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One More Step
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
One More Step
Foreword
A Meet Cute and Other Natural Disasters | Emma Scott
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
More from Emma Scott
Something Like Kismet | Ginger Scott
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
About Ginger Scott
Books by Ginger Scott
Love at First Fight | K.L. Grayson
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Follow K.L. Grayson
First Flight | Jessica Sorensen
First Flight
About the Jessica Sorensen
Something Wonderful | LK Farlow
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
LK Farlow
Opening Up | T.K. Rapp
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
The Ex-Dynamic | S.M. Soto
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Follow S.M. Soto
Bound | Cathlin Shahriary
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Want more of The Fae Realm?
About Cathlin
Acknowledgments
Saving Ava Grace | Julie Solano & Tracy Justice
Saving Ava Grace
Follow Julie Solano & Tracy Justice
The Story | Evan Grace
Chapter One
Chapter Two
About Evan Grace
Hail Mary | JB Salsbury
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
About JB Salsbury
Whatever it Takes | Gianna Gabriela
Whatever it Takes
Magical Show Down | K.F. Breene
Magical Show Down
About K.F. Breene
Rendezvous Dot Com | Lilly Wilde
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Lilly Wilde
Books from Lilly Wilde
Interception | Santana Blair
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Follow Santana Blair
The Bride | Devney Perry
The Bride
Follow Devney Perry
Leap Of Faith | Jaci Wheeler
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Epilogue
Follow Jaci Wheeler
Spy’s Heart | M. Lynn
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Follow M. Lynn
8°F | Debra Anastasia
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Kess | Tijan
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Tijan
Set Fire to the Sky | A.L. Jackson
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Follow A.L. Jackson
Kick off | Amy Daws
Kick Off
Follow Amy Daws
Call Me Heather | BB Easton
Call Me Heather
Books by BB Easton
About the Author
The Deal | Aleatha Romig
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
About Aleatha Romig
Saint | Colleen Hoover
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
About Colleen Hoover
Edited by Lillian Schneider, Marissa Taylor, and Murphy Rae
Cover design by Murphy Rae
Formatting by Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Author Services
Have you ever been curious how a writer’s mind works?
The Bookworm Box is proud to present ONE MORE STEP, an exciting and unique reading experience. Each of the twenty-six authors featured in this anthology were given the same first sentence. Where they took that first sentence was completely up to them.
Every story is different. No story is related.
demeaner
The only thing these stories have in common is their starting point. Each author showcased in this anthology was featured in The Bookworm Box charity during 2019. Each author has graciously donated their story so that 100% of profits from this anthology will be going to all the various charities The Bookworm Box is able to support because of you, the readers.
Good deeds, great reads.
A NOTE FROM COLLEEN HOOVER
When I first started this charity with my sisters Lin Reynolds and Murphy Rae, we had no idea how far it would really go. The little purple boxes we were packing in our living rooms eventually turned into a bookstore, an annual convention and now an anthology.
We owe a huge thank you to every person who has supported our charity, whether you’re new to us or you’ve been with us since day one. With your help and with your purchase of this anthology, we have been able to distribute well over a million dollars to hundreds of various charities.
The idea for this anthology came to me in 2015, before the charity had a team of people who could follow through with the necessary steps it would take to pull it off. Now that The Bookworm Box is staffed by people who are passionate about books and charity, we were finally able to put our heads together and bring this idea to fruition.
What’s unique about this anthology is that each author was given the same first sentence. It was up to me to create the first sentence. I didn’t think it would be that hard, but once I put pen to paper, I realized I didn’t know how each author would want to tell their story. I tend to write primarily using first person present tense, but not every author d
oes. It was a challenge to create a sentence that could then be turned into any tense, but once we had the sentence, the authors ran with it. And they ran in MANY different directions.
It was fascinating to see how one simple, short sentence could be turned into so many different things.
The authors who contributed to this anthology are some of the authors who were featured in our subscription boxes in 2019. We would love for this to become an annual tradition to showcase our contributors each year in different ways, while raising money for charity.
A huge thank you to each author who contributed their time and effort by donating a short story to our first Bookworm Box anthology. And a huge thank you to The Bookworm Box team for organizing this and getting it out into the world.
We hope you enjoy!
