Round Six #2
“Like, when Jeremy said Miss Sava’s probably a witch, but a good witch, since you’re soooo nice, Billy said you were joking about that and you don’t cook anyone, since it’s against the law.
When Jeremy said you and Billy did the karate on the porch, Billy said there was no karate, just a giant foot in his mouth and his big meaty hands hurting you.
He said he felt terrible about it, and then he lectured my entire class about how men should never ever use their karate to hurt a woman like he did. ”
“Don’t go over there with a casserole and sympathy,” Fox tuts. “It’ll ruin his good mood.”
“Go over with a baseball bat,” Alana snickers. “Smash the side mirror off his car or something. Film it so I can watch.”
“I’m not smashing anything!” I massage my temples, a pained groan working its way along my throat. “You people are insane if you think I’m going to torment that man any more than I already have.”
“Shame.” Eliza steals another cupcake crumb and nibbles it off the tip of her finger. “Dude’s been smiling like he got lucky. First time in a looooong time.”
“Tell us about you, anyway.” Alana leans on the counter and beams. “Twenty-five freakin’ years! What do you do? Who are your people now?” Her smile softens. “How’s your mom?”
“Mom’s…” I try not to let the bitterness eat me up on the inside.
So I sigh instead. “She’s fine. I guess the downside to finding your soulmate when you’re twelve is that if that soulmate dies seventy years too soon, the pain kinda cripples the one left behind.
She never really recovered, ya know?” I wrinkle my nose.
“She goes through the motions of each day, gets up, makes her bed, goes to work. She exists, but I feel like she’s just waiting. ”
Alana’s brows pinch tight in compassion.
“Waiting to die.” I shrug. “Waiting until she can skip into the afterlife and meet up with him on the other side.”
“That’s so awful.” Fox’s murmurs. “Makes it hard to want to find your other half in the first place, huh? To give them your heart and hope it stays safe.”
“Which is why Tommy and Chris aren’t allowed too much freedom,” Alana declares. “They’ve gotta stick around for another seventy years, at least. I refuse to even consider a different outcome.”
“What about work?” Eliza asks. “What do you do? The grapevine is abuzz,” she snickers. “Because you’ve been in town for ten whole days, and no one has seen you drop a resumé off yet. You too rich to work?”
I choke out a laugh bordering on desperate, then I cover the anxiety swirling in my belly with a smile, and since this is Alana’s store, I meet her eyes and flash my most convincing smile. “Funny that’s come up. I was coming in here to talk to the owner, anyway.”
“Oookay?” At Fox’s offer, Alana accepts her belly-popping baby and sets her diapered butt on the counter between us. “Did you hear the bit about how my business is circling the drain? If so, please don’t take offense when I politely decline whatever it is you’re selling me.”
“No selling.” I bolster my bravery and dial up my smile. “I’m a love expert, actually. For work,” I clarify, meeting three separate sets of confused eyes. “Back in my old town, I directed a successful company based on…” I shrug. “Love.”
“So…” Fox hums. “Escort service?”
“No!”
Alana guffaws.
“I help people… find love. I host events for singles, and work one-on-one with those who need someone to walk them through the process of dating someone else.”
“There’s a market for everything, huh?” Eliza pops her butt onto the counter and warms the side of my face with her stare. “You’re a pimp?”
“No! For the group events—”
“Orgies?”
“Good lord. No!” I smack a fighter’s arm—it’s so muscular!—then I meet Alana’s eyes and plead. “Do you wanna hear about it, or do you wanna try to guess… badly?”
“I mean…” She giggles. “Guessing is fun.”
“I host group events for singles. For dating,” I insist, before Eliza can interrupt.
“Not for sex. In those instances, I literally plan an event, find a location, organize music, food, wine, and games. Whatever we need. I market the event, gather names—male and female—and then on the night, I hope true love might bloom somewhere in the room. Those events are fun, they’re social and silly, and, even when the night is catering to a certain age group, like thirty-five to forty-five or whatever, everyone is giggling and blushing like they’re in high school again.
” I lean against the counter and release a happy sigh.
“I’m the product of the greatest love story in existence.
My mom and dad’s love survives, even in death.
So, I was planning to come in here and talk to Mrs. Middler about hosting an event in town soon.
I’d use your space, we’d market the event, your store would benefit from the added bodies in the door, and hopefully some folks will find love. ”
“You want to host a speed dating thing… here? Inside my store?”
“Yes! Exactly. Bookstores are inherently romantic, don’t you think?
It would take place in the evening, so your daytime business isn’t likely to be affected.
It would be dark out, which lends perfectly to a candlelit affair.
We could even consider a theme, encouraging guests to come dressed as their favorite romance hero or heroine.
Could you imagine how many Mr. Darcys would come? ”
“Ew. No,” Eliza grunts. “Darcy is a dirty word in Plainview these days.”
“Oh… uh… okay. Heathcliff? Noah Calhoun. John Thornton. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Someone might come wearing a kilt!”
“That’s the kinda shit Ollie would pull.” Eliza pokes a finger into her mouth. “Rose is all up in those books right now, and Ollie’s such a sucker for whatever makes her happy.” She casts a furious look my way. “He better wear underwear under his kilt, Magnolia!”
“Wait,” Fox murmurs. “You mentioned one-on-one stuff, too. What does that mean?”
“Well… I typically work with men who’ve been out of the dating scene for a significant amount of time.
Maybe they’re emerging from the other side of divorce, or death, or whatever.
I’ll sit with these men and help them devise a plan going forward.
If they’ve secured a date, but are nervous as hell and need talking points or something, then we’ll work on those.
If he’s scared he’ll mess up at the dinner table, we’ll set a table and practice.
After a date, we’ll debrief and discuss what went right and what went wrong. It’s a coaching service, I suppose.”
“And people pay for that?” Eliza whispers. “I don’t mean any offense, but—”
“People pay for it,” I assure her. “They pay well. They beg for my help, and then when they screw up, because they always do,” I snicker, “we book another session, and we keep going until those debriefing sessions become more about right than wrong. Love is an extremely lucrative industry.” I meet Alana’s eyes.
“And as the location owner, you take a cut of whatever the event raises.”