Probably Summer (Definitely Romance #1)

Prologue

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Alas, I’ve but one…“flaw.”

Alister

“This…might be a problem,” Leeann, grandmother to the love of my life, August, murmurs, glancing across the coffee table in her friend Lynn’s quaint tea parlor. Breath bated, I sit—awaiting her verdict—when her attention settles heavily on my hair.

The jet black locks fall in tousled waves across my forehead and around my ears.

My chest squeezes under the scrutiny, but I’m no stranger to problems. I’m even what one might consider good at solving them. Nevertheless, nerves grip me. Throat tight, I ask, “What might be a problem?”

Grandma Beth purses her lips, and then the three elderly women—my grandmother Beth, August’s grandmother Leeann, and their friend Lynn—are peering at me. After a short perusal, their eyes lower to the yellow binder that the love of my life presented her grandmother with just a few days ago.

Within the ornate pages rests the depiction of August’s precise romantic desires. AKA: her exact type.

Judging by the women’s faces, her exact type is not anything close to me.

Leeann’s lip curls. “Blond,” she spits. With a disparaging sigh, she sags against the couch.

Fingers over her eyes, she bemoans, “I cannot believe this. My own flesh and blood wants a blond. Blond! Here I have a flawless specimen ready to drop to his knees for her, and I’m being foiled by foolish naivete.

” Labored breath fills her lungs. “This is a travesty.”

Craning my neck, I do everything in my power to catch a glimpse of the page the women are analyzing. A sea of blond anime male leads greets me in an overwhelming collage of princely characters. My heart skips a beat.

That’s just so…

August.

Despite what it means for me, an unfortunate brunette, I melt.

In solidarity, Lynn pats Leeann’s hand. “We cannot control the whims of the youth, no matter how egregiously incorrect they might be. However, she’s young yet. She can still learn.”

Learn what, exactly? To use actual people in her reference photos when she petitions her grandmother to seek out and arrange the perfect relationship for her? Or do they mean that she can still learn that blond leads are, well, blond?

I meet my grandmother’s blue eyes.

Grandma Beth smiles and adjusts the thin wire frames of her glasses, then she straightens her expression and claps her hands.

“Ladies, ladies…let’s not get caught up in appearances.

Personality is what matters most.” She reaches for the binder in Leeann’s lap and turns the page away from all the many, many blond boys to an equally adorned spread loaded with washi tape, stickers, and brush pen cursive letters I can’t make out.

On the whole, I’m not certain that the vibe of this binder screams what I know about August Winslow, but I suppose there’s a chance I don’t know much about her at all.

Which is, of course, one of the reasons I’m here: to discuss the possibility that August might be interested in me with her grandmother.

Gentle, Grandma Beth draws her finger down an itemized list in the binder. Her brows pucker.

Lynn presses against Leeann as both the other women squeeze toward the binder and steal a look. Opposite my grandmother’s apprehension, their eyes glitter.

“Unfortunately—” Grandma Beth sighs, gaze fixed on Leeann. “—it seems she is related to you.”

Leeann cackles, lifting her chin. “I have never been more proud. Though, after that first page, my expectations have lowered considerably.”

Grandma Beth deflates. “I’m glad you’re content, but…” She waves her hand at the text. “I’m afraid this won’t do. Ali isn’t anything like this.”

My heart sinks. Right. Of course.

Why would I be exactly what the woman I’ve fallen in love with is looking for? That’d be a huge coincidence, and I already used up all my coincidences when August—a woman who lives in the same town that my grandmother retired to—applied to become my virtual assistant.

Still.

My fists clench, and—just like the lead in any decent shonen anime—I find myself unwilling to give up just yet. “What am I not like?” I ask.

“Secretly evil.” Leeann grins, finger posed at a paragraph beneath what I assume to be character traits.

“He must be princely in appearance, but with a dark side. Prone to insufferable teasing despite undertones of kindness and care. Obsession is a must. Devotion is non-negotiable. Sense of humor must be elite and on the brink of chaos. Let his edges be dipped in insanity. Let there be nothing he isn’t willing to do for the woman he loves. ”

I find myself blinking at the elderly women while hope skyrockets.

Obsessed? Check. Devoted? Double check. A bit insane?

Well, I’m here, in her town with her grandmother, looking through a binder outlining her ideal type, aren’t I?

If we need proof of my ability to tease, we can check back over any of the emails August and I have shared during her three years as my virtual assistant.

I don’t know whether or not she’d consider my sense of humor “elite,” but I have at least once—so professionally—threatened to keep her in my basement if she finds anime too compelling a distraction from work.

So.

Maybe I can be close enough to what she wants?

“I can do secretly evil,” I offer, glancing at my grandmother, who balks.

“You?” She places a hand upon her heart. “You donate to half a dozen charities a year.”

I wave a flippant hand. “Tax write-offs.”

“You pay all of your grandfather’s and my living expenses.”

“Every villain needs a soft spot for someone. Be honored that you and Grampa Edgar are mine.”

