The Trouble With Paradise Read Free

the west end of the San Fernando Valley. The mixers there did indeed include single, professional men. All retired, all wannabe golf pros, and all hair and teeth challenged. “Thanks, Mom, but I’m busy.”
    “Do you know what your problem is?”
    No, but she had a feeling she was about to hear it. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we do this later? We’ll sit around and pop some popcorn and list all my faults, promise. But for now I’ve really got to get to work before my boss blows a gasket.”
    “You’re scared of commitment.”
    Actually, she was scared of dancing with old guys with wandering hands. She was not scared of commitment.
    The truth was she was scared she’d never get a chance to make a commitment, not with her social handicap.
    “And don’t take this wrong, honey, because I have only your best interests at heart, but you’re too picky.”
    Dorie rubbed her left eye, which was now twitching freely. “Mom, I’ve really got to—”
    “Don’t hang up—”
    “Love you.” With a wince for the lecture that she knew would be headed her way the next time they spoke, Dorie shut her phone, which immediately vibrated again.
    All Continental Resorts.
    The excitement came back in a flash, and her heart leapt into her throat, which was silly because what could she have possibly won? “Hello?” she said breathlessly.
    “Dorie Anderson?”
    “Yes.”
    “My name is Peter Wells, and I’m pleased to tell you that you’ve won a fabulous prize.”
    “Really?”
    “Brace yourself now, because you’re about to scream for joy.”
    Uh, doubtful. She wasn’t much of a screamer. Sally said it was because Dorie didn’t let go enough, but she thought it was mostly because she hadn’t had sex in two years and she couldn’t remember much about the screaming factor.
    Sally believed that not having sex was bad for the skin and bad for the body, and that certain parts of said body could actually shrivel up and fall off from neglect.
    Dorie didn’t want to lose any parts, that was certain, but the guys weren’t exactly beating down her door.
    Still, she couldn’t help but yearn for the occasional scream of joy—or otherwise.
    “Dorie Anderson?”
    “Yes, I’m here.”
    “Prepare yourself. This isn’t just any contest win, this is a special, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
    He was clearly reading from something, and Dorie waited eagerly for him to get to the point. Maybe she’d won a new coffeemaker. Or a blender . . .
    “You’ve just won a weeklong, all expenses paid trip on a sailing yacht, amongst the small, intimate, beautiful islands of—”
    “Ohmigod. The Bahamas?”
    “Fiji.”
    Definitely more than a toaster. This couldn’t really be happening. Could it? “You mean the South Pacific Fiji?”
    “Is there another?”
    “Just clarifying.”
    “Yes, the South Pacific. You and a handful of others will be spending most of your time on a luxurious sailing yacht, complete with a captain, chef, and crew hand, and in return all you need to do is attend a seminar on the joys of resort sailboat ownership—”
    Ah, there it was. The scam. How disappointing. “Look, thank you, but if you have a toaster or a coffeemaker—”
    “You don’t want to go to Fiji?”
    “I don’t want to buy anything, not today.”
    “No purchase required, Dorie Anderson.”
    Okay, his use of her full name was beginning to creep her out.
    “You filled out a form at Roger’s Gym last week, correct?”
    She had. Her sister had bought Dorie a membership for her birthday. She’d taken a yoga class where everyone but herself could balance on one leg with their other wrapped around their neck like a pretzel.
    Dorie, on the other hand, had fallen flat on her face.
    Lying there humiliated on the mat, amongst a few snickers and some pitying looks, she’d decided she was better off dressing to hide the extra few pounds rather than make a fool out of herself again.
    “Take a week off and pack your bags, Dorie