Passenger Princess: A Grumpy Sunshine Bodyguard Pageant Queen Romance (Evergreen Park Book 1)

By some kind of magic, I get a vet appointment that night. Jaime drives us both to the office, where I’m told to leave her overnight for some tests and to get a few cuts cleaned and stitched up. Some of the tests won’t be in for a few days, but the vet agreed to expedite any she could, promising she’d let me know if it was safe to take Princess Peach on tour with us by noon.

Luckily, she gets cleared for our big adventure. It turns out she’s actually a very sweet, very undernourished six-month-old kitten who was probably born on the streets but, to her trained eye, seems relatively healthy otherwise.

When we walk out of the vet smiling (me) and purring (Peach), Jaime glares as he opens the door for me.

“So she’s all clear? Nothing crazy or contagious?” Jaime asks as I put the soft-sided cat carrier the vet gave me on the floor of the SUV.

I bite my lip and turn, smiling at him, cat in hand. With my eyes in wide puppy-dog mode and Peach’s sweet little face, he can’t be that mad, right?

“I mean, she doesn’t have rabies or fleas or ringworm or anything,” I say.

“Ava…” he starts, voice low and rumbling.

“Okay, okay, she has worms! It’s no big deal, really, and since she’s one hundred percent my responsibility, you wouldn’t even know if I didn’t tell you. She’s got medicine that’s gonna get her all fixed up in no time.”

He stares at me unimpressed before speaking. “I thought we had a deal: no illnesses and she can come.”

I wave my hand at him like he’s overreacting. “Even the vet said it’s no big deal, and she’s cleared to come with us. She even congratulated me on being such good person, rescuing this poor little baby.”

“Ava, the thing has worms.”

“She’s not a thing, she’s a kitten. And it’s just some tummy troubles,” I say. “Like mother, like daughter.” I lift her so her sweet little head is next to mine. “All the best girls have tummy issues, Jaime.” He continues to look at me deadpan, a glaring match in progress, before Peaches lets out a tiny meow, and it happens.

His face softens the tiniest bit, his mouth going less firm and angry before he sighs, checks to make sure nothing is hanging out of the door, then slams the door shut before walking around to the driver’s side, and all I can do is smile.

When Jaime slides in, he starts the car before he tips his head to the backseat. “I got a few things to get you through until tomorrow.” His cheeks are a bit pink, and I wonder if the sun has heated him, but when I look back, I gasp in delight at three filled-to-the-brim bags from a chain pet store.

‘Oh my god,’ I whisper, then turn to look at him with a small smile on my lips. “You knew we were keeping Peach from the start. You weren’t going to let me leave her behind, were you?”

His blush deepens. “No, I just figured if she was cleared to come with us, we’d need things, and the pet store might close before we hit our next stop.” He looks at me for a split second before looking forward again. “It really wasn’t a big deal. Kind of part of my job. The guy in the store said that litter box should work for travel, and we can just dump it as needed, and I wasn’t sure what kind of food she would need…”

I might have been able to agree if he’d gone and got the bare minimum. I’d be able to believe that this man was just doing his job by getting whatever I needed to get me on the road and to keep our schedule in tact.

But these are not the bare essentials.

This is not a couple of cans of cat food and a litter box.

This is…half of the store.

Shifting to look better at the haul, there are at least four or five brands of food, two litter types, a litter box, and the most entertaining part: an overflowing bag filled with toys.

Pink toys, purple toys, mouse-looking toys, balls and laser pointers, and a fish on a stick to dangle in front of her.

“Did you leave anything?

“What?” he asks, eyes diligently on the road as he pulls out of the vet’s parking lot.

“At the pet store. Did you leave anything, or did you buy it all?”

The blush creeps down his cheeks to his neck.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, and I lift Peach to my face until we’re eye to eye.

“Oh, he so likes us, Peach,’ I say with a smile, and Jaime just groans. I put her back into my lap to settle in the blanket there, but as soon as I let go, she stands, walking on unsteady legs across the console.

‘Stay here,’ I say, picking her up and putting her on my lap again. Again, she stands and walks across the console, this time meowing as she does.

“Peach, no,” I say, grabbing her. Unfortunately, as soon as she’s in my lap, she tries to move to get to Jaime again. I sigh. ‘Maybe I should put her in the⁠—”

Before I can finish my sentence, a big hand moves, his eyes never leaving the road as he grabs the small kitten out of my lap and places her in his. Instantly, she stops meowing and settles in his lap.

“Sorry,’ I say, reaching over to try and grab her, but his hand moves up, blocking me.

“It’s fine,” he says, his hand scratching Peach’s head. It’s comical how big his hand looks next to the cat, and I have to roll my lips between my teeth to stop the laugh bubbling in my chest. “You’re a sweet girl, aren’t you Peachy girl?” he murmurs low.

I stare at him for long moments, watching him drive with one hand and pet my kitten with the other, completely at peace, before I sit back with a smile.

After our next rest stop, where we successfully get Peach to use the litter box and eat before she falls asleep in Jaime’s lap again, I’m reading when he speaks. “If we play twenty questions, do I get any?”

I put down my book, confused, before looking at him. His gaze is fixed on the road, avoiding looking at me. “What?”

“The other day, you wanted to play twenty questions, and I shot you down. If we play now, do I get to ask any?”

I fight a smile, trying to act casually like he’s a wild animal I’m afraid to scare off.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“All right. Let’s do it.”

We filter through a few easy questions, where I learn he doesn’t have a favorite color (shocker), and just like me, he didn’t go to college after high school. I tell him about how, even when I was a kid, I couldn’t pinpoint what I wanted to be when I grew up, waffling from an astronaut to a makeup artist to a marine biologist to an actress.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks eventually.

“Doing what?”

