I don’t know, am I?Cupid’s Clashis creating chaos in my mind. Convincing me that some cherubic little punkis floating around the nearest corner, bow taut, arrow aimed, mischief at the ready.
No more,I warn myself as I perform a few obligatory rows on the machine.If it happens, it happens. I can’t force it.
On my way to the Coffee Loft, I promise myself that no matter what crazy ideas come to mind, I willnotinitiate anything with bull-headed Braxton. He’s the last person on the planet I want to have a meet-cute with.
I avoid Braxton the entire day while the book signing for Cupid Darts goes off without a hitch. It goes so well, in fact, that Lovely’s publisher arranges to send JJ Lee, a top-selling romance novelist known for mentoring aspiring authors, here for an interactive storytelling event the day after New Year’s. Apparently, it’s an intro to her upcoming release on writing.
I advertise the event all week long, encouraging guests to bring dates or significant others. A new banner goes up, and though I’m sad to see Lovely’s gorgeous banner get packed up and sent to the next place, the new one is giving Valentine vibes with its antique white backdrop, blush-colored hearts, and pale pink kisses.
Along the top is the title—Once Upon a Time. Below that, it reads,Writing Improv Romance with a He Says, She Says Twist.Sounds interesting, that’s for sure. In fact, it sounds like the type of thing that just might spark the most perfect meet…no,I interrupt myself.Stay focused.
I managed to keep things cordial with Braxton the entire week. At least once each day, I check in on him to see how things are coming along. He barely acknowledges me, of course, not like I care. After a quick appraisal of his handiwork—which is impressive, I might add—I ask if he needs anything, a cup of coffee on the house, perhaps. Naturally, he accepts, and I have Chantel deliver it to him. I can’t help but pride myself on how classy I’m responding after his unsavory behavior when we first met. Yep, that’s me. I am one classy gal.
Triple G doesn’t think so. During my next few trips to the gym, he gives me a wide berth any time I go near him. To add insult to injury, Mr. Cheetah Print saunters up to me as I’m heading to the locker room and asks if I’d like to go out for a drink sometime. He tells me, in a voice that sounds exactly like my great- grandfather’s, that I’ve got gumption, and he likes that. My eyes flit to Triple G, who breaks his border boundary enough to overhear the invite. He grins like this is something I deserve.
Sadly, dating a ninety-year-old with a thing for cheetah-tards is not on my bucket list, so I thank him kindly but decline.
I ring in the new year at my sister Kirsten’s place. Braxton’s brother Beau is there, of course, since the two are still going strong. There’s good food, entertaining karaoke, and several games that call for dividing into couples. Kirsten pairs with Beau, my favorite albeit only nephew Jack, pairs with his date, and Beau’s son Parker has a date of his own. That leaves me with Beau’s eight-year-old daughter, Paige. I’m happy to find that I don’t mind a bit. I love that spunky little girl who can sing, dance, and dish out a plateful of sass when she needs to. I give in to the urge to ask Paige what she thinks about her mean Uncle Braxton. Paige grins wide, giggles, then assures me that he isn’t as mean as he seems.
“Speaking of Braxton,” Beau says, overhearing ourconversation. “He had a date tonight, but she stood him up. Well, she canceled, actually, saying her husband would be in town after all.”
“Husband?” I blurt, pinning my wide-with-shock eyes on Kirsten.
“He didn’t know,” my sister assures with a glare in Beau’s direction. “He was shocked when he found out.”
“He was ticked off, that’s for sure,” Beau says. “Mainly because he drove two and a half hours to meet her at some cheesy ice rink, which means he’ll be driving home in the storm instead of ringing in the new year with some chick by his side.”
Why I feel even an ounce of jealousy at this moment is beyond me. But I do, and I hate it.
Kirsten and Beau exchange looks, and I sense that Beau doesn’t think my dating Braxton is a great idea either, despite Kirsten’s assurance that he does.
Already, I feel myself swinging back toward the other side of the spectrum—away from the discomfort of putting myself out there when I could unwittingly wind up dating somebody’s lying, cheating spouse the way Braxton did. That is if he really didn’t know she was married.
“You should tell him to come straight here if it’s not too late,” Kirsten says to Beau.
My body reacts to that idea with a near spasm. Heart jumping. Pulse spiking. Face flushing with uncomfortable heat.
Beau gives Kirsten a subtle headshake, and Kirsten forces her gaze back to the screen.
Hmm. Beau really thinks that my dating Braxton would bea bad idea, I guess. It stings a little. Unless it’s because he knows his younger brother is trouble. That’s probably it.
But then another possibility comes to mind. Perhaps Braxton told him—after meeting me—that he wouldn’t be interested. That stings even more. But it’s probably the closest thing to the truth. I’m probably not his type. I’m not going to act like some airhead who giggles at every snide comment he makes. And, of course, I’m not going to stand him up for a date on New Year’s because myhusbandhappens to be in town. Itskinwardly, that old familiar bitterness slinking back in.
No, Maggie, it’s a new year,I remind myself. A new year and a new me. I can be brave, open, and ready.
On New Years’ Day, I binge the second and third chapters of Cupid Darts. After introducing the first dart in chapter one and expounding on it at length, Lovely spends time on the dos and don’ts. Chapter three ends with the ring of finality, which tells me that chapter four will introduceDart Number Two.
I don’t let myself turn the page yet. I’m torn, feeling both anxious to find out what the next dart is and slightly hesitant too. I don’t want it to trigger another round of crazy behavior and ridiculous attempts. Plus, as long as there are more chapters ahead and more darts to discover, my hope feels alive. The possibilities, endless. My aversion, repressed.
I trade my contrived meet-cute clashes for daydreamed ones instead. In addition to being safer, the musings put a smile on my face and keep hope in my heart.
On the morning of theOnce Upon a Timeevent, I skip the gym to avoid all the New Year’s resolution junkies and do an online yoga class instead. Once I head out, I pick up a bouquetof balloons for the event, then pull into the gas station to fill up Sunny.
I imagine a handsome hunk approaching me after the event while customers bustle into the chilly night. He’s got an angry snarl on his face and a water-damaged book in his hand. But not just any book—it’s Cupid Darts, he’s reading it too. Furiously, he rants about the fact that someone spilled their spiced chai latte with a double shot of espresso on his book, and he demands a new one.
‘A new drink?’I ask him.
‘A new book!’he yells.
