The Fun Part (Happy Endings in Clover Park #4)

Chapter 1

Mackenzie

My cousin and I engage in a small wrestling match. Oof. Ow! Hopefully no one witnesses this. We’re standing right outside the venue of the Clover Park Valentine’s Day dance in the freezing cold of a Connecticut winter.

Harper’s fingers are like talons gripping my upper arms. I’ve got her by the upper arms, too, as we wiggle back and forth, fairly matched in strength and size.

If it weren’t for these three-inch heels, I could take her.

She’s blocking the door!

“Just listen!” Harper exclaims, twisting her arms out from under my grip and grabbing me by the shoulders.

“What!”

“How long has it been for you? Really.”

I huff. This is her way of saying we should bail on the dance. I get her point, but it’s too late to back out now. Her objection is that it’s mostly family and friends we grew up with in there. Translation: no eligible single guys.

I shake off her grip. “Not relevant.”

“Very relevant.”

I pull my thin white coat tighter around me. “I’m freezing. Can we please go in?”

If brute strength doesn’t work, try being polite. Good manners are part of Lady 101, drilled into me since birth by my former-beauty-queen mom.

I narrow my eyes at Harper. This outfit isn’t enough coverage for a prolonged outdoor wrestling match, but it was the only coat that looked right with my short red dress, which I had to wear to go with my metallic-red, strappy, spiked heels. The shoes were a Valentine’s gift to myself.

I debate shoving her out of the way versus the risk of damage to my new heels.

Harper’s a fighter. Ask me how I know. We grew up together, born only three months apart.

I’m the older, more mature one at twenty-six.

Our dads are identical twins, so we resemble each other—medium height, straight brown hair, a nose that turns up a little at the end.

Only I have blue eyes, and hers are hazel.

Harper shakes her head. “You need this more than I do. I had an awesome hookup two short months ago.”

Brag, brag, brag. So what if it’s been a teensy bit over eight months for me? I’ve been busy with work and stuff.

“We’re not bailing,” I insist. “Dad’s restaurant catered it, and everyone’s expecting us. It’s Mason and May’s engagement party, provided she said yes. And they could be here any minute!”

She gives me a hard look, which I return, setting my jaw in determination. It’s too late to back out, and no way am I showing up single to a couples’ event without her. I’ve been a single bridesmaid at enough weddings to know my limits.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you want to meet someone tall, dark, and handsome?”

I scoff. “Tall, dark, and handsome? You’ve been watching too many old black-and-white movies.” This is a new thing with her. I don’t get it. She used to be as practical as I am.

Her eyes flash. “Those old movies have something we’re missing nowadays. Sparks flying, slow burn, passionate love. Just let me have my fantasy.”

Fantasy is right. She and Mom have become two peas in a pod.

Mom is Hailey Campbell, Clover Park’s premier wedding planner and matchmaker extraordinaire (her words).

She lives and breathes the fantasy of romance.

Me, I’m a realist. Learned that the hard way with a cheating ex and one too many surprise setups from Mom.

Oh, the humiliation. The awkwardness. The seething rage.

For a while Mom was low key. Just a few comments here and there.

“Rick has a great sense of humor,” she’d say.

“Very important in a partner.” Or, “You can tell a lot by the way a guy treats his sisters. Matthew has four younger sisters who seem to really like him.” Or, for one of my many bridesmaid stints, “If you need a wedding date, I’ve got the perfect guy.

” All stuff I could nod and smile and move on from.

That changed after my first big relationship at twenty-three.

Shawn was my only serious boyfriend. The first guy to make my heart race seeing him across the room. He was affectionate, funny, and smart. Then I discovered Shawn had a longtime girlfriend in his hometown while he was seeing me. They’re married now. I wish him all the worst.

Now I live by the motto all fun; no expectations. Why put myself through the heartache?

Mom had other ideas. When I turned twenty-four, she invited a surprise guest to my birthday party who sang me a birthday song.

Blaise was a prematurely bald guy in his late twenties wearing a red bowtie and suspenders.

With that outfit, I thought he was a singing telegram performer until the song turned into a weird serenade: Mackenzie’s turning twenty-four, even though we’ve never met before, she’s smart, she’s beautiful, and soon I hope she’ll explore some time with me-e-e-e.

