Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Yesterday was a success. The fast-food picnic resulted in another tally mark of matches made in… well, a gazebo.
With Valentine’s Day only a few days away, I needed to keep up with the insanity of pairing lovers.
Did you know that roughly six thousand couples head to Splitsville every hour? That’s six thousand opportunities for a rematch for the elusive Double-Tap.
Now, Rome wasn’t built in a day. As unfortunate as it was, everlasting love couldn’t be achieved in one holiday or even ten. However, it was the duty bestowed upon me by the gods themselves—including my parents, bless their divine souls.
The goddess of love and the god of war had raised a soldier of the heart. I took what I did very seriously. Or at least in my own way, I did. What good was being tasked with guiding two destined lovers together if you couldn’t have a little fun with it?
The match of the day came to me in an unusual manner. Normally, I’d need the happy couple to be present in the same place and time. However, these future lifelong lovebirds were one of the few exceptions.
In the digital day and age, long-distance relationships blossomed with connections forming over meaningful discussions—and sexting. So much sexting.
Pulling onto the long driveway, I realized that the particular delivery was not to some ordinary home.
No, the road led to something with something far more pretentious and picturesque.
Even the trees that lined the main drag leading up to the massive abode swayed with unnatural grace, like they owned the wind that rustled their branches.
The rough rumble of my truck’s engine seemed too disruptive for anything that polished-looking. It was as though the sound itself could sully the property’s image of opulence and beauty.
Approaching the residence, it wouldn’t be difficult to imagine the gorgeous piece of architecture as an estate, a summertime escape for some royal family.
Out front was a large marble fountain depicting the goddess of night—born of chaos and known as the mother of negative forces.
The Greek statue of Nyx and her chariot was a focal point as crystalline water poured from discreet openings, creating an ethereal appearance.
It wasn’t often one chose a primordial goddess as a landscaping statement piece, but who was I to judge? I once purchased a showerhead in the shape of Cerberus’s heads at the local thrift store.
I had never had the pleasure of meeting Nyx in the flesh, but I had heard more than plenty of stories that spoke to her aura of intimidation. Even in this moment, looking at the chiseled stone, I could feel the weight of her lifelike gaze settling on me.
My truck slowed to a stop in front of the residence.
The sheer scale screamed money or connections.
The pale gold exterior spanned eleven windows wide and three levels tall.
The top floor, with its significantly smaller windows, suggested the existence of a finished loft or supremely creepy attic space.
There weren’t too many deliveries to a place of that caliber.
But the day’s particular love connection involved a woman who was employed as a housemaid by the owner of the grand piece of architecture.
For a flicker of a moment, I considered the opportunity to befriend her so that I had a reason to come back.
I envisioned daily teatime with towers of macarons in every color, dusted with gold flakes.
Intel was spotty on the details surrounding that particular match. However, one thing was clear. Delivering chocolate-covered strawberries was bound to do the trick to seal the deal with her cross-country lover, Dale.
Killing the engine, I grabbed the white box wrapped with a bright red bow from the passenger seat and hopped out of the pickup.
The water fountain to my left seemed to cease all flow before bursting to life again with significantly more pressure. I should have taken that as my sign to turn and take my leave.
But I didn’t.
Stalking straight up to the oversized double doors of the home, I jabbed the doorbell with my finger. The sound was something magical out of a dream, high-pitched tones that reminded me of lyre strings and a chorus of flutes. Music of the gods themselves.
I pressed the button again, and a slightly different set of notes played.
Smiling to myself, I pressed the button again, and different tunes played. It was proving to be quite a catchy compilation of sounds.
Pliiiing-pling-ling.
Pushed it again.
Plang-tiii-pliiing-pling-pling.
And again.
Liirrrrinng-pling-plang-plung.
A squealed giggle of amusement and delight escaped me as I reached out to press the little white button once more but stopped in my tracks as one of the doors swung open abruptly.
Standing in the doorway was a portly man, of average height but with a belly that you could bounce a quarter off of.
His dark hair had some light greys near his ears, his eyes were a dark chocolate, and he looked all business.
His black suit had not a wrinkle in sight, and he carried all the energy of a man in charge of running this spacious household.
No-nonsense butler vibes, without a doubt.
“May I help you, miss?” He spoke with the authority of someone who wouldn’t know fun if it bit him in the ass.
Straightening up, I clutched onto the gift box in front of me. “Hi, I’ve got a delivery for Ms. Jamie Peterson.”
