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The Wedding Date
Jennifer Joyce
A laugh-out-loud, feel-good romantic comedy perfect for fans of Jane Costello and Mandy Baggot!Will you…date me?Delilah James, singleton and smoothie-addict, has six months to find a date for her oldest friend’s wedding. Oh, and to prove to her ex, best man Ben, that she has totally moved on since he dumped her out-of-the-blue nine months, eight days and seventeen hours ago…So, with her two BFFs playing Cupid, Delilah launches herself into the high-tech, fast-paced and frankly terrifying world of dating. Luckily there’s the hot new guy at work, Adam Sinclair, to practice her flirting on – even if, as a colleague, he’s strictly off-limits!Yet time’s running out and date after disastrous date forces Delilah to tell a little white lie – and invent a fake boyfriend! But will her secret crush on Adam ruin everything? Does she even care about Ben anymore? And is it too late to untangle her web of lies and take a real date to the wedding…?
Will you…date me?
Delilah James, singleton and smoothie-addict, has six months to find a date for her oldest friend’s wedding. Oh, and to prove to her ex, best man Ben, that she has totally moved on since he dumped her out-of-the-blue nine months, eight days and seventeen hours ago…
So, with her two BFFs playing Cupid, Delilah launches herself into the high-tech, fast-paced and frankly terrifying world of dating. Luckily there’s the hot new guy at work, Adam Sinclair, to practice her flirting on – even if, as a colleague, he’s strictly off-limits!
Yet time’s running out and date after disastrous date forces Delilah to tell a little white lie – and invent a fake boyfriend! But will her secret crush on Adam ruin everything? Does she even care about Ben anymore? And is it too late to untangle her web of lies and take a real date to the wedding…?
A laugh-out-loud, feel-good romantic comedy perfect for fans of Jane Costello and Mandy Baggot!
Also by Jennifer Joyce: (#ulink_05c40ab0-c89c-58f5-aee6-281bbac39fdd)
The Mince Pie Mix-Up
The Wedding Date
Jennifer Joyce
Copyright (#ulink_ac82f134-b90b-5a05-b8f8-247984d2ba38)
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2016
Copyright © Jennifer Joyce 2016
Jennifer Joyce asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © June 2016 ISBN: 9781474047449
Version date: 2018-07-23
JENNIFER JOYCE
is a writer of romantic comedies. She’s been scribbling down bits of stories for as long as she can remember, graduating from a pen to a typewriter and then an electronic typewriter. And she felt like the bee’s knees typing on THAT. She now writes her books on a laptop (which has a proper delete button and everything). Jennifer lives in Oldham, Greater Manchester with her husband Chris and their two daughters, Rianne and Isobel, plus their bunnies Cinnamon and Leah and Jack Russell Luna. When she isn’t writing, Jennifer likes to make things – she’ll use any excuse to get her craft box out! She spends far too much time on Twitter, Pinterest and Instagram. You can find out more about Jennifer on her blog at jenniferjoycewrites.co.uk (http://jenniferjoycewrites.co.uk), on Twitter at @writer_jenn (https://twitter.com/writer_jenn) and on Facebook at facebook.com/jenniferjoycewrites (http://facebook.com/jenniferjoycewrites)
Thank you to my family for all your support, especially my mum, June and sister, Michelle, who have been patiently listening to me waffle about my writing for quite some time now. I’m not saying I’m going to stop waffling or anything, but thank you.
My husband, Chris is another waffle-listener, so massive thanks to him, especially as he rescued me from dating hell back in 2001. Thank you to our daughters, Rianne and Isobel, just for being you. Thank you to Charlotte Mursell and the HQ Digital UK team for helping me to make The Wedding Date into an actual, readable book.
Thank you to the wonderful people I’ve met through social media: Team Novelicious, the authors who take the time to chat to aspiring writers and offer encouragement (it means A LOT. Seriously) and all the book bloggers and book nerds who love to share their enthusiasm for reading.
Finally, thank you to all the readers who have taken a chance on my books. I still can’t quite believe people have plucked my book from all the squillions of books on offer. I only hope you enjoy The Wedding Date as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it.