Uh, no.

When my twenty-fifth birthday rolled around, I was wary, but nothing happened.

A week later, while Dad was on a camping trip with the guys, Mom asked me to dress nice for our usual Sunday family dinner.

I know, that should’ve been a red flag, but she’s a fashionista with an incredible wardrobe she rarely gets to wear, so I thought she was just trying to level up Sunday dinner.

Dad’s more a flannel and jeans kind of man.

So I get there, and the table’s set all fancy with a white tablecloth, candles, wine, and three place settings.

My brothers are no-shows. It’s me, Mom, and Colin, a man I’ve never met.

He looked to be in his thirties and was very smiley.

Turned out he was the best man from a recent wedding Mom planned.

He confessed immediately he was looking for a good Catholic woman to marry and have children with as soon as possible.

Cue me running screaming to the nearest exit.

But I didn’t because I. Am. A. Lady. And ladies don’t run screaming from their family dinners, even if it turns out your mom has spent the hour before you arrived poring through the family photo albums with a stranger and oversharing about you.

I only know this because he confided that he’d also had a terrible haircut before school picture day.

Those pixie-cut pictures were supposed to be burned!

Mom spent most of dinner asking Colin questions and complimenting him on his answers. I felt like I was on a cringe quiz show. What will she win next? A new man!

He wouldn’t touch the wine and spoke at length about how unnecessary foul language was. I was starting to wonder if he was an old man trapped in a thirtyish body, but then it all became clear when the moment of truth arrived—dessert.

That was when Colin’s parents walked in, greeting me like I was the answer to their prayers. Seemed I was their last hope for grandchildren before Colin took his vow of celibacy to become a priest.

That’s right, Mom set me up with a near priest to save his future gene pool.

Colin joined the priesthood. Mom and I had words. I even used some foul language, dammit, which she and Colin both hate.

Mom means well, or so she says. Dad intervened after the priest fiasco and made Mom swear to stop her efforts on my behalf. He told me she made a solemn promise. Even so, I remain vigilant. Valentine’s Day could reactivate her matchmaking instincts.

I turn my attention back to Harper, who’s still blocking the door.

I think I know why she’s having second thoughts about the dance.

The guy she loves to hate, Nathan Brooks, is here with a date.

Harper would naturally prefer to go in with a date of her own to show him up.

It’s a weird rivalry thing between them I don’t pretend to understand. I work with Nathan, and he’s awesome.

I put a hand on her arm. “Nathan’s going to be focused on his date, so you don’t have to worry about him bugging you. Can we go in now?”

She raises her chin, crossing her arms. “Like I care what he does.”

I take advantage of her shift in stance, squeezing between her and the door.

Thankfully, she follows me inside. The dance is held in a cool dance studio with a small stage beyond the dance floor, where a jazz band is warming up.

They expanded the break room into a large kitchen to accommodate catered events like this.

When you live in a small town, people get creative with multi-use buildings.

We head to the coat room and hang up our coats.

“I like being single,” I say, a cheery reminder for both of us. “I’ve dedicated my twenties to casual fun.” Thirty is when future me will reconsider my stance.

Harper fluffs her hair, trying to bring out the waves she added with a curling iron. Gravity has already taken its toll. “Yeah, yeah. But when was the last time you actually had casual fun?”

“Shut up.”

“You completely gave up on relationships after Shawn.”

I walk briskly toward the crowd of family and friends gathered on the dance floor, watching the door for the guests of honor. The jazz band waits while low music plays on the speakers.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen anyone since him,” I throw over my shoulder.

She hurries after me. “Your mom’s efforts on your behalf don’t count.”

I clench my teeth, not liking the reminder. “Remember the lawyer?”

“You lasted one hour. He bored you to tears.”

“Yeah, so now I stay away from lawyers. See? I learn.”

We join the crowd, exchanging hugs and greetings while we wait.

My cousin Mason should’ve proposed by now; then the plan was to come here to celebrate with everyone.

The large dance studio with mirrors along two walls is decorated with streamers and “Congratulations!” balloons.

Obviously my family is filled with optimistic romantics. It’s a trial I have to bear.

Harper grabs my arm. “Hold on now. I spy tall, dark, and handsome, and he’s not related.” She points her elbow at Mystery Dude.