The Hipster Chronicles - Faith Andrews(ang)

The Hipster Chronicles Copyright © 2017 by Faith Andrews All rights reserved. Cover designed by: Marisa-rose Robyn, Cover Me Darling Editor: Brenda Letendre, Write Girl Editing Interior design and formatting by: Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Except the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles and lyrics contained in the book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

Contents THE HIPSTER CHRONICLES Dedication JUST STRUMMIN’ IT ~ Emmy & Milo Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 SCRUFF YOU! ~ Greta & Ezra Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 COUNTRY BOY ~ Marley & Jasper Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 LET HIM EAT CAKE ~ Paulina & Zander Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 WHEN I MET YOU IN THE SUMMER ~ Epilogue Jasper Zander Milo Jane Acknowledgements Enjoy an Excerpt from MOORE TO LOVE Chapter 1 About the Author Books by Faith Andrews

To my favorite band of all time, Mumford & Sons. You opened my eyes and ears to a genre of music, love, and life that has seeped into my soul and made me my very own brand of hipster-centric. “Where you invest your love, you invest your life.” ~Mumford & Sons

grown woman, and today’s exercise was supposed to be fun. A bucket list item, in fact. Something to mark off the catalog of things I’d always put off doing. There was no better time than now. I was pushing the restart button. Newly divorced from my cheating bastard of a husband of three years, I was vulnerable on my own again and looking for a new lease on my suddenly lonely life. Rather than throw myself out of a plane or visit Paris without someone to swoon with under the Eiffel Tower, taking up guitar lessons seemed to be the next best thing. Lucky for me, guitarists were a dime a dozen in the neighborhood I called home; all I had to do was walk down to the music store on the corner and ask for the next available slot. I took that journey into the tapestry-lined walls of Just Strummin’ It only a week ago, where I purchased the Yamaha acoustic guitar in Oriental Blue Burst I now clutched with sweaty hands while my leg bounced against the dented cushion of the waiting room chair. On that particular day, I walked with my head held high and a skip to my step. I WAS A

Today, however, as I’d strolled under the green awning of my favorite Starbucks, past the antiquated bookstore I prayed would never go out of business, crossed the street to take in a whiff of what could only be a freshly baked batch of cupcakes from Pumpernickel, and wound up at the music store—my skip lacked the same pep. I was totally out of my element as I people watched. The girl behind the counter had a head full of long dreads, a sleeve of intricate tattoos on her left arm, and gages in both ears. She strutted around, humming the words to a folk-rock song I hadn’t heard before with so much confidence I wished she’d spare some and toss it my way. She was intriguingly odd, but stunningly gorgeous. I, on the other hand, was plain, ordinary, forgettable, and resentful of my inability to assimilate to hipster living. I stared down at my poor attempt to fit into this trendy neighborhood—a city my ex-husband persuaded me to uproot my life in Arizona and move to because it was up and coming, the place to be, the hot spot—and snarled at the CBGB T-shirt I bought at a thrift store I meandered into one day after I found Charlie—my ex—screwing some chick in my Murphy bed. “Wanna-be,” I muttered to myself in disgust before sensing a presence beside me and looking up into the most amazing eyes I’d ever seen. And let me clarify what I meant by amazing. Those eyes

weren’t simply some run-of-the-mill blue. No, they were the color of the water somewhere in the Caribbean—turquoise swirled with green, sprinkled with sapphire and bronze specks. And that was just his eyes. They could be a person all on their own, they were so all-consuming. But no, the face attached to those eyes was equally gorgeous, if not more so—tanned, bearded, chiseled, and mighty fucking fine. “Mrs. Dillon?” The lips ascribed to the mighty fucking fine face moved when he spoke, jolting me out of my wet dream. “Uh . . . Um . . . No,” I stuttered. The breathtaking specimen consulted a paper in his hand and then asked, “So, you’re not my six o’clock?” I’d be his six o’clock, his eight o’clock, and his ’round the clock, but I was getting ahead of myself. “No . . . Um . . . I mean, yes. I am your six o’clock, but I’m not Mrs. Dillon.” The reason for my sudden lack of intelligence gawked at me, clearly confused, and narrowed his piercing eyes. I winced, hating that his lids obstructed the view of those soulful irises, but quickly regained composure before I sent him running for the hills in exasperation. “Force of habit. I was Mrs. Dillon, but I’m no longer marri—Never mind.” I shook my head and smiled shyly at the hint of amusement

flashing across his face. Unraveling my tongue from the knot caused by his hotness, I took a deep breath and tried to get this out right. “My name is Emily Ryder now. Emmy. You can call me Emmy.” Why did it seem to take an hour to complete such a simple process? “Milo. Nice to meet you, Emmy.” Milo—cool name for a hot guy—offered me a hand. I placed mine—clammy and all—in his and shook with fervor. Looking down at my vice grip on his teaching fingers, he cocked a side grin and a rough and gritty rumble spouted out of him. “Now that we got that out of the way, what do you say we get started on your first lesson?” The vibration of his throaty chuckle mixed with his deep, sultry voice caused me to squeeze my legs together in fear of leaving a puddle of my desire on the waiting room chair. That wouldn’t be embarrassing at all, now would it? Terrified of the possibility, I rose from said chair, nonchalantly checked for signs of embarrassing leakage, and emitted a sigh of relief when I realized I was in the clear. I bent down to grab the handle of my guitar case only to be stopped by Milo’s tattooed fingers curling around the handle. “Allow me,” he said, lifting it effortlessly off the ground. “Oh,” I squeaked with my hand to my chest. Polite and dominant. Well, what have we got here?