Sincerely,
Colleen Hoover
Good Deeds, Great Reads
A MEET CUTE AND OTHER NATURAL DISASTERS
* * *
EMMA SCOTT
PROLOGUE
“ONE MORE STEP would mean certain death.”
Asher, sitting beside me, snorted into his beer. “Please excuse Faith,” he said to our guests. “As I’m sure you’re aware, she has a slight tendency to exaggerate.”
I gave him a dark look but couldn’t conceal my smile. Asher Mackey’s ridiculous excess of charm and extreme hotness—especially that night, dressed up in a dark button-down and slacks—made it impossible to stay irritated with him.
That’s love for you, I thought, warmth flooding me. Turns you into a sap.
Asher was sitting on the lush carpet with his back to my chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He glanced up at me, and his dark eyes read the thoughts in mine. His own glance mellowed to something warm and soft. For me.
I wasn’t used to having a man look at me with his heart and soul naked and alight in his eyes. My pulse kicked up a notch every time he did it.
Which was frequently.
My ex-fake-fiancé-turned-BFF, Silas Marsh, (long story) and his husband, Max, exchanged knowing smiles from their side of the living room in my Queen Anne condo in Seattle. The city skyline rose up behind them through my bay windows, glittering in the gray light of dusk.
“Anyway,” I said. “I am not exaggerating. That hike was no picnic. There were many drop-offs where one wrong step would most certainly plummet the unwary hiker to her doom.”
Asher smirked. “It’s not that bad a hike. Unless you’re danger-prone and not wearing proper footwear.” He coughed into his fist.
I fixed my man with a hot look. “Who is telling this story? You or me?”
“It’s how we met,” Asher said. “I’m allowed some input. Otherwise, you’re likely to say that a dinosaur popped out of the ferns, or that you saw Big Foot.”
I ignored him and sipped my wine. “Speaking of dinosaurs, this hike was one where they filmed Jurassic Park. Despite my mishap, I still maintain it’s one of the most beautiful spots on earth.”
Asher smiled appreciatively. He loved it when anyone said something complimentary about his adopted home, Hawaii.
“And it’s where I met this big lug,” I said, leaning down to kiss him on his stubbly cheek. “That helps.”
Asher’s hand slid up to my calf. “That makes it my favorite place on earth.”
Damn him.
I wasn’t a fan of things like “emotions” and “feelings” and “being vulnerable to another person because you love them so much you can hardly see straight.”
But here I was.
Silas, ever impatient, shifted on the couch beside Max. “Well? Did you plummet to your doom or not?”
Sweet Max—dark-haired to Silas’s gold; compassionate to Silas’s grouchy—chuckled and sipped his seltzer water. “I’m going to guess no.”
I huffed. “Obviously not. Now all of you hush up and let me tell you what happened.”
ONE
I’VE ALWAYS HATED mud.
Unless I’m paying someone to smear it on my skin in an expensive spa while soaking in a hot bath while essential oils lace the New Age-music-laden air, no thank you. Now, my legs were covered to the knees, and my cute pre-Hawaii pedicure was ruined. Mud squelched between my toes, and I cursed the makers of the sandals I was wearing.
“All-terrain, my ass.”
All along this two-mile hike through one of Kauai’s lush forests, I’d spent more time slipping and sliding while climbing over rocks and tree roots than I had enjoying the scenery and finding my inner peace.
“Just breathe,” I muttered to myself after nearly slipping for the hundredth time. “Almost there.”
The sound of the second of two waterfalls on this trail could be heard rushing through the forest. I imagined sitting on the rocks in front of the falls—just like the picture in the brochure at my rented condo. I’d sit still for a change and quiet my mind. Try to find some mental equilibrium.
I’d come to Kauai alone, to escape the hustle and bustle of Seattle life, and my job at the ad agency. More than just city life, I needed a break from my life. I was stuck in a rut of cocktail parties, meaningless sex, and shopping, peppered with a few hours of work now and then.
And it was frequently wine o’clock.
I lived a perfect life of leisure, made easier by my multi-billionaire BFF, Silas Marsh, bankrolling said lifestyle.
It was time for a change. A revolution. Three solid weeks on the remotest island in Hawaii was just what I needed.
“But this was not in the brochure,” I muttered as I used my walking stick to push my way over a slippery patch of slick, mud-covered rocks.
