Georgia laughs. “What the hell kind of romance is that? It sounds as dry as”—she looks around, seeking inspiration—“drywall.”
“The realistic kind.”
“Girl, nobody’s going to be excited about working for a contractor who wants you to keep track of his taxes. Not even you could sell it to your followers. By the way, is this contractor hot? You didn’t say.”
“Probably. I haven’t decided.” My tone is light to hide how glum I feel. God, I’m dying to do something about my shitty life, except I don’t know what to do. I feel stuck at the moment.
“Make him hot. And add some fun to it.”
“Fine.” I wave my pickle spear around like a magic wand. “He’s hot.”
“How hot?”
Nicholas hot. The answer almost pops out of my mouth, but I contain it. Nicholas is Georgia’s stepbrother. Just thinking of him makes my heart do triple twists, but I know better than to show it. He’s too sophisticated and cool—the Hope Diamond of men. And he’s super nice to me, but only because I’m Georgia’s best friend. If he knew I’ve been harboring this crazy crush on him, he’d probably get weirded out and pull away.
Since I see him once a month at the animal shelter where I volunteer, I don’t want to make things awkward. He’s like a beautiful special-edition hardback of your favorite book that you display in a case while your reading copy gets used and worn.
“Very,” I say instead in my most innocent tone.
Georgia squints. “And what else? A hot contractor hiring you to be his accountant isn’t doing it for me.”
I tap the edge of my empty coffee cup, trying to think of some trope that will satisfy my bestie. “He decides to fake-date his new accountant?”
“Why can’t he just fake-date you from the beginning, rather than hiring you first?”
“Becausethatway I’d have a valid reason to quit my job.”
“Ohhh… Job hunting not going well?”
I nod, trying not to feel too dejected. “I’ve sent résumés to several places, but nothing. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something wrong with my qualifications or something.” This lack of new-job progress is another reason I feel stuck.
“Nothing’s wrong with your qualifications. Or you,” Georgia says, picking up on my unspoken sense of inadequacy. “It’s just a sign from the universe that you should open the indie bookstore you’ve always dreamed of.”
“One in five U.S. businesses fail within the first year.” That’s me. All sunshine and positivity.
“You could be the four in five that don’t.”
“Andalmost half fail after five years.”
“So be the other half. Right?”
Georgia is always confident that things are going to work out. But then, if anything happens, she has her dad to catch her. Me? I’d consider myself lucky if mine merely let me go splat. He wouldn’t just let me fall; he’d berate me on my way down. Part of me is envious of her amazing relationship with her father. On the other hand, she had no part in her mother’s death, so…
A sharp pain pierces my heart, and I hold my breath for a moment to recover.
You were only six.
But I could’ve been more patient. Acted better. My therapist back then told me it wasn’t really my fault, and I nodded because I couldn’t think of words to express how I didn’t believe her.
“What’s wrong?” Georgia’s voice is soft with concern.
I paste on a smile. The lingering grief from my mother’s untimely death isn’t something I want to bring up. “Nothing. I was just thinking you’re too optimistic.”
“Somebody’s gotta cheer you on. Oh, wait.” Her eyes light up. “Is that why you’re dreaming of fake-dating a successful contractor? So he can invest in your bookstore?”
“No. I wouldn’t want a boyfriend to invest in my business, especially when there’s such a big chance of failure.”
“Come on. Why date a rich guy if you can’t raid his bank account?”
