adele to Noah Kahan and Taylor and was ready to slay my projects. Okay, not slay, more like muddle through with a mediocre result, but I was in it to win it.

As my head bobbed to my tunes, I felt a presence. I whipped around to see a man wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood up over his head inches from me. Screaming doesn’t cover what shot out of my mouth in an octave I wasn’t even aware I could hit. Dude put his hands up.

This was it. This was the day I would die in a cabin in the middle of nowhere as the serial killer would then chop me into pieces right there in the kitchen.

Lucky for me, survival mode kicked in. A split second later, my left fist hit his nose while the right nailed his eye. My foot whipped up and kicked him in the balls with all the might I had before he crashed to the floor with a thunderous thud.

“Don’t move, or I’ll kill you!” My voice was shrill, and I grabbed a toaster from the counter and hurled it at him.

I zipped to my purse and dumped the contents on the counter. I grabbed the little pink can of mace and ran back over to the fella who was rocking side to side while cupping his family jewels.

His eyes were closed, and I leaned forward to shoot him with my liquid protector before I’d call the police, but nothing came out of the can. I shook it and looked at the nozzle and then shot myself in the face. MACE IN MY FACE!

I heard myself screeching as my face caught on fire. Instant tears streaming, snot dripping, with a new inability to get oxygen in my lungs. I blinked hard, realizing I needed to get myself out the door because I had just incapacitated myself for the serial killer. Clearly, the word of the day was fuck.

I wiped my eyes and took a step toward where I thought my keys may be when my ankle was yanked hard, causing my body to slam into the floor with such force I swore a bone somewhere must’ve busted.

I scooted blindly on my stomach toward the door. A hand grabbed my leg while panic pumped through my veins at the same time visions of my funeral whipped through my cranium. My poor mama crying her eyes out while she clung to Madam Fluffypants, the family cat, who was wearing a knit sweater dress my mom made her to match my humiliating crocheted jumpsuit.

Sorry, Mom, you were right...a girl alone at a cabin was the worst idea ever. See ya on the other side.

“Let go of me!” I kicked with all my might.

“Ouch! Stop!” boomed out from the man behind me.

I pulled a kitchen chair out so hard it hit my lip, and I instantly tasted a little blood. “Son of a bitch!” I pushed it to the ground, fairly certain it landed on my attacker, and got to my knees while more coughing kicked in as the mace crawled deeper into my lungs.

Snot was dangling from my nose when there was suddenly a hand on each of my ankles, and in an instant, I was being dragged along the kitchen floor on my tummy.

“Leeggooo!” I squirmed, but his grip was tight. “Fuuuccckkk!”

I was flipped on my back, and he sat on my stomach holding me still. But not my arms. I was swinging and made contact with a scruffy beard and dug my fingernails of one hand into his face while slapping him silly with the other. If CSI had taught me one thing, it’s to get some shit under your fingernails so they could track down my killer.

“Ouch! Stop it,” a deep, husky voice that shook the room ordered. “This is my cabin!”

“Huh?” My face was saturated with my tears which you’d think would be washing the mace out of my eyeballs, but I was as blind as a bat.

He got hold of my wrists, held them firmly above my head and pinned me to the floor. I was the weak mouse dropped into the cage of a python. Powerless.

“Why the fuck are you in my house?” he hissed, and I felt his hot breath on my neck.

The burn in my face was almost debilitating as my skin throbbed. I closed my eyes, hoping the stabbing would subside.

“Shit. I’m Dave Novotny’s sister, Fern. He said I could come here to finish some wedding projects. I assumed he told whoever the hell owned this place that I was coming.” My heart was sprinting. “I’m going to kill him.”

I was instantly released, a little surprised when I was picked up and set on a chair.

“He did not tell me.” I jumped as I felt the stranger’s breath on my face. “I’ll kill him first.”

My hands went to my cheeks. “I think I’m dying.”

I heard him moving around but kept my eyes closed, trying to breathe through the mace pain, and used my sleeve to get the snot hanging out of my nose. At this point, death didn’t sound all that bad.

Another yell escaped me before my breath was taken away yet again when milk was cascaded over my head. I gasped and choked as it seeped into my mouth, nose, and ears, but the first moment of relief registered in my brain while the pain eased a little.

