Or at least he was, because the fact of the matter is that he’s here at Blancbourg.
“Where is he now? Hopefully, not getting into trouble,” Everly asks.
“No, he’s with our very own Shonda, learning proper grooming and having his makeover.”
Everly goes still. “I fear the day Grey gets his. I think he wears his shaggy hair and beard like armor and will fight tooth and nail not to be rid of it.”
“Thankfully, Chase is really good-looking.”
Everly seems to stifle a giggle. “You mentioned.”
“I mean, he trims his nails and brushes his teeth.” I stuff a big bite of the sandwich into my mouth to keep myself from saying more.
“And buff, brawny...” Everly teases.
“What I meant to say is that he’s relatively well-kempt. I mean, he—” There I go, rambling again.
For so long, I deemed myself a poor judge of character after the sponge cake prank. I’ve spent years scolding myself for picking Chase as my crush—as if I had much of a choice in the matter. I chastised myself and denied myself dates because I feared I’d be humiliated, since I was obviously awful at picking out decent guys. I reprimanded myself for being so silly as to get my hopes up that he’d notice me, ask me to prom, we’d fall in love, and have a happily ever after.
I know, I know, the last one is childish, but the others weren’t completely ridiculous.
Seated next to me, Everly scrolls on her phone, hopefully looking for supporting evidence of my claims. Like poorly lit, unflattering, and awkward angle candid photos of Chase, so I can get my ick on.
“Wait, what was that?” I ask, craning to see the image.
“Another #BruiserButt post.” She shakes her head.
“Sorry for looking over your shoulder at your phone, but what was that post two back? No Bruisers and no butts. I think it was an advert.”
She thumbs backward on the screen. “Looks like it’s for a dating coach. She’s one of the producers of the new show,Crush or Cupid. Oh, you should be a contestant.”
Everly goes on to describe the new reality show where they choose twelve contestants to go on dates with the bachelor stud. Viewers vote whether the chemistry between the pair is justcrushmaterial, which eliminates them from the contending, orCupid, which would be more like a long-term love match.”
“I don’t think I’d be a good candidate. My social battery could never tolerate that many cameras, but I wouldn’t be opposed to private coaching.”
“Considering you are a coach, it fits.”
I smile because maybe my mantra,My luck is bound to change,worked! I let out an excitedsqueeand take down the coach’s information. Lucky for me, she’s located in London.
My phone pings with a message from Shonda.
“Chase’s makeover is complete.” Then I remember his comment about being my lucky charm and slouch into the chair.
“I should take that as my cue to go and make sure my client hasn’t raided and plundered the village,” Everly says, but doesn’t get to her feet as if she needs another moment to recover.
Remembering that I, too, have a job to do, I stride down the hall. It’s time I let my old beliefs go and give myself more credit. I don’t need my mother to play matchmaker and I don’t need my old crush either. Just some coaching and I’ll be well on my way to happily ever after. I can have a purely business relationship with Chase. Despite everything from high school, he seems to be an otherwise good guy.
And a good-looking one as he emerges from the Blancbourg salon.
My new mantra echoes in my mind and I bring it to my lips. “I won’t let Chase work his charms on me.”
He distracts me when his dimple pops because, yeah, he definitely heard me break my filter rule. I walk straight into a vacuum cleaner, stubbing my toe in these open-toed leopard print heels. I knew they were a mistake.
Rubbing my foot, I hop on the other and the strap of my handbag catches on the handle, snapping me backward. I somehow get tangled in the power cord. As I flail to get free, I work my way under a long table positioned beneath a painting of a very poised princess. It’s an unintentional but providential hideout.
“I should just stay here.”
Chase rushes to help, but I need to retain the last shreds of my dignity and get up by myself. I wave him off and as I move,the still-tangled cord jolts the vacuum forward and the handle whacks me hard in the lip.
