This refreshing romantic comedy with a spiritual twist will appeal to fans of Kristen Billerbeck and Tracey Bateman.

Jessie is a big believer in love, but although she's spent her whole life fantasizing about what her marriage proposal would be like, reality has yet to match her dreams. Until one day God shows up and offers to write Jessie's love story for her. There's just one catch: she must surrender all control. When she does, Jessie discovers that divine things can happen when we let go.


From the Compact Disc edition.

You don't know me yet, so there is no reason you should care that I'm stuck on a highway with a blow out. But maybe we can relate to each other. Maybe you can understand that when I say, "Everything goes my way," I'm being sarcastic. Not that I'musually dependent on such a primitive form of communication. I'm actually not very cynical at all. I'm more of a glass-half-full-of-vitamin-infused-water person. Sometimes I even believe that if I dream something, or at least journal it, it will happen. But today, at eight forty-five in the morning, as the sun bakes me like a cod against the blacktop of the Pacific CoastHighway, I'm feeling a bit sarcastic.


It's February but hotter than normal, which means a long, hot California summer is ahead--the kind that seems to bring out the beauty in blondes and the sweat glands in brunettes. I am a brunette. Not at all troubled by it. I don't even have my hair highlighted. I own my brunetteness and always have, even when Sun-In was all the rage. And it can't be overstated that chlorine doesn't turn my medium chestnut hair green. Actually, it's the copper, not the chlorine, that turns hair green--but that's a useless trivia fact I try to save for speed dating.


I'm squatting next to my flat tire, examining the small rip. Holding my hair back and offmy neck with one hand, I stand and look up and down the road, hoping to appear mildly distressed. Inside, I'll admit it, I'mfeeling moderately hysterical.My boss flips out when I'm late. It wouldn't matter if my appendix burst, he doesn't want to hear excuses. I wish he were the kind of guy who would just turn red in the face and yell, like Clark Kent's newspaper boss. But no. He likes to lecture as if he's an intellectual, except he's weird and redundant and cliché, so it's painful and boring.


A few cars zoom by, and I suddenly realize this could be my moment. Part of me says not to be ridiculous, because this kind of thing happens only on shows with a zip code or county name in the title. But still, you can't help wondering, hoping, that maybe this is the moment when your life will change.When you meet your soul mate.


Like I said, I enjoy my glass/life half full.


Even as an optimist, I see no harm in being a little aggressive to achieve my goals. So with my free hand, I do a little wave, throw a little smile, and attempt to lock eyes with people going fifty miles an hour. And then I see him.

He's in a red convertible, the top down, the black sunglasses shiny and tight against his tan skin.He's wearing pink silk the way only aman with a good,measured amount of confidence can. At least that's the way I see it from where I'm standing.


As he gets closer, his head turns and he notices me. I do a little wave, flirtatious with a slight hint of unintentional taxi hailing. I decide to smile widely, because he is going fast and I might look blurry. He smiles back.My hand falls to my side. I step back, lean against my car and try to make my conservative business suit seem flattering.There's nothing I can do about my upper lip sweating except hope my sweatproof department store makeup is holding up its end of the bargain better than my blowout-proof tire did.


He seems to be slowing down.


Live in the moment, I instruct myself. Don't think about what I should say or what I could say. Just let it roll, Jessie, let it roll. Don't over think it.


This thought repeats itself when the convertible zooms by. I think he actually accelerated.


So. My makeup is failing, along with whatever charm I thought I had. I just can't imagine what kind of guy wouldn't stop and help a woman. Maybe I'd have more hits...

 

"What girl can't identify with Never the Bride? This is a fabulously funny novel with deep truths embedded in its pages."

 

"I admire writers who employ words to paint touchable pictures, likable characters, introducing us to instant friends who lead us to unexpected endings. That's why I love Never The Bride."

 

Never the Bride by Rene Gutteridge
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