Once the milk flood stopped, a towel was placed in my hand, and I dabbed my face that was still as hot as a jalapeno. I blinked, but my vision was blurry.

The thick silence reminded me that I was clearly an unwelcome guest in this man’s cabin. I needed to get the hell out. “I’m really sorry about the mix up here. As soon as I can see again, I’m outta here.”

“No, I’ll go.” His voice was gravelly and oozed anger.

“I insist.” I groaned as my eyelids still burned, and I could feel swelling. “I want to get the hell out of this place now. I hate it here.”

“It’s not the cabin’s fault you’re crazy.”

I gasped. “Me crazy?”

“Who in the hell starts punching people without asking who they are? You deserved to get maced for your reckless behavior. I could’ve killed you!” His words were sharp, and I hated him with every fiber of my fucked-up being.

I turned in the direction of the horrible human being. “Or I could’ve killed you!”

He gave me a huff. “Right.”

“You’re an asshole.” I wiped my eyes again and spun around in my chair, wanting to get a glimpse of the dick in front of me, but no such luck. “Who doesn’t announce their presence instead of sneaking up behind someone?”

A sarcastic laugh filled the room, making me want to beat this person with a frying pan. “I tried, but you couldn’t hear me. You were probably listing to Taylor Swift shit like an airhead.”

Gasp. “You just shut your face! She’s a poet, but you’re just too small-minded to know that.”

“Whatever.” I heard him turn on the kitchen faucet.

“Well, my sight will be returning soon so consider me gone!” I was now able to see shadows and felt my way to the counter. I found my keys and attempted to shove my handbag contents back inside but could hear everything falling on the floor so I just grabbed my wallet, knowing I could replace the rest. I’d just sit in my car until I could see enough to drive. It was a shitty plan, but the best I could think of. I turned in the direction I believed he was in. “Peace out.”

I shuffled over to where the door was, but instead walked into the wall then felt his hand on my arm.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was rigid and impatient.

“You’re not the boss of me.” I squirmed out of his grasp. “I do whatever I want. And I want to be as far away from here as possible.” I turned to exit, and my face slammed into the wall for the second time in the last twenty seconds. Word of the day again?

“As much as I want your ass as far away from here as possible, you’ll likely break your neck tumbling down the stairs, and then I’ll have to deal with Dave. Clearly, you’re just one big shit show. You’re staying.”

“I will not stay in the same house as a douche-baggy prick like you.” I hadn’t realized my teeth were clenched together.

“You’re the one who assaulted yourself with mace.” His tone was flat.

I opened my mouth to say something, but at that second, I was scooped up and thrown over the guy’s shoulder.

“You put me down!”

He laughed. “Let’s just get you to your room so I don’t have to listen to another word out of your mouth, okay?”

After a few seconds, I was startled when I landed on my bed. “I am leaving as soon as I—”

He huffed. “Do you ever shut up?”

I was going to answer, but realized it was a trap.

“Your brother will murder me if I let the sister he seems to like roam off.” He inhaled deeply. “You do what you have to in order to recover from whatever the hell just happened in the kitchen. I’m going to my room for some well-earned quiet time in my home. We’ll figure out who leaves in the morning. Got it?”

My vision was clearing enough to see the outline of the tall man with dark brown hair and broad shoulders. I knew the Minnesota Wild hockey players by their appearances more so than names so it would do no good to ask him which one he was. Bottom line, he was the asshole from the Wild.

 

* * *

 

I got to my room, still trying to wrap my mind around what had just transpired. Once in the bathroom, I shook my head at the reflection staring back at me.

I grabbed tissues to clean off the blood from her fingernails. WTF, right? Luckily my light beard hid some of the damage except for a good gash beside my eye and a few on my cheeks; she could’ve blinded me for God’s sake. And the eye was already bruising. A black eye from the crazy chick down the hall. Perfect.

I knew Novots was a fighter. Clearly, his sister was too. Holy shit, I’d never been in a scuffle with a woman.

The girl must’ve gotten her sight back as I heard the shower in the hall bathroom running. I wondered if water would help or hurt when it came to her face.

I changed into sweats and lay on my bed watching ESPN. I opened my door in case she needed something, but it was silent out in the hall.

