His perfectly planned life is about to go wild.

By-the-numbers Bo Ferguson has his future all planned. Then his archaeologist fiancée dumps him. Via text. From Belize. Navigating the rainforest to win her back is way out of Bo’s comfort zone, but so is the idea of starting over. Fortunately, he’s secured a tour guide willing to lead him into the unmapped jungle. Unfortunately, she’s annoying, impulsive — and attractive as hell.

Jungle expert Alexandra Stone is in no position to turn down a job after her regrettable ex stole everything from her family business and ran. Sure, Bo might be frustratingly uptight, but Alex needs the money. And besides, there’s something…fun about pushing the guy’s adorably rigid buttons, especially when it clearly gets a rise out of him.

But the close confines of their shared camp make it hard to ignore the tension beneath the bickering, prompting the sweltering heat between them to erupt into sweaty, wild passion. Bo can’t deny his brief time with Alex has been the most exciting of his life. But the journey they’re on still leads to one place — his ex-fiancée — forcing Bo and Alex to confront their pasts, their fears and the question of just where this adventure will take them…

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Bo Ferguson snuck a glance at the clock tacked onto his home office’s exposed brick. Seven, and this should-have-been-an-email meeting was still going.

He fought the urge to rub his eyes.

His promotion to senior algorithm engineer six months ago came with an anchor to his desk. The responsibility was worth it, since it meant he could shave his mom’s and sister’s money worries down to a manageable level. The lone luxury he’d allowed himself was his ergonomic masterpiece of an office chair to support his clench-prone back muscles.

Actually, scratch that “lone luxury” bit.

He didn’t pinch pennies when it came to his newfound cooking hobby, either. Before his fiancée left for an archeological dig in Belize in January, she’d teasingly encouraged him to eat more than PB&Js and string cheese. He could take a hint and used their time apart to beef up his chef game. To his surprise, cooking was fun.

The kitchen was low-stakes, unlike everything else in his life.

“Bo, what’s the ETA on your code?” his project manager asked.

The door’s squeaky hinge signaled his cat’s arrival. Where had she gone? Shit. He had maybe thirty seconds before Lorelai yowled for dinner.

“Bo, if you’re talking, you’re muted.”

“Sorry,” he said. “What was the question?”

“Is your code on track? Any blockers?”

“No blockers. I’ll check it in later tonight. Early tomorrow at the latest.”

“Great.” She noted his response in the task management system. “Anyone have new agenda items?”

Silence, as expected.

He and his teammates had a pact not to prolong meetings. They’d rather spend these much-needed minutes grinding toward their go-live deadline at month’s end. An on-time delivery would earn them sweet stretch goal bonuses, and his would go straight into his and Destiny’s wedding fund.

“Okay.” His project manager flashed a thumbs-up. “See you at our morning stand-up.”

Lorelai pounced on his lap from the antique shelves next to his desk.

“Uhngf.” Bo clicked the bright red Leave button. Hopefully his team hadn’t heard his pained grunt. “Why are you like this, Lore? We had a truce.”

The orange cat licked her paws, then settled onto his thighs.

“I know, I know. You miss her.” He scratched under her chin. “Me too. But don’t take it out on me. She’ll be home tomorrow, and we’ll be back to normal.”

If their past disagreements were any indication, they’d work this out fast. He’d pick her up from the airport with a bouquet of her favorite tiger lilies, they’d come home to his Victorian-era fixer-upper and they’d finally talk things through.

He leaned back in his chair to give Lorelai room to stretch.

Talking would be great, actually. Destiny had punted their eight-o’clock calls every night this week. She’d texted that there were farewell dinners, research closeouts, documentation for her dissertation…all of which was true, but the distance nagged at him.

It had started over the holidays. After his promotion in the fall, he was in a secure financial position. They’d been dating for seven years, so it couldn’t have been much of a surprise when he popped the question as the ball dropped at midnight. She’d said yes without hesitation. The next day, they’d gone shopping for a ring, she’d picked out the one she’d liked best and they’d been happy.

For a week.

Then, she’d confessed she wasn’t sure. About him, or marriage, or both, she couldn’t say.

Before they could hash things out like rational adults, the Ch’ooj Creek archaeological research site in Belize had invited her to participate in a dig. This was too good for her professionally to pass up, so they’d agreed this would be a good break. They’d use the time to take a breather, then figure things out when she returned.

“Ready for dinner?” he asked the cat.

The two-hundred-year-old floorboards creaked under his chair’s weight as he rolled back from the desk. Lorelai leaped from his lap and followed him down the stairs, tripping him as she twisted through his ankles.