For Chris, dating-hell-rescuer, and our daughters, Rianne and Isobel
Contents
Cover (#ud8f66dcd-8b2a-5314-a047-83fd4d3d985e)
Blurb (#u967f7cba-60a7-5b2f-8d96-a663a29503b2)
Book List (#u7f56360a-54c9-5c13-bb70-2eb8faedf000)
Title Page (#u1274d868-1668-5d62-b003-b69709d4f087)
Copyright (#u9bfdfa43-d7a2-5d81-bc29-4266b2b786bf)
Author Bio (#u18b28853-0de5-5a72-9143-1fa761bb45ea)
Acknowledgement (#u022032fa-0b59-5ea4-8802-9985df00ce7b)
Dedication (#u801f3e0e-5a6e-512a-adfb-614b13296b6b)
Chapter 1 (#u2237c94c-4b47-5409-92b9-c8ef4e664e4d)
Chapter 2 (#u1a09cf1d-59ce-5a08-8ce7-2d9ba7608bc4)
Chapter 3 (#ub3b2617c-a639-51c3-9e1b-a06b6e0797a3)
Chapter 4 (#u69aa0201-ea3d-532f-9e1e-5d42a9a944c8)
Chapter 5 (#uc21a7a3e-1e87-5948-a581-7e32283f9541)
Chapter 6 (#ufd7cb7dc-feec-5a50-b29e-47b1dd6adeb0)
Chapter 7 (#u8df5cb26-9b77-5dba-9f21-edbb8dfddb98)
Chapter 8 (#ub616101a-4696-5629-b1ec-5dcb6cd013fe)
Chapter 9 (#u6a9a0f1f-cb4d-5780-862b-6f5901017e86)
Chapter 10 (#u65b2d58a-f1e6-54ef-9589-4a6b89cc7b31)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_87871cb8-6d19-552f-966d-5732d20bb3f7)
Delilah
Text Message:
Ryan: My, my, my Delilah. Why, why, why Delilah?
Delilah: Bog off, Ryan
Ryan: You and your pussy cat lips!
Delilah: That’s the wrong song, you dweeb
I hitch up my skirt – why oh why did I choose to wear the tightest pencil skirt known to man this morning? – and scuttle along the pavement as the bus trundles towards the bus stop ahead. At least I’m wearing my ballet flats, as even attempting to run in heels would have been impossible. If I’m honest, the flat shoes weren’t part of a logical, well-thought-out plan. I didn’t know I’d be pelting along the main road, eyes fixed on the quickly approaching bus, as I’d dragged on my pencil skirt this morning, my toothbrush poking out of my mouth as I multi-tasked my getting-ready-for-work. Ah yes. That’s why I’d chosen the pencil skirt. It was the first thing my fingers made contact with as I stuck a hand in the wardrobe, fumbling for an outfit – any outfit – as I brushed my teeth with the other hand. I’d slept through my alarm (not my fault. Totally the responsibility of Dan the Barman for supplying me with drink after drink the night before. I mean, the guy was just doing his job and everything, but he should have known the consequences, really). So I was running late. Majorly late. And the ballet flats were just there, their sequins twinkling at me from the shoe rack. I’d shoved them on my feet before hurling my body into the bathroom to spit (in the sink), rinse and dump my toothbrush in the pot on the side.
So the ballet flats were quite a fortunate choice as I find myself running (as best as I can in the damn pencil skirt) towards the bus stop. I’m almost there. I can make it. As long as the driver isn’t a complete bum-wipe and puts his foot down, I can make it. I just need to –
Waaaah! Wonky pavement! I’m stumbling. Nope, I’m full-on falling. Arms flailing, strangled cry, thud. I’m on the ground. My knee is throbbing like a mother fudger and the bus is sailing past. I look up in time to see the smile twitching at the corner of the driver’s mouth, his eyes glinting in a mean-scumbag kind of way.
‘Oh, for fu–’
‘Are you all right, lovey?’ There’s a hand on my shoulder, which only makes the whole situation worse. Oh yes, it can get worse. Not only am I late for work (and now running even later), I’ve fallen to the ground with a witness. Not only have I hurt my knee (which really is stinging, FYI), I’ve also hurt my pride, which everybody knows is much more painful.
‘Yes. Thank you.’ I’m willing the owner of the voice to leave. Just go. Take your concern and skedaddle. Nothing to see here, ma’am. Nobody fell and humiliated themselves. ‘I’m fine. Ow!’ I’ve attempted to stand but it turns out hurt pride isn’t more painful than physical injury after all. I stumble as pain shoots from my knee, causing a little bit of swearing to escape my lips. But sod it. This hurts.
‘Come on, lovey. Come and sit down for a minute.’ A hand on my elbow steadies me and guides me towards the bus stop (which is only a tiny little hobble away. I would have made it if I hadn’t tripped over the chuffing pavement). ‘Oh dear. You’ve cut yourself.’
