The Ex-cavenger Hunt (Happily Ever Mishaps Book 1)

Chapter 1

There’ssomething about the smell of coffee in the morning that feels like a warm hug, especially when it’s my day off. Nothing says the best day of my life like the comfort of my fuzzy couch, lounging pants, and a nice cup of java.

This is the life, right?

Who needs to spend the day with the family while listening to my sister bragging about her wedding and perfect fiancé?

I’m pretty sure he’s not perfect.

Is there such a thing as the perfect anything? If there was, would I be spending my lazy morning with a guy who adores me, and I adore back?

Doubtful. Dominique is spending the day golfing with our father. Maybe that’s what makes him the best in my parents’ eyes and why they are happy my sister is marrying him. Cleo could do better. Maybe not, maybe that’s as good as it gets.

And who wants to be with someone on those terms? Not me.

As if my sister can hear my thoughts, I receive a text from her with a link.

Me: Are you trying to spam me?

Cleo: Mom and I were discussing that you won’t be bringing a date to the wedding. It’s sad that you’re still single—I mean after ALL the men you’ve been dating. One would think you’d be at least in a serious relationship by now.

Me: Are you slut-shaming me?

Cleo: I wouldn’t dare. However, our parents are concerned about you.

Me: Tell our parents that I’m happy the way I am.

Cleo: Sure, but just in case I’m sending you a few more links. Even if you don’t bring a date, I think it’d be good for you to learn how to love yourself.

“Bitch,” I mutter under my breath. I could respond in so many ways, but I choose to be the bigger person.

Me: Sometimes I wonder if you’re adopted, or you just get a kick out of fucking with your youngest sister.

Okay, maybe that’s not being the bigger person, but she really is good at messing with my head.

Cleo: I’m concerned about you.

Me: What are you concerned about? That I won’t look good in bubble gum pink for the bridesmaid dresses or that I’ll have to walk with Pinky down the aisle because I don’t have a date?

Cleo: I wouldn’t make you walk with the family dog. You’re going to be paired with Ethan.

Me: Dominique’s brother? What the fuck? Like I want him to grab my ass in front of all the guests. No, thank you.

Cleo: He’s not that bad.

Me: You’re the one who said he’s a pervert and . . . I can’t even remember everything you said about him, but it’s a definite nope.

Cleo: Well, then you better bring a significant other—who is important. Not some douche from the streets.

Me: Are you for real?

Cleo: Yep.

Me: Don’t worry, I’ll bring the love of my life along.

Cleo: Like you’d find one.

Me: Watch me.

I honestly don’t know exactly what I’m telling her to watch though. I have a man embargo after the last failed relationship. But also, I can’t let her win. Even though I hate doing it, I go through the crap she texted me.

Articles like, “Are You Ready for Love?”, “Is It Me?” . . . I’m about to throw my tablet against the wall when I open the next one, it’s an article that promises the secret pathways to love: “Unearthing Authentic Affection: An Expedition into Self-Discovery and Reflection.”

In the labyrinthine realm of love, where heartbreaks are as common as awkward first dates, how do we truly know when we’ve stumbled upon our soulmate?

It’s a question that has baffled philosophers and poets for centuries. But what if the answer lies not in looking forward but in retracing our steps?

Embarking on a journey of reflection can be enlightening. Revisiting past relationships offers a unique perspective on our patterns, preferences, and pitfalls. It provides us with an opportunity to analyze our romantic history from a distance, offering insights that may have been overlooked during the whirlwind of emotions.

Whether it is the high school sweetheart who made your heart flutter with his charming smile or the college boyfriend who shared your dreams but couldn’t keep up with them; each relationship contributes to our understanding of love and self.

So before you swipe right again or accept that blind date your friend has been pestering you about, take a moment. Reflect on past loves and learn from them. Who knows? You might discover that one ex-flame still holds a spark worth rekindling or perhaps find clarity in what you truly seek from love.

After all, isn’t true love about understanding ourselves better so we can connect more authentically with others? So go ahead—dust off those old photo albums, revisit those memories, and embark on your own expedition into self-discovery and reflection. True love might be waiting just around the corner of memory lane.

“Memory lane, huh?” I mutter to myself, my voice laced with a hint of irony. I lean back on the couch, my eyes fixed on the tablet in my hands. If only the solution to my love life could be found in the soft glow of the screen.

Are they telling me that I missed out on love because I . . . What happened? I probably failed to recognize my soulmate. Is that even a thing?

There’s a pinch of anxiety gnawing my insides. I feel it in the way my stomach clenches and the way my breath catches in my throat. With each sentence, the fear of missing out grows heavier, like a stone settling in the pit of my stomach. It’s as if whoever wrote this article knows me, knows about the string of Mr. Almost-Rights that make up my dating history.

“Could any of them have been The One?” I whisper to the room, half-expecting one of my quirky art pieces to answer back.

I’ve always been the girl who wears her heart not just on her sleeve but practically on her forehead, flashing neon for the world to see. Yet here I am, wondering if, in all my creative endeavors to find love, I’ve inadvertently ignored someone important. Someone whose impact on my life may have been more than fleeting but I didn’t recognize him.

The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I can’t help but let out a nervous sigh. It’s typical of me to focus too much on the small things and overlook the big picture. In this situation, I didn’t realize I was neglecting the main aspects of my own love story by getting caught up in trivial matters.

“Come on, think,” I urge myself. There has to be a pattern, a common thread among the men I’ve loved and lost. Is lost the right word?

Loved and dumped?

Okay, I dumped some, others dumped me and . . . not everything is black and white, is it?

But as the article suggests, it’s time to reflect on the past but not to dwell on it. No, this is about learning, about piecing together the puzzle of my heart.

“Let’s do some soul-searching,” I say with a renewed sense of purpose, though the tightness in my chest tells me it’s not going to be all fun and games.

But won’t it?

“Potential partners,” I repeat under my breath, rolling the phrase around on my tongue. It sounds so clinical, so devoid of the magic and spark I associate with love. And yet, it’s precisely what I need to explore to get someone through the scrutinizing eyes of my sister. There’s no way I’m going to be close to Ethan.

I’ve only met him a couple of times from afar and he’s not very friendly. Cleo has told us about him. Pretentious, manipulative, self-centered . . . he barely treats his family well and when he’s around, he’s intolerable.

There’s no way I’m dealing with someone like that during Bridezilla’s nuptials. I jump up from the couch, my feet itching to move as anxiety nips at my heels. Pacing around the house, I try to shake off the restless energy, but my mind won’t quit buzzing. The old wooden floorboards creak and groan beneath me, like they’re protesting my sudden burst of activity.

I’m halfway across the living room when I freeze, my head spinning with a whirlwind of names and faces, each one dragging up a memory that plays like a scratched record. It’s a jumble of what-could-have-beens and almost-loves, a mental playlist that skips and stutters, never quite making it to the end of the song.