Bullseye for Love (Icarus Bluff #1)
Chapter 1
Eva
“Did you get laid last night?” Bianca’s question bounced off the bustling tasting-room walls, her braces glinting under the twinkle lights as she rose on her toes. I winced, snatching the glass of chardonnay from her hand and quickly scanning the room to make sure no one had overheard.
Elysian Vineyards teemed with couples—some chatting animatedly, others finding intimate corners to whisper in. The space hummed with the soft clinking of wine glasses and muted laughter. I took a deliberate sip of the wine, buying myself a moment before responding.
“Do you think that happens every time?” I rolled my eyes, more to myself than to Bianca. The truth was far less exciting. My recent dates had been disappointingly shallow—attractive men who looked good but offered little beyond surface-level conversation. Not worth the effort, if I was being honest.
Bianca leaned in, her excitement barely contained. “Come on, Eva. You know I don’t date. These juicy details are my only connection to the romantic world.” She grinned, her braces a reminder of our long friendship that stretched back to awkward middle-school days.
At twenty-five, Bianca still maintained the same infectious energy she’d had as a teenager. Her second round of braces only added to her quirky, perpetual emo-era charm. Right now, she was dividing her attention between our conversation and something—or someone—else.
I followed her gaze and saw my cousin, Dion Thomas, approaching. The self-proclaimed god of wine making and the relative I most loved to hate.
“What do you want, Dion?” I sent him a death glare that could have wilted grapes.
He responded with a dramatic flourish, pressing a hand to his chest as if mortally wounded. “Eva, I am so hurt by your tone of voice,” Dion said, his smirk betraying the mock suffering of his performance. “I come bearing a gift of wine for your charming friend.”
The evening light was softening, making the twinkle lights overhead seem brighter. Bianca graciously accepted the glass Dion offered and set it on the wooden table beside our gray leather couch. “Where were we?” Bianca said, bringing her attention back to the conversation at hand. “Oh, right. Your date with the drummer?”
I shrugged. “It was okay, but I don’t think I’m going to see him again. There wasn’t a spark.”
Dion couldn’t resist a jab. “What? No spark from the daughter of Eros? Impossible!”
“Shut it, Dion,” I retorted. “We weren’t talking to you.” I looked down at my glass and saw I had a little left. I gulped down the last drop and stood up.
“I’m gonna go mingle with some people,” I said to Bianca, ignoring Dion’s smiling expression.
“Oh, okay. I’ll be here if you need me,” Bianca said.
The evening was just beginning, and already I could feel the familiar dance of family dynamics and romantic expectations swirling around me like the wine poured in glasses.
Being the daughter of Eros—the god of love himself—came with certain expectations. My family’s legacy of matchmaking wasn’t just a profession; it was a divine calling. My grandmother Alice, the goddess of beauty whose mere presence could make men stumble and women seethe with envy, had built an empire helping mortals in Icarus Bluff find true love.
And me? I was a demigod with all the potential for matchmaking brilliance and precisely zero success in my romantic life.
I walked through the crowd, navigating the rustic space as the evening crowd swelled. Afterwork patrons filtered in, filling the tasting room with a new energy. The soft murmur of conversations and the gentle clink of wine glasses created a backdrop of controlled chaos.
A hand grabbed my arm, and I turned and found Mrs. Meriwether—a short, plump woman with curly gray hair and alarmingly bright-pink lips that missed her natural coloring by several shades. Despite the questionable makeup choice, her eyes sparkled with genuine warmth.
“Eva,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of excitement and comfort.
“Mrs. Meriwether!” I brightened my smile, hoping to mask my initial surprise. Just behind her, Mr. Herbert approached, his presence completing a picture of late-life romance that never failed to touch my heart.
The two had been dating for a month, bonding over their shared love of checkers and an unexpected second chance at companionship. Growing up with a matchmaker for a father, I'd learned to recognize these sparks of connection. Watching this moment unfold, I was reminded that romance could bloom at any stage of life. It was moments like these that made me believe in my fathers's work—and now my own.
“This place is to die for,” Mrs. Meriwether gushed. “Your family has knocked it out of the park. Best mixer I’ve been to in years!”
Mr. Herbert wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close in a gesture that spoke volumes about their connection. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he said.
Through the large glass windows, I could see more cars pulling into the Elysian Vineyards parking lot. Time to play hostess. I moved to the bar, selected a serving tray, and carefully arranged black cocktail napkins, sodas, and glasses of wine. I’d practiced each movement, perfecting this dance over countless events.
As I carried the tray toward the main entrance, a young man caught my eye. He looked utterly out of place— slightly disheveled curly black hair, glasses perched on his nose, and cheeks flushed with what seemed like a combination of embarrassment and anticipation. A deer in the headlights, overwhelmed by the sophisticated wine-tasting environment.
He didn’t seem like the typical patron seeking guidance from the god of love. No, this man looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, and yet something was keeping him here.