Grandma Beth crosses her arms. “You regularly volunteer on the weekends at nursing homes and animal shelters.”

I clear my throat. “…because the fact that I’m evil is…” I cough, wetting my lips. “…secret.”

Grandma Beth’s expression withers. “Right.”

“Now, now.” Leeann lifts her hands to settle my grandmother.

“Let’s not be too hasty. August entrusted me with finding her the perfect male specimen this summer.

And we have found him. She just doesn’t know that yet.

” Lifting the blond boy page, she peers at the collage, then her nose wrinkles as she drops it like it’s filthy.

“We must pity the youth in their immaturity. Right, Ali?”

I nod, very willing to pity poor, poor August and her misplaced ideas about her type. Considering—of course—that she is very thoroughly mine. Stretching out my hand, I say, “May I see the binder?”

“Oh, of course.” Leeann passes it over the coffee table, and I turn the lavish spread toward me, scanning the words that outline August Winslow’s ideal man.

Willing to use force, but supportive of my autonomy.

Rough, but gentle.

Wicked, but loving.

It’s a collection of contradictions and impossible statements without some manner of anime magic at work compelling the main characters down a path that inevitably leads them to bliss.

In real life, this sort of duplicity is tricky, because in real life no one knows when they’ve gone too far unless they constantly communicate openly and honestly.

But that’s not very secretly evil, now is it?

I turn the page.

Genre: Romance, obviously.

Pressing my lips together, I read the fine print beneath that flowing declaration: If you manage to find a faerie prince or an elf for me, I would be eternally grateful and quite content to add “Fantasy” to the genre, but if that’s probably impossible, I do—most regrettably—understand.

If August weren’t August, I’d be inclined to believe she’s pranking her grandmother.

Fortunately, August is August in every way.

Locating her list of tropes, I read aloud, “Enemies to lovers, forced proximity, small town, financial security (in lieu of billionaire…sigh, sigh, sigh…unless?), secret identity (prince, perhaps?), slow burn.” She’s drawn the eyes emoji after every single insane declaration.

Smiling, I continue, “For microtropes, we have… Only one bed, he cooks for her, borrowed clothing, shared ice cream, sunscreen application, bathing suit kisses, angry kisses, can’t-stop-ourselves-even-though-we-hate-each-other kisses, rain kisses, power’s out kisses…

” I run my thumb over the dear, dark promises as I return my attention to the women on the couch beyond the coffee table.

“Her microtropes aren’t really giving slow burn, are they? ”

“No, they’re surely not,” Grandma Beth murmurs.

Leeann, promptly, smacks her friend in the shoulder. “Let the youth live.”

This plot gets ever trickier to balance.

Good thing I’m not one to turn down a challenge.

Tracing a sun sticker with my fingertip, I lose myself in a fantasy of what might be possible until Grandma Beth’s voice jerks me back to reality. “I think we’re forgetting that Ali’s still not blond.”

“That’s your biggest concern?” Lynn tosses a hand in the air. “Not how we’re going to orchestrate a forced proximity, enemies-to-lovers with a girl like August when the man is already utterly gone for her?”

“Remind me,” Leeann muses, “does her list have he falls first?”

I scan the list. “No.”

“Hm. Must be an oversight.”

“Or,” Lynn huffs, “she has yet another questionable taste.”

Leeann crosses her arms. “I didn’t hear she falls first in the list, either. She must have forgotten to include he falls first. My granddaughter may inexplicably want a blond lead, but she’s not a complete idiot.”

She’s not an idiot at all, actually.

She’s funny and smart and…special. Something about her is unique to her.

And I can’t stop thinking about living in a world where I might wake up every single day to witness the magic she wields so effortlessly.

If not being blond is the main thing standing between me and my dreams of being with her, I’ll become blond.

It’s just a matter of how. I tug on a strand of my hair and look at the dark shade.

Dyeing it is an option. Considering it’s summer and she’s got a slew of summer tropes included here, a wig could be risky, but I’m not sure I should burn my hair to smithereens with bleach to get it light enough for dye.

Since I plan to be here for a while and my natural color is starkly opposite what she wants, I’d need to burn and dye constantly, because the second my roots show, I’d be done for.

I’m just not sure it’s a good idea to ruin my natural hair like that when, ideally, she’ll come to her senses eventually.

Wig it is. I’ll order one as soon as I’m back in Grandma Beth’s guest room with my laptop.

“So it’s settled, then?” Leeann asks, breaking through my thoughts.

I missed what was settled, so I drop the strand of my hair and look at the women.

They stare at me, not at all concerningly, even if all their canines are on display and my own sweet grandmother’s eyes are bright with disturbing levels of mischief.

Like an anime lead, I murmur, “Yare yare,” and cut my hand back through my offending dark locks. “What’s the plan?”

The plan, as it turns out, is quite simple.

Step one: become blond.

Step two: make my unsuspecting virtual assistant fall madly in love with me.

Step three?

Hm.

I wonder.

If I had to guess according to stories like these, though, I’d say step three is live happily ever after.

The end.