A few hikers passed me, all wearing better gear on their feet.
“I missed the memo,” I said, and then let out a squeal as my feet slipped in different directions like a newborn deer’s. I landed with a hard thud on my ass, mud splattering all over my tight designer athletic pants, a blue and purple flower print.
“Shit.”
I was about to call it quits, but from my lower vantage, I could see the waterfalls through a part in the trees. Quitting now would be silly. I’d still have the two mile return trip, and no waterfall selfies to show for it.
I hauled myself to my feet, hating the way the mud dampened my ass and the backs of my legs, and picked my way carefully down the trail. I was nearly there—I could see other hikers splashing in the water and taking photos on a plateau of dry rock in front of the falls under a clear blue sky. Spirits bolstered, I kept going.
Only one more hurdle awaited: a short drop, down from a rocky outcropping to the ground and the waterfall. I sat down on the ledge and scooted off. It was only a half-foot drop, but the rocks were slick, and my “hiking” sandals were coated with mud. I landed and then a yelp escaped me as my right foot slid out from under me. It bent sideways in a way a healthy ankle is not meant to bend.
Then I did more than yelp.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” I panted as pain lanced up my leg and I landed on my ass—again.
Gingerly, I held my calf and examined my foot. My ankle, naked but for the Velcro sandal straps, already looked as if it were pregnant with a golf ball. The skin was stretched and shiny.
“No, no, no,” I breathed, mild shock constricting my lungs. For a few agonized moments, I could only sit and let the pain wash over me in waves, trying not to cry.
“Are you okay?” called a middle-aged dad who looked like Rob Reiner. He picked his way carefully over the rocks from where his two tween sons were splashing each other in front of the falls. “Oh dang,” he said, eyeing my ankle. “I’d say not. What can I do?”
“I have to get out of here. Help me up?” I said, reaching out my hand.
The guy looked dubious. “You sure?”
“I gotta get off the ground.”
The guy helped me to stand, and I let out a cry as I nearly slipped again. The man caught me, saving me from another tumble. I repaid him by covering his white shorts with mud as I crashed against him.
&nbs
p; “Whoa, hey. I got you.”
I pressed my lips together, willing the tears to back down. My ankle throbbed, and I clutched the guy’s arm as I glanced up the way I had come. “Impossible.”
“Yeah, I think you should sit down. Is someone here with you? Someone you can call?”
“No,” I said, feeling unbearably lonely and stranded. “No one close.”
Rob Reiner 2.0 helped me hop painfully to a chair-level rock and I sat down. I wished longingly for Silas. I could call him. He’d jump in one of his private jets to rescue me—and be here in about six hours.
I pulled my phone out of my mud-splattered backpack. No reception.
The guy rubbed his beard. “You’re not going to have bars down here. I’ll climb up to a higher level and call emergency services.”
“No, you don’t have to.” I jabbed at my phone. “I’m sure I’ll get reception soon.”
He smiled kindly at me. “You need help. I’m going.”
I slumped on my rock chair. “Okay. Thank you.”
“No prob.”
The guy wrangled his sons and they all three went climbing back up the trail and out of sight. I sat for who-knew-how-long waiting, a second heartbeat throbbing in my ankle that now looked like it had swallowed a softball.
Other hikers picked their way around me, to and from the falls, some stopping to wince at my ankle on my behalf.
“That doesn’t look fun,” said one helpful commenter.
I bit back a smart-ass remark. My ankle ached, and I just wanted to get the hell out of here. But, holy shit, how?
Rob Reiner 2.0 returned (and introduced himself as Sam) saying that the EMTs were on their way.
I smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Sam.”
“No problem, sweetheart.”
He and his sons resumed playing in the water. I suspected he and his family had seen their fill of the falls but were hanging around for my sake.
Finally, three men in combat boots, wearing dark blue uniforms with FIRE written in bright yellow across the front, surrounded me. The whirring sound of a helicopter sounded from above.
“How we doing, miss?”
“Never better.”
I brushed my blond hair out of my eyes to glance up at the guy nearest me. My eyes widened as his full magnificence fell over me like a ray of heavenly light.
Because, of course, I meet a guy who looks like the mold for the perfect man while I’m helpless and covered in mud.