He caught himself on the railing. “Every time, Lore?”

She meowed and dashed into the kitchen. Tonight’s fare was honey-glazed salmon, blanched green beans and saffron rice. The whole thing took twenty minutes to cook, less time than delivery and twice as delicious. He divvied the meal onto plates for him and his sister, covered hers with a lid, then flicked a smaller, unsauced portion into Lorelai’s bowl.

She chowed down without a second glance.

“You’re welcome.” He scratched her behind the ears, which she ignored.

As he flicked on the television to catch up on the news while he ate, his phone buzzed with a text. He sighed. Was Destiny seriously canceling on him again? How could he pick her up from the airport without her flight info?

He unlocked his phone and tapped the text.

Babe, this is difficult to write.

He dropped his fork on the coffee table.

We’re not meant to be a forever-couple, and it’s not fair for me to jerk you around. I’m happy here, happier than I’ve ever been, and I want the same for you, so I’m ending our engagement. Please have a good life.

Wait, what? A single text threatened to shatter his heart and future. His trembling thumbs stumbled over the keyboard, typing and deleting garbled words until he strung together a coherent message.

Des, this doesn’t make sense. You’re supposed to be on a plane in the morning.

He clutched the phone, waiting. Seconds stretched into torturous minutes, and he got…

Nothing.

No response—no confirmation that his message had been delivered, much less read. Was she on the other end of the phone? Belize was only two hours behind Baltimore. She should be awake and have time to talk.

He poked her profile, then clicked Call.

A half ring, then, “Hi, you’ve reached Destiny Richards. I’m on a date with my trowel, so please leave…”

Voice mail. He rubbed the tightness in his chest, waited a beat, then called again. Same result. Dread thickened his throat as he paced the length of the town house. She couldn’t mean what she’d texted. He was humble enough to admit they weren’t in a perfect place when she left, but a few tense months shouldn’t mean the end of seven years together.

Unless… Could he have misread their relationship that badly?

Oxygen came fast and shallow, forcing him to take a knee. The nap of the Turkish rug bristled against his palms. He closed his eyes to focus on his breathing, to calm it with counting, the way his doctor had coached him to when panic attacks came on.

The darkness was a mistake.

Now he was reeling, tumbling through milestone memories. Asking Destiny to marry him at the top of the Harbor Court hotel… Adopting Lorelai at the BARCS Animal Shelter… Dinner with Dad at the casino buffet when he’d blown through town for a poker tournament…

He couldn’t pinpoint where things had gone off track.

Candy-colored light from the front door’s stained-glass panel skated across the floor as his sister let herself into the house. A crisp April breeze whipped through the room, and the piercing squeal of an MTA bus’s brakes made him wince.

“You won’t believe the day I had.” His sister, Delilah, wheeled her bike in, folded it, then hung it on the rack he’d installed when she moved in to help with the rent. “The new guy who runs my lab is the worst piece of patronizing garbage. He actually asked me—”

She paused, mid-un-clip of her helmet.

“Bo?” Fear edged her voice. “What’s wrong? Is Mom okay?”

He sank back onto his heels, then riffled his hair.

“Bo. Seriously, you’re scaring me. It’s seven thirty. You should be eating dinner and watching the news, but you’re on the floor.”

“Mom’s fine.” He exhaled. One, two, three. Might as well rip off the bandage. “But I’m not. Destiny sent me a breakup text. Then I think she blocked me.”

Del’s windbreaker swished as she hung up her helmet. “Oh.”

His sister’s face, a feminine version of his own, was inscrutable. This was bad. He’d been able to read her like an instruction manual since the day they were born. Even before her diagnosis and the meds that had balanced out her irrational whims, he’d understood her on a chromosomal level.

Not today, though.

“My fiancée breaks up with me, and ‘oh’ is all you’ve got?” Bo pushed up off the floor. “You gave me more sympathy when my freshman girlfriend cheated on me with my roommate.”

“Because that was a complete surprise.”

Delilah brushed past him and into the kitchen. Wordlessly, she grabbed a bottle from the top of the fridge and two shot glasses from the cabinet of random glassware.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“If we’re doing this, I need to take the edge off your mood.” She set the glasses on the corner dinette by the back door, then poured two shots. “Sit.”

There was no arguing with Del when she took that tone.

He sniffed at the glass. “Rum?”

“It’s either that or Grape Pucker. You have a shitty liquor cabinet.”

“Because I don’t drink.”

“You do today.” She gestured at his shot glass. Once he held his aloft, she tapped her empty one against it. “Drink.”

His eyes watered as the rum burned a path down his throat.