“The pageant. I get that you never did one before, but people don’t really stumble into this kind of thing. What made you try?”

“What, you didn’t look me up before we got on the road?” I ask with a smile.

“I’ve seen the press’ version of why you got into this, but they all have an angle they’re working. I want to hear your version.’

I like that.

I like that he wants to hear what I have to say on the topic rather than trusting journalists and whatever story best suits their readership, some making me a villain, others making me into some martyr out to change the industry, when really it’s none of those.

“Well, I applied because I’m impulsive and I wanted to help my friends,” I start. “My best friends own businesses, and they were struggling. We were hanging out and venting, and I decided to find a way to promote them. I stumbled on an ad for the pageant, and….I don’t know. It kind of spiraled from there.”

My mind moves back to that night, lying on my bed and drinking wine while Harper and Jules complained about not knowing how to promote their businesses.

“I just…I just need one person to collaborate with to get my name out there. It seems like that’s the key these days. You need some social media clout, and then you’re gold.” Harper sighs, flopping back onto the white lace duvet on my bed before rolling onto her belly and propping her chin in her hands. “And I’m just so…bad at it.”

She is. Not because she’s not the sweetest, kindest human on this planet, but because Harper has absolutely crippling social anxiety, making owning her own business where she needs to hype herself up a near impossibility.

“I get it,” Jules says with a sigh, swirling her glass filled with some sweet concoction meant to continue the buzz we’ve been stoking for hours. “The studio is doing okay, but I’m barely filling two classes a day.”

For as long as I’ve known Jules, she’s wanted to use the small inheritance her grandmother left her to open a dance studio. Last year, she found the cutest location and jumped on it. She teaches kids lessons and runs adult fitness classes, but it isn’t growing the way she hoped it would.

I sigh, hating to watch my friends struggle.

“You guys need some kind of…in,” I say, scrolling on a social media app mindlessly. “A celebrity or some influencer. Someone in the area you can do posts with and tag all the time.”

“Yeah, I’ll just go into my phone now and call one right up,” Jules says sarcastically, and I roll my eyes.

“I know it’s easier said than done, but I just meant one person could be the answer for the both of you.” My mind keeps moving, trying to put pieces that are just out of reach together. Tapping on the search bar, I type in a few keywords—New Jersey dance influencer—and press go before scrolling. A few of the names and faces look familiar from one of the many reality shows they tried to make in the state.

“What about the C-listers that post incessantly? Like local celebrities?” I ask, an idea starting to form in my mind. We could easily get a list together and send out some feelers for collaborations. I’d even be happy to do it for Harper and Jules, since they either don’t have the time or energy to do it themselves.

“What about them?” Harper asks, confusion written on her face.Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

“If you could design some pieces for one to wear to events or something, it would be a perfect fit. They’d be tagging you for wearing your dresses. Since their fan base is usually hyperlocal, meaning if one of them has a birthday or a wedding or just a special occasion, they’d have your name in their mind for who to hire.” I turn to Jules. “And you, you could mention so and so trains at your studio or are taking classes there. Angle it as a trendy new way to work out, which is what you’re going for anyway, right?”

If I was interesting at all, I’d put all of my energy into being an influencer myself just so I could promote my friends’ businesses, but no one really finds much interest in a bartender with little to no real social life.

And then I see it.

Miss Americana Pageant—now accepting applications!

It can’t be that easy, can it? Fill out an application and then you’re in?

I click the ad, and upon reading more, I find it is pretty much that simple, so long as your application is accepted. But if there’s one thing I’m great at, it’s making a killer application. I start putting in my name and address, answering the questions about life goals and ambitions with renewed vigor. This could be the perfect way to help out my friends.

Pageant queens need fancy dresses and a talent.

Best case scenario, I make it to the New Jersey pageant, and I get to tag Harper and Jules as they make a dress and help train me in whatever dance Jules decides would be best to showcase her talent. Worst case scenario, it’s a funny story of the time I tried to enter a beauty pageant.

“What are you doing over there?” Harper asks, and I realize the room has gone quiet, my friends watching me intently.

“Applying for Miss Americana.”

There’s a pause before Jules asks, ‘Do I even want to know?’

‘Probably not,’ I say as I finish filling out the form, hit submit, and promptly forget about it until a week later when an email hits my inbox.

You’re invited: Miss Americana New Jersey Auditions.

And the rest was kind of history.

“Did it work?” Jaime asks, knocking me out of my memories.

“What?”

“Did it work? Helping your friends?”

“Oh, yeah for sure. Jules has all of her classes booked, and she even hired a second instructor to help out. Harper is booked out on custom gowns for almost a year. It’s amazing,’ I say with pride.

“And you?’

“What about me?”

“What did you get from this? It seems like it’s taken over your life.”

I don’t tell him that’s another question when it should be my turn, instead I shrug.

“I don’t know. The joy of seeing my friends thrive?” He quickly looks at me with a glare that screams bullshit, and I change my answer with a smile. ‘It’s been a grand adventure and I love adventures. And I’ve always wanted to travel but never had the money or time. So it’s an opportunity I couldn’t refuse.”

“But?”

“But…it’s rough when you’re faced with an entire organization that wants to change you, who doesn’t like who you are. The pressure the organization puts on these women is insane. And Regina wants me to be…this perfect little doll who just does what she’s told and keeps her mouth shut.”

“Then she clearly doesn’t know you.’ The words come quickly and with a bite of surety and a hint of irritation.

“What?”

“They clearly don’t know you at all. Because they’d know how stubborn you are,” he says with a tip of his lips, and I smile too. Then, his hand moves from Peach’s head to squeeze my knee. Even through my thick sweats, I can feel it like a burn, his hand on my body. “And because if they knew you, they wouldn’t be trying to change you, Ava. You’re perfect the way you are.”