I Googled mace in the face, and it sounded like she was going to be okay. But was she still in pain? I knew my words were harsh, but in my defense, I hadn’t expected a brawl in the kitchen.

After a quiet hour more, I walked to her door and tapped on it. “Hello? Fern?”

“Yes.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“Uh, I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay? Do you need anything?”

A pause. “I’m fine.”

I stood for a moment, not certain why I wanted her to open the door. “Are you hungry or anything? I’m having groceries delivered tomorrow, but—”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. Well, I’m turning in.”

“Night.” It was short and quiet.

I groaned as I remembered the disastrous milk bath I’d given Fern in the kitchen, milk being the most effective way on hand to stop the sting of the mace. My education on that consists of seeing rioters on the news; yes, I know lots of stuff. I went downstairs and cleaned off the floor with paper towels and nearly killed myself rummaging through the storage closet from Hell to track down a mop. I swept up what seemed to be thousands of fake white flowers on the other side of the kitchen and unplugged two glue guns before grabbing the bottle of Jack from the cabinet, the only decent sleep aid I’d found.

It was getting late, and I knew I needed to go to bed, but I dreaded the darkness every night. I dreaded sleep. That was when she visited.

I went back upstairs, turned off the TV, and climbed under the covers. I bought the cabin a year after she died, seeking peace. It brought me some, but even here, night would sometimes hold me hostage with dreams of her lifeless body over and over again. I took several deep breaths, praying for rest as I dozed off.

The frigid air bit at me as I walked through the dark cemetery. I found her rose-colored tombstone and brushed the snow off the top of it. I leaned in close to see the photo with her blonde hair and brown eyes smiling back at me. I dropped to my knees in front of her and traced the butterflies under Amy Wolkowski, Beloved Wife and Daughter with my finger. “Hi, baby girl.” The back of my eyes burned. “I can't believe it's been three years today. Three shitty, wasted years. Not what I imagined the day I married you.” 

Like a movie I'd seen a million times, images filled my mind. Hauntingly clear, as I could smell her perfume and feel her hands on my arms. I looked up, and there she was, standing next to her grave, that smile piercing my heart. 

“Do you remember that day? I honestly didn't think your old man was going to let go of your hand, but he did. He somehow forgave the times in high school he caught me pulling my truck up under your window so you could climb down and sneak away with me for hours.” She stared down at me as my vision blurred. “Listening to old Van Halen while cruising down Robert Street was amazing. When it came to you, all I needed was a miracle, and I got it. When you said you'd marry me, I promised to protect you.” My breath hitched in my ribs. “If I hadn't been late, if I'd come to get you, everything would be right.”

The pain poured out while I fought the lump in my throat. The years had gone by in slow motion. The only relief from thoughts of her was the saving grace of hockey. “I miss you so much. I feel alone all the time. It's supposed to get easier, or at least that's what everyone says.” But they’re wrong. I've had the love of my life, I'd had it all, and it was gone. There was nothing for me. 

I despised my quiet apartment in the city, the place where my mind ran in dark circles, not letting me escape. Night would strangle me with dreams of her over and over again relentlessly. Hockey and being on the Minnesota Wild, along with booze, were the only things that kept me from imploding all together. I trace her smile with my finger. “I don't think things will get better.” I looked over to see her walking away and disappearing into the night. “I don’t think I want to be here anymore, Amy. I think I'm done.”

My words hung in the frozen air for a moment before a gust of wind came out of nowhere. A large branch from the tree above dropped onto my head with a kurplunk. My laughter followed, echoing around me. “Are you kidding me right now? How can you still make your point better than anyone?” I stood and looked down at her photo. “I hear you, and I'll try. But help me, Amy. Show me a sign. Send me something so I know I can find the light at the end of this thing. It's been so dark for so long. Please show me.” 

I awoke with the familiar restlessness as the dark cloud that followed me was already by my side. The one person who could’ve pushed me through was my mother, the one who adopted me when I was her foster kid, but she died of breast cancer the year before Amy’s accident. The women who loved me always left me.

But it was time to channel her energy. She and Amy were strong, and I needed to be that. I had to do something different. It was a new day, and I was pushing forward. I needed to stop medicating myself with alcohol. I’d managed to keep all the balls in the air, professional hockey and life, but I wouldn’t be able to pull that off forever. Jack Daniels had become my bestie and confidante, but it was time to shut him down. Last call.

