Spotlight on THE ROMANCE REWIND (Sarah Everett), Excerpt

Zadie expected her anniversary dinner with her boyfriend, Jason, to end with a dreamy promposal—not a breakup and a car crash!

     When she wakes up in the hospital, she gets even worse news: Jason is in a coma. With nothing to do but wait by his side, Zadie is left wondering where the relationship went wrong and if anyone else knows about the breakup.

     Suddenly, Zadie is catapulted back to their first date, trapped in a time loop she can’t escape. To make matters worse, Jason’s cousin Marcus is along for the ride, threatening to spill her secret. Can Zadie mend her relationship with Jason before he wakes up, or will Marcus shatter her hopes for a happily-ever-after?

     For fans of The Do-Over and Check & Mate, get whisked away in this charming new rom-com abounding with betrayal, twists, and romance tropes.

One

I can always tell when Jason has a secret. He starts to do everything at double ­speed—​­speaking, eating, driving. It’s like he physically can’t wait for the part where he gets to unleash his surprise on the world.

Tonight, Jason starts rambling from the moment he picks me up at my house, all the way down the interstate and into the city, and he doesn’t stop even when he’s taking his first bite of spanakopita. That’s how I know our dinner at Apollo’s is going to be special. ­That—​­and the fact that today is exactly one year since our very first date. It’s the only anniversary I like to think about this time of year.

So far only I’ve given Jason his gift. My adorable ­hand-​­drawn “Our Relationship Is a Toddler” card sits next to his plate, as he’s halfway through a monologue about the weather. Seriously. If his nervousness wasn’t so darn cute, it would be infuriating.

“And that, of course, doesn’t predict that we will have a warm fall either,” he says, chewing as fast as he’s talking, “but what the El Niño effect does ­do—­”

“Babe,” I say, unable to take any more, “you’re going to choke on your food and not get to tell me what’s going on.”

I’m expecting my comment to draw one of his to‑­die-​­for dimples out of hiding, to coax his broad shoulders into relaxing, but Jason coughs a little instead. “How do you ­know . . . I mean, who said there’s something going on?”

“Oh please,” I say, rolling my eyes.

Jason Riddick is known for many things in our town, but being nervous is not one of them. His composure under pressure, pinpoint accuracy, and ­just-​­this-​­side‑­of‑­tolerable confidence make him the best captain the Sterlingwood High soccer team has ever seen.

I lean forward so my elbows are on the table. “You’re about as obvious as a zit on photo day. Just tell me already.”

Jason makes a face. He thinks people only use similes to show off a high SAT score.

I let him gather his thoughts while I covertly check that my lipstick is still flawless with my phone. I always wear at least one thing that accurately captures my mood, one thing that reveals what I’m feeling to whoever is paying attention, and tonight’s confident red lip is my open secret.

“Here you go.”

The waiter refills our waters, and I give him a smile and a “Thank you.”

Tonight, my best friends, Amber and Monique, have a bet going on whether Jason is going to give me a promise ring, pull out tickets for some romantic weekend trip he’s planned for this fall, or ask me to senior prom eight months early. Personally, I’m leaning toward the promise ring. I know promise rings are a million years old and dumb for a thousand reasons, but in ­old-​­money families like Jason’s, they’re still very much a thing. His ­great-​­grandfather gave his ­great-​­grandmother a promise ring, because that’s What Was Done back in the day. But then his grandfather did the same, and so did Jason’s father. Now, it’s pretty much tradition.

The thing about me and Jason is that we’re just the right amount of in love.

In high school, there are always those couples who are radioactive together. Couples whose screaming matches are resolved only with equally gross public displays of affection. But Jason and I are solid, emotionally healthy, mature. If we were doing couple superlatives in this year’s yearbook, we would win Most Likely to Still Be Together in Twenty Years. The two of us just make sense.

“Zadie,” Jason says, and he’s tugging on the collar of his polo shirt like he’s uncomfortable. Maybe his dinner is too hot. “I ­really—​­I thought maybe we’d talk on the ride home? Just for privacy?”

“The ride home?” I’m incredulous. “If you think I’m waiting that long, you’re insane.”

“But the thing ­is—­”

“Jason,” I whine, because he’s still not getting to the point, and my fingers are zinging with an energy that feels electric.

I’m picturing it already, the way the ­restaurant—​­which isn’t super full now that Maine’s vacation season has ­ended—​­will break into applause when Jason gets on one knee with his open ring box.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jason’ll say, grinning from ear to ear. “We’re not getting engaged. We’re only eighteen.”

Our rapt audience, having abandoned their meals, will whoop and holler when I whisper my teary yes. Yes, I will promise you my heart until we’re old enough to promise our whole lives.

“Okay, just hear me out,” Jason begins in real life. “I know the timing seems off.” My brain snags on the word timing, and I think maybe this is a promposal after all? Not the most exciting prospect, but still. “I’m only doing it now because I think waiting too much longer is unfair.”

I nod, trying to look like I’m taking in every word he’s saying. Really, my phone is now in my lap under the table, stealthily positioned so I can fire off the first of many ­all-​­caps group texts. Jason goes back to rambling again.

Something about “the best thing for us” and “You’ll understand in time.”

It bursts out of me. “Jason, just spit it out!”

And finally, finally, he does.

“I think we should break up.”

My mouth is wide open, ready to squeal out an enthusiastic Yes, oh my God! I thought you’d never ask!

But those words don’t leave my lips.

“You . . . think we ­should . . . break up?” I repeat, like the words have no recognizable meaning in English.

Jason swallows, takes a drink from his glass of water.

“Is this a joke?” I ask. My eyes sweep around the restaurant’s dining room, desperately landing on patron after patron. If just one of them laughs, smiles, blinks, I’ll know it’s a joke. One of ­Jason’s terrible pranks that he thinks are funny but are really just annoying and poorly ­thought-​­out, though I’ve never told him this.

But nobody is looking at us. Jason gives me a sad shake of his head. “No,” he says.

“Is there someone else?”

“No, Zadie. I just don’t think this is working anymore.”