Excerpt from Those Pink Mountain Nights by Jen Ferguson, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Her younger brothers—Junior, Spence, and Chad—snickered. Because they were boys, they got away with it.

"But it will be over the school break so as not to interfere with your studies." Jessie's father cleared his throat. "And if you require summer schooling, there will be no job."

Smiling like she always did, a little zombie-land meets too much wine, Jessie's mom said: "Oh, but if the sale goes through with the Italian place, that might be a good summer job for our—"

"I said current holding. Jessica does not need additional burdens to successful graduation." Her father stared her down. "You'll call immediately after the meal and explain you're not allowed to accept employment."

Now Jessie couldn't tell her family that Cs got degrees or that she wouldn't be quitting her job. Her father hadn't threatened to belt her in a long while. But he would with statements like that ... at the family table. Jessie ate another mouthful of limp carrots, a not-great feeling settling up in her bones.

Her father went on: "She'll work in an air-conditioned office. Answering phones or sending follow-up emails or even filing invoices."

"Oh!" her mom exclaimed. "That's better than food service. What was I thinking?"

But for Jessie, the bad seed had already cracked. She had on-purpose, no-take-backs interviewed at Pink Mountain because it wasn't part of her father's portfolio. And now she had a sinking suss that wasn't true anymore. Or wouldn't be for long if her father was truly acquiring "the Italian place."

In the Land Rover, Jessie glanced murderously at the stack of homework weighing down her passenger seat. She'd have to find time for it this weekend, and that, as much as remembering any of her family dinners, soured her. The satellite radio was playing real pump-up music but her right leg continued shaking hard. Tight black jeans normally made her feel all badassery. Even that wasn't working today. Plus, she needed to smoke.

Her teeth chattered.

Nerves sucked.

The job at Pink Mountain was supposed to be step one in her grand escape: secure external funding her parents couldn't touch and apply to trade school to become a welder. That plan would crash and burning man if her father was purchasing the place. She'd have to do the dirty and ask Joe to confirm or deny. One blink for Baby, bad news is the only news, two for Nopeses. Or they could use Morse code, but then Jessie would have to google Morse code and that seemed overcooked.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jessie's new coworker, walking the way she walked everywhere, direct and with a mission in mind, swung into view. The girl didn't even glance about the parking lot. She owned it, all rolling hips, powered full up.

It was hot.

For a microsecond, Jessie rethought her no smoking in the Land Rover policy.

Watching Berlin Chambers disappear into Pink Mountain, Jessie tucked rebel curls behind her ears and willed her hands, which were now in on the party, to still. She reached for the door. Confidence was alluring, Jessie reminded herself. The other option was to freeze into a Popsicle and grant her father the win. So it was exactly no pancake-flipping option at all.

CAM

In the quiet before the dinner rush, Cam inhaled a Coke, legs dangling from the metal prep counter, almost touching the floor, but not quite. The Coke was a balm. So was the chance to rest. His feet hurt from standing all day in worn sneakers.

The staff doorbell trilled.

Cam's mom's best friend's rule-thumping daughter had arrived. And she hated him like it was her prime directive. He offered Berlin a two-finger wave.

"Hello, Cameron," she returned icily.

Her glasses were brand spanking new. Her cheeks were flushed. Wind-chapped, not colored with drugstore product. That was Berlin. Always completely authentic. Shrugging out of her handmade parka, she traded it for one of the shop aprons.

Excerpted from Those Pink Mountain Nights by Niall Ferguson. Copyright © 2023 by Niall Ferguson. Excerpted by permission of Heartdrum. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.