I hopped in the shower and was a little hesitant to go downstairs. I’d always assumed I’d live out most situations in my life, but I didn’t know how to react to a woman I was pulling around my kitchen floor on her stomach after she threw fists and maced herself.

I quietly entered to see her working on some large foam flowery thing with her back toward me. White flowers were everywhere again, and she was using a hot glue gun to stick them on the foam boards. My eyes took in the way her black leggings hugged her ass, and the jet-black hair that hung past the center of her back.

She stomped her hot pink slippered foot as she whisper-yelled, “Questo cazzo di merda fa schifo!”I held in a laugh. I’d been friends with Novots even before we were on the Wild together and had met Fern’s mother many times. She was a full-blooded Italian and a firecracker at that. Dave had used some questionable Italian in dealing with opposing hockey players and even a few refs, but without a translation dictionary, he’d just skate away with a grin.

I took a step in her direction when a siren went off in my brain, reminding me that startling this one was a bad idea. I cleared my throat and put my hands in the air to ensure I was no threat.

She whipped around, and I was almost as startled as when she hit me. Her bright blue eyes almost seemed to glow in contrast with her dark hair. She had a cut above her lip and a small bruise above her eyebrow from our brawl, along with her skin being slightly pink. You know, from the mace and all.

Through all the punching, kicking, scratching, and milk pouring last evening, I hadn’t gotten a good look at the woman I was fighting with.

Her blue eyes bore into me as she stood with the hot glue gun in one hand and a flower in the other. There was no smile as her eyes traveled my face. “Oh my gosh. I did all that?”

I nodded. “I’ve made a mental note that I need to wear a bell when around you.”

She cracked a smile. “I apologize. I thought Dave would’ve let you know I was coming a few days before this weekend.” She looked shy. “While we’ve never met, I’d know Lucky Number Thirteen anywhere.”

Lucky Number Thirteen. After about a year, I chose the therapy of women and liquor to help me cope with Amy’s death. Both shitty options. The press referred to me as that during my time entertaining some actresses and models era, and it’d stuck.

Her grin slugged something in my middle as I took a few steps and extended my hand. “Gabe Wolkowski.”

“I’m Fern. I’ve been out of the country during hockey seasons the past few years so I catch what I can on TV.”

Her hand slid into mine, and I swear her cheeks grew a few shades pinker before she pulled it away quickly.

“I’m a nurse and not used to causing injuries. I feel awful.”

I leaned against the counter. “No worries. I startled you.” I pointed, “I’m sorry about your cut. I guess we were both caught off guard.”

The following silence made her nervous as those blue eyes shot around the room.

“I, uh, I know I said I was leaving this morning, but I have several bridesmaid things I have to do for Tawnee’s wedding in a few weeks. That’s why I came here before the weekend thing.”

I could’ve made it easy on her, but I stood silently looking at the pretty girl.

“I’m in a real bind here, and since I unloaded all this crap—”

“I can help you load it back up. No biggie.” I was enjoying this way too much. Why was I trying to push her buttons?

“Oh, well, thank you for that.” She cleared her throat. “But I can’t do all this at my parent’s house because Tawnee stops over all the time, and she sort of thinks I’ve already completed all this stuff.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “So you lied to the bride?”

She waved her glue gun in the air. “No, it’ll all be done by the time I see her again so not really a lie.” She inhaled deeply, which I liked very much. “May I please stay here and finish up my wedding projects?”

“I don’t know. You were a little crazy last night.”

She gasped.

“Kind of like a maniac.” I tried not to smile. “I don’t know if I want a maniac sleeping under the same roof as me.”

“I promise you I’m not a maniac. Now my cousin is a maniac. She gave all the bridesmaids things we have to do. I have to make a big floral photo backdrop.” She pointed to the foam boards just as two flowers dropped to the floor. “I don’t know any of the bridesmaids except for my brother’s girlfriend Liv, and I’m sure they’re Pinterest queens, and I suck because I’m Fern.”

“That’s kind of harsh.” I grabbed a cup from the cabinet and poured myself coffee.