There was a shift in the man’s demeanor, a ruffling of feathers perhaps, or skepticism. It was difficult to pinpoint, given how straightlaced this man was bound.
“I am Mr. Jamie Peterson,” he corrected while peering down the length of his broad nose.
Oh. Yikes.
A rare moment of embarrassment overcame me as a heated flush spread across my face. With a nervous giggle, I extended the strawberries toward him like a peace offering.
“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Peterson. These are for you. From Dale.”
He took the package from me, taking a peek at the folded card on top. It was subtle, but the faintest crack appeared in the facade of his faithful butlerdom. A twinkle in those dark eyes, a twitch of his cheek that might have been a suppressed smile.
It was the look of a man who realized his beau thought about him even while being hundreds of miles away.
Leaning forward, I strained to listen for the telltale sound of a Double-Tap heartbeat. I was met with silence.
Dammit.
These matches were always a challenge, but Charlee Amoretti does not back down from a little hard work.
Clearing my throat, I clasped my hands in front of me. “In addition to the strawberries, there was a request for me to perform the Broadway version of the song—”
Mr. Peterson raised a hand authoritatively. “That won’t be necessary.”
Hmph.
Taking a sheepish step backward, I nodded in understanding. “Of course.”
Instead of leaving, I stood there racking my brain with ways to bridge this gap between him and the man who had wanted to send a token of his love.
I couldn’t very well snap my fingers in front of him and make all his romantic fantasies come true on the spot. Instead, I pulled out the last trick I had up my sleeve.
“One more thing.” I lifted a finger in front of me. “The gentleman who ordered these for you wanted me to tell you that this time next year, he hopes to deliver these personally.”
A deliberate pause before dropping the clincher, “With, I quote, a side of whipped cream on his ‘dessert platter.’” My suggestive wink was deliberate to allude to the shared discretion in the true meaning behind those words.
Beat… beat.
There it was, the desired Double-Tap. I resisted the urge to blow on my polished nails with a sense of smugness.
“Well, you have a lovely Valentine’s Day, Mr. Peterson.” I waved at him as I smiled, a sense of pride evident in the way my hips swung side to side in a giddy, dancelike motion.
The soft click of the front door behind me evidenced the retreat of the butler back inside with his lover’s promise singing in his soul.
I strutted to the driver’s side of my truck, jerking the door open. Before getting in, I looked up at the goddess, Nyx. In a childlike manner, I stuck my tongue out at her while making a squinty face with one eye closed.
Take your negativity and shove it. Love has prevailed!
Hoisting myself into the driver’s seat, I was prepared to pull away when I noticed the clipboard with the delivery receipt on it.
“Dammit,” I whispered in irritation.
He had forgotten to sign for the package.
With a heavy sigh, I snatched up the clipboard and headed right back over to those overbearing double doors.
My finger impatiently pressed the doorbell several times, cutting off the lyre’s smooth and graceful notes with more ragged tones.
Pl-pl-plin-plu-pla-ling.
On the other side of the door, there were several bangs, heavy thuds, and approaching footsteps. The door swung open.
“Sorry, I just need you to sign…” My words dissolved into silence as I came face to chest with a towering man.
With the slowness of a woman regretting her choice of flat footwear, I tilted my head back.
My eyes trailed up the row of buttons of his white dress shirt, the top two buttons at the collar left undone to expose the bronzed-olive skin beneath it.
The hollow of his throat, the bulge of his Adam’s apple, and the dark stubble just starting to break through on his chin that matched the rest of his hair.
Swallowing past the beat of my heart lodged in my throat, I dared to continue looking upwards. Past the full lips pressed into a firm line. Up to the straight set of his nose, except for a small deviation that suggested surviving at least one break.
Then, my eyes met his.
I had expected darkness. Instead, I was met with a dynamic shade of brown that stole the air from my lungs.
The earthy pools reminded me of a battleground moments after war’s carnage had ceased, the soil soaked with blood of fallen warriors who had departed for the afterlife. Volatile. Cold. Soul capturing.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
The scent of the gods wafted off of him in suffocating waves. Notes of thunder, sharp citrus, and cool flames of immortality filled my lungs.
Without looking behind me, I could almost feel the vindicated stare of the statue of Nyx boring into me.
I may have even heard her snicker in the gust of wind that blew the clipboard straight from my fingertips.
The man—the god—before me spoke with a gravelly voice that sent violent shivers down my spine and confirmed his recognition of my true self.
“You.”
With just one word, I realized my presence here was not just undesired but an offense he was prepared to make me pay dearly for.