“A well-meaning menace.” Tessa picks up her wine glass, draining the last sip. “So. Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“Because if I’m going to be your fake girlfriend at a fancy gala, we should probably have each other’s numbers.”
Right.
I hand over my phone. She types in her number, then calls herself so she has mine. When she hands it back, her contact name reads Tessa (Best GF Ever) with a sparkle emoji.
“I’ll text you the details,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.Thank you for saving me from awkward small talk with another blind date setup? Thank you for lying to my sister?
“You do that.” She slides off the stool, gathering her coat. “And Archie?”
“Yeah?”
She pauses, looking back at me with those warm brown eyes. “For the record? I don’t think you’re as grumpy as advertised.”
Then she’s gone, disappearing into the February night, leaving me alone at the bar with a half-empty whiskey and a phone number I’m already thinking about using.
I rub the back of my neck and signal for another drink.
I’m in trouble.
CHAPTER 2
TESSA
Don’t forget you have that Valentine’s series coming up.” Joanie’s face fills my laptop screen, her cat-eye glasses catching the light from her own ring light setup. “One post about unrealistic expectations, a two-part piece about men who won’t commit. Is there anything you want to add?”
I adjust my own ring light and pretend to check my content calendar, even though I’ve been staring at the same blank document for twenty minutes. My home office is usually my sanctuary—the soft pink accent wall, the “Curvy Cupid” banner with its heart motifs, the carefully curated bookshelf of romance novels behind me. This is my happy place, but I’ve been unable to focus on anything today.
“I’ve got the three posts confirmed,” I say. “But honestly? I don’t have anything else for Valentine’s Day.”
Joanie’s eyebrows rise above her glasses. “Tessa Hart, queen of seasonal content, has nothing for the most romantic day of the year?”
I spin my chair away from the camera, buying myself a moment. Through my window, Cupid City’s gray February sky hangs low over the rooftops. Even from my desk, I can see the Lock & Key Bridge arching over the river, its railing heavy with padlocks. A couple leans together at the midpoint, breath visible, fingers laced over the railing. I picked this apartment for that view—all those promises glinting in the light. Usually, it fills me up. Today, it just reminds me how long it’s been since I’ve had someone to stand on that bridge with. “I’ve been struggling with content lately. It’s hard to write about romance when you’re feeling disconnected from it.”
I don’t usually let Joanie see behind the curtain like this—she’s my assistant, my friend, but also my business partner in a brand built on confidence and optimism. Curvy Cupid doesn’t get to feel listless or sad, even when she’s single. Curvy Cupid helps other people find love. Curvy Cupid never stops believing in love.
“Okay.” Joanie’s tone shifts, the business edge softening. “What happened?”
“What makes you think something happened?”
“Because you’re avoiding eye contact with a webcam, which is physically impossible, and yet somehow you’re doing it.” She leans closer to her screen. “Spill.”
I spin back to face her, and despite everything, I can’t stop myself from smiling. “I may have been impulsive last night.”
“Okay… Give me the tea!”
“There was this guy at the Velvet Arrow.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He was grumpy. Like, aggressively grumpy. Sitting alone at the bar, looking like someone kicked his dog.”
“Your favorite type.”
“He warned me about the Moscow Mules.”
