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How did an innocent birthday wish bring three historical figures into the future, together?
Community theater costume and stage manager in one, Wren Dynamene, has it bad. Not only does the former leading actress have debilitating stage fright that keeps her off the stage and in the wardrobe, a permanent wallflower, but she’s secretly crushing on the star—and best friend, Marco.
Blowing out her birthday candles, she wishes for love and courage, never expecting three historical figures to time travel to the present with the mission to fix her love life.
When there's no choice but to spend the night at Marco's with her new friends, keeping her feelings in check will prove more difficult than managing the most detailed and demanding play. Especially when chaos ensues and backstage trouble arises. However, the show must go on, leaving Wren with the decision–step back into the limelight and risk her friendship for love, or continue to languish backstage, safe but miserable?
Exit, Stage Left is a heartwarming time travel romance novelette from historical time travel romance author, Erin Krueger. If you enjoy golden retriever heroes, sassy wallflower heroines, fascinating and humorous historical figures, forced proximity, and friends that won't give up, then you'll love this scrumptious production.
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Seitenzahl: 62
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
“Heartwarming friends-to-lovers, with a little help from some unlikely (and hilarious) historical figures. The time travel element was pure fun. Delightful and utterly satisfying!”
AMY BLYTHE, AUTHOR OF THE HAVE HEART, WILL TRAVEL SERIES
“…charming and funny spin on time travel that no sweet romance reader, or fellow fan of friends-to-lovers, will be able to resist.”
RYLEY BANKS, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR
“—a delightful romp of a time-travel romance that will leave you in a sweet, smiling swoon.”
AWARD WINNING AUTHOR, JORDYN KROSS
Copyright © 2023 by Erin Krueger
Published by Bartie Books
PO Box 385
Los Alamos, NM 87544
www.bartiebooks.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address above.
No part of this work was generated by artificial intelligence technologies or predictive language software.
ISBN: 979-8-9914725-0-0 (Paperback Edition)
ISBN: 979-8-9914725-1-7 (eBook Edition)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2024919658
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Alyssa Krueger
Cover design by Brandi Doane McCann
First Edition
Visit the author’s website at www.erinkruegerwrites.com
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Erin’s Brew Crew
Also by Erin Krueger
Read More: Time Will Tell (excerpt)
Erin Krueger
To my best friend and husband, Brendan
Opening night of the brand-new Regency farce, The Adventures of Mr. Bingley’s Other Friend, was less than twenty-four hours away. As head props and costumes manager, Wren Dynamene should have been more worried about the performance. But it was her surprise birthday celebration she dreaded more.
As if on cue, a stagehand carrying a large white bakery box entered from the wings and slipped behind the parlor backdrop.
Wren’s gut clenched, but she willed it away. Another stagehand crossed the stage holding balloons, sneaking behind the backdrop.
Was it too late to escape the fuss and attention?
Wren closed her eyes. Yes. The only thing that would stop this troupe of community theater actors from throwing a party would be if Jane Austen herself appeared and commented on their sparkling performance. Still, nothing was impossible where the stage was concerned. It was as if there was a bit of leftover magic from days past hanging like a sheer cloud backstage. And more than once Wren had caught sight of “ghosts” during late night runs.
“There you are.”
Wren spun.
“Hey Mar—” Her breath caught at the sight of the lead actor, and her best friend, Marco Manzanares. In a red t-shirt and dark jeans—wow. Hot as a desert summer. She cleared her throat and focused on releasing her talon grip on the clipboard one finger at a time. If Marco ever found out she’d been crushing on him since, oh, forever, he’d be mortified.
“You dropped this.” He bent to pick up her pen and she got a whiff of him. Fresh. Not too much. Cool water and calm pools. But that did nothing to quell her racing pulse. He stood and held it out to her, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t want to lose it.”
Wren took the pen, her fingers brushing his. That was not helping. Not helping at all. She just had to act normal and slow the thudding in her chest.
“Thanks.” She gave him a small smile and tucked the pen into her bun where her auburn curls would hold the traitorous object prisoner. See, she could do it. Her hands only shook mildly.
“All this…” She gestured to the stage. “Why not just a quick ‘happy birthday’ in passing, and then we can go home?”
“I tried talking to them, but they insisted.” His apologetic brown gaze met hers and something flip-flopped inside her. “Just think of it as a few minutes in front of your friends. And then you can do whatever you want afterwards.”
“Like sleep?”
“If that’s your birthday wish, then yes. Oh, and I baked your favorite cupcakes. We’ll swing by my place to get them when I drop you home. If you suffer through five minutes of birthday cake and song.”
“You made me spice cake?” He never baked for anyone.
“With cream cheese frosting and no raisins.”
Wren took a deep breath. “Okay. For the cupcakes.”
“For the cupcakes.” He offered his arm to escort her behind the backdrop. As soon as the grinning performers and stage crew saw her, they began singing “Happy Birthday” in an eight-part chorus, complete with seventh ring harmony. It should’ve warmed her heart, but all she could think about was fleeing the over-the-top attention.
Wren knew what they expected, what she had to do, even if being center stage had her insides feeling like jelly. She’d once been a lead actress herself before that horrid night. So, pasting a smile on her face, Wren blew a kiss to everyone.
“Thank you, really,” she said. The most brightly colored frosted cake she’d ever seen, with four flickering, mismatched candles, was placed before her.
“Make a wish,” someone shouted. The whole group cheered.
“For the cupcakes,” Marco whispered at her side. Wren met his gaze, and he gave her arm an encouraging pat. It was then that she realized she was still gripping his arm, hadn’t let him go. She released her hand and nodded. A wish.
She glanced up and found Marco. He’d meandered into the group and now stood across from her. Sparks charged up her spine as their eyes met. That look could’ve lit up the stage. He winked, and her cheeks burned in response. If she truly wished for what she wanted…
But she couldn’t. Could she?
Maybe one day she’d get the courage. For now, she’d just go with something quick, what everyone wished for. Love and courage, right?
She took a deep breath and blew out the candles. One exhale and it was over. As she took in the crowd, Marco had his eyes closed. Had he also made a wish? Now she was being ridiculous. No one made wishes on other people’s birthday cakes. Especially not on their milestone twenty-fifth birthday.
From somewhere behind her, a breeze blew in, setting every single one of her arm hairs on edge. She swore time slowed just slightly, as if a clock’s second hand had stuttered over its ticking. Nothing more, nothing less. But for a brief moment, everyone moved slower, clapping in discordant sounds, jarring her ears. Their movements as they began to mingle seemed to be out of sync with the rest of the room and then, as if they were given a prompt, they all sped up to catch up to the correct time. Arm hairs tingling, Wren brushed them down and glanced around the group. She was imagining things. Had to be. No one else had seemed to notice.
Except Marco.