“I believe my name is likely the root of my problems. If my name was anything perky, I’d slay Pinterest. But I’m Fern Ethel Novotny. I like science, fishing, and the outdoors. It’s because of these things I stink at making wedding decorations and will look like a loser this weekend.”

“They should just buy their wedding stuff.”

She nodded. “I know, right?”

“Well, I’d hate for you to look like a loser. So if staying would prevent that, I guess I’m okay with it.” I took a sip. “I could even help a little if you want.”

“Are you kidding me?” A little smile slid across her perfectly plump lips.

“Sure. I can work a glue gun like a bad ass.”

She cocked her head. “A badass? Really?”

“Abso-freaking-lutely.”

Her brow popped. “You know, I was just about to find some breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“What’s on the menu? Groceries aren’t delivered until later so not much of a selection.”

“Well, I have a full day of failing bridesmaid duties to get to so how about something easy?”

“Okay by me.” I grinned from a seat at the table.

She walked over and pulled open the pantry door. “Yes, slim pickings over here.” She looked at me over her shoulder and almost caught me staring at her ass again. “The only decent option would be Lucky Charms and, uh, a beer?”

“I like the way you think, Fern Ethel.”

For the next twenty minutes, we ate our dry cereal and sipped Miller Lite while our eyes darted between her iPad screen and the floral backdrop we were trying to revive.

 

* * *

 

I snuck a peek, and he was so handsome it made me a little wiggly and giggly.

Not only because his dark brown hair made those magical green eyes pop, but the fact that he had a hockey scar under his chin and another at his hair line that screamed he was a sucker for the game I loved. Not to mention the way his jeans did him all sorts of favors. That didn’t hurt either. But it was the sexy grin that made me imagine being held up against a wall somewhere as his eyes flashed before he—stop it!

While I’d never met Gabe personally until today, his reputation was something I’d seen online along with the rest of the big old world. About two years ago, the media dubbed him as the hockey philandering playboy, Lucky Number Thirteen, after being spotted with a few actresses here and there. Then the paparazzi got a clear shot of him peeing drunk and shirtless outside of a Taco Bell, highlighting the good stuff. Maybe not his best day, but he was dubbed GOP (God of Pleasure) for better or worse. He’d had some great hockey seasons since, and the attention had shifted a little more toward that game.

I pointed to my bags on the counter. “To top it off, once I’m done with this thing, I have to use adhesive to glue glass candlesticks together to make freaking towers.”

“One item at a time.” He chuckled at my animated gestures that I clearly needed to get a grip on. “Let’s nail this stupid flowery drop and then hit the candle stick thingy, okay?” He scooped up some flowers from the kitchen floor and tucked one behind my ear. “Now that looks pretty.”

I grabbed one from the table and tucked it behind his ear while singing. “You think I’m pretty.”

“Yes, I do.”

I bit my lip and realized how dangerous he truly was as his brow popped up at the same time I felt a little tingle dance down my spine.

It took a full hour, but we got every last flower stuck onto the two foam boards, and guess what? It looked flipping fantastic. We stepped back and admired our work.

He nodded. “We are pretty good. I assume the boxes contain the candle sticks?” He took off his sweatshirt that left him wearing a red tee. As he pulled it over his head, the T-shirt slid up, and I got a quick peek at some amazing looking abs I’d like to check out closer. No, can’t check out the abs. He’s above our pay grade!

“You got it.” I grabbed the adhesive out of my True Value bag on the counter before flipping through my phone. “Okay, Tawnee sent me pictures of what the towers should look like.”

He stepped close and examined my phone screen while I side-eyed his bicep that I could imagine being all flexed as he held himself above me. It was at that time whatever cologne I’d been enjoying today tickled me again, and suddenly I wanted to tickle him. What in the hell was wrong with me?

“We’ve got some work to do.” He clapped his hands together, and I jumped. He started moving the glassware out of the boxes and onto the table. “Why don’t you lube it up, and I’ll do the rest.” He bit his lip to hold back a laugh and awaited my reaction.

“You’re disgusting.” I rolled my eyes as he gave me a smirk.

“You wish you thought I was disgusting.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out but a little squeak. It was true.

He grabbed a candlestick and held it out to me. “Lube it up, baby.”

I followed his direction, trying to push the goofy grin off my face but failed.

 

 

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