“There.” He coughed. “Now what the hell?”

“Uh, uh, uh.” She wagged her finger. “You know the rule.”

He pursed his lips. Twinhood meant he and Delilah told each other truths that no other humans on the planet would dare to. After all, they had the full context of their shared life together. It did not always make for a peaceful home life, however. So, at sixteen, their birthday gift to each other was a promise to keep their opinions to themselves unless invited to share.

He’d never invoked radical candor about Destiny because they’d all known each other since middle school. He knew what his sister thought about his fiancée.

Didn’t he?

“Delilah Jane Ferguson, please tell me what you think about this situation.”

“I would be happy to, Boaz Jasper Ferguson.”

She shed her windbreaker, revealing her black lab tech scrubs. He loved those scrubs. They represented how far she’d come, how hard she’d worked to catch up after everyone but him and their mom had given up on her. They’d always been each other’s best friends, fiercest defenders and biggest cheerleaders whenever life was too much.

“You swear this won’t make things weird between us?” she asked.

“We’re twins. Things have always been weird between us.”

“Fair. But I have been sitting on this for years, so remember that you asked for it.” She pointed at him. “Maybe Destiny breaking up with you is for the best.”

That thumped him in the chest. He furrowed his brow. “Go on.”

“Do I have to?” She rotated the shot glass on its base.

“Yes.”

The seconds ticking on the kitchen clock pecked at his patience.

“Del,” he prompted. “Don’t hold back.”

“She’s not right for you. She might’ve been when you two started dating. You helped each other get over a heartbreak. But…” Del blew her dark hair out of her eyes. “Please, Bo, don’t make me say this.”

“Oh, you’re saying it.” He poured himself another shot.

“She’s kind of a jerk. Selfish.”

“No she’s not, she’s—”

Del held up a finger. “Stop. You invoked radical candor, so I’m coming clean. You had a crush on her since we met her. Fast-forward to when she strung you along and used you as a backup date for formals. You even took dance lessons so you could surprise her in case she asked you to prom.”

The truth of what she said itched.

He scratched his jaw. “That’s not exactly how it was.”

“Dude, I was there.” She poured him another shot. “When that guy smashed her heart after college, who white-knighted his way into picking up the pieces?”

“Me,” he grudgingly admitted.

“You. Good old reliable, predictable Bo.”

“That’s not all I am.” He knocked back the rum. He’d embraced reliability and predictability to keep his family intact. Left to his own devices, though, who knew? Maybe he was a secret swashbuckler.

He nudged the empty shot glass toward his sister.

“Of course that’s not all you are. You cook a mean salmon, too.”

“Is that why Destiny sent me that text?” Lorelai buffed his ankles, so he picked up the cat. “Because she’s off having the adventure of a lifetime and I’m boring?”

“No.” Del laid her hand over his. “She sent you that text because she’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve you. Bo, seriously, you’re the best. You helped her get into grad school, navigated the financial aid system to get the best benefits—”

“I helped you navigate the system too, then invited you to live here during your post-doc to split expenses. I help the people I love.”

“And I adore you for it. You did nothing wrong. Appreciate the silver lining here. Destiny’s a fun hang, sure, but lacks in basic human consideration. Did she pitch in with the housework? The grocery shopping? Ever take care of you when you were sick?”

He thumbed the divot in his chin. “No, but I never asked her to.”

“You shouldn’t have to ask. Caring people do that stuff.” She held up the bottle. “Want another? This next part might hurt.”

“Jesus. The next part?” His vision wobbled. Uh-oh. He should not have had that many shots. He waved her off. “Just hit me with it.”

Del took a deep breath, then let it out long and slow.

“Okay. You’ve always treated Destiny like one of your algorithms. You put kindness, support and love into your relationship, and you expect you’ll get stability back. It’s a reasonable expectation, but Destiny’s not like that, Bo.” She squeezed his hand. “She’s all take, and no give. You’ve always…waited for her to come to her senses. Some might call it patience, others might call it masochism. You deserve better. Someone who sees you, loves you for all your quirks, and allows you to be the one to take chances.”

Ouch. Delilah added ghost peppers to the salt she’d tossed into his wounds earlier.

Through her eyes, he might be boring. Risk averse. It had suited him for most of his life, helped keep his family afloat through dark times. But here was his twin, his best friend, telling him that particular trait was no longer required.

He shooed Lorelai from his lap. “You’re wrong.”

“That you deserve better?” Del leaned back. “Oh, brother mine, we have got to talk about your self-esteem.”

“No, about me waiting, and being predictable, and having no sense of adventure.” He shoved back from the table. “I’m going to Belize.”

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