“Thank you.” Milo simply nodded, motioning me to follow. “Just lead the way,” I managed to say without fumbling on my words. I hoped our lesson was somewhere in his bedroom, under his sheets, with my legs wrapped around his waist, screaming something along the lines of, “Give it to me, Milo!”

should be paying attention to the way his deft fingers strummed the strings of his Gibson, but I could only focus on how they were marked in black ink with a four-leaf clover and the letters LU-C-K-Y across his knuckles from thumb to pinky. I should’ve been concentrating on memorizing the simple scale of notes he jotted onto the sheet music, but I was too busy melting to the melody of his voice as he made those simple notes sound like a symphony. There was an extremely low probability that I would retain even one iota of musicality from this lesson. Ask me to tell you how Milo smelled (woodsy pine and spearmint), or the exact shade of his hair (russet brown when the sunlight shone through the windows, dark chocolate in the shadows of the studio), or how I imagined his lips would feel if they met mine (soft, silky, dominant), and I would pass that test with flying colors. But ask me to replay the notes he just spent fifteen minutes teaching me and I’d stare back at you like a guppy at feeding time. This wasn’t like me, but God help me, I wanted I KNEW I

to jump his bones. After all, I was in the process of ticking items off my bucket list. Exploring my sexuality was at the tippy top of that list. I was a grown woman who’d spent her whole life doing things by the book. It would be fun to shake things up a bit. And besides, I wasn’t actually doing anything. Acting on impure thoughts of my new music teacher was one thing, but last I checked it wasn’t a sin to have an imagination. “Am I going too fast?” Milo interrupted my mental drooling and pulled my focus to his lips— scrumptiously covered in the kind of bristle that would tickle me in all the right places. Totally letting that imagination run wild, aren’t I? “No,” I muttered, somewhat embarrassed that I wasn’t paying attention but unwilling to admit it. He gazed up at me from the typical seated guitar-playing position with a glint of mischief in those oceanic eyes. “You sure?” A chuckle merged with his words. Caught. Shaking my head, I slid down in my chair. “I’m more lost than Jack and Hurley.” Milo’s laugh filled the small sound-proof room, coating my skin with pleasure-induced goose bumps. “I finally finished binge watching that show last week. What a mind fuck! I’m still not sure what to surmise of that ending.” “You’re telling me.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “My husband tortured me with it—we talked

more about his Lost theories than anything else. He was obsessed. Me—not so much.” At the mention of my ex, Milo arched a brow. To save him any further speculation and to make it perfectly clear that I was single and ready to mingle, I steadfastly intervened. “He’s no longer my husband.” He bit his lower lip, triggering me to squirm. “Shit. You hated the show that much?” “No.” I giggled. “It was his cheating I wasn’t so fond of.” “Ouch! Sorry.” He swiveled from left to right on his stool, his posture stiff. “Yeah. Not cool, but I’m over it.” I shrugged. “Very, very over it.” It was Milo’s turn to smile—my blatant eagerness seemingly the cause—and though I sensed an easy flow of amicable conversation fused with a tinge of flirtatiousness, he straightened in his chair and tapped the hollow wood of his guitar. “Why don’t we start from the top?” Back to business so soon? Dismissing the disappointment that heated my skin, I brought my hands back to the strings the way he’d demonstrated earlier. I wasn’t a total guitar-lesson virgin. I’d tried some DIY classes on YouTube, but I was here because I wanted to learn for real this time. Putting on my serious cap, I positioned my hands around the Yamaha. “Like this?” I asked.

Milo observed and shook his head, propping his own guitar on the floor beside his stool. Standing, he came behind me and, as if out of a cheesy movie in which the guy makes a clever move on the unsuspecting girl, he wrapped his tattooed arms around me and positioned his hands over mine. Chills of indulgence danced across my skin even though it was an almost ninety-degree day. His ardent and unexpected touch made me happy I was sitting; my legs surely would have buckled had I been standing. But when his breezy words and scruffy whiskers tickled my ear, I shuddered visibly. “Relax a little and loosen your grip. You don’t want to pop the strings; you want to strum them . . . softly.” You’re killing me softly, I thought, but breathed deep following his orders. With his left hand guiding my left and his right hand guiding my right, he pressed his front against my back and the growing amount of intermingling anatomy stole my breath. I closed my eyes, savored his nearness, and willed my heartbeat to calm the hell down. “Yes. Like that,” he coaxed when my movements mirrored his with a little less guidance. After a few more thrums, his hands left mine and I momentarily ached for the contact. That sensation was promptly fulfilled, however, when I felt his strong but tender grip on my shoulders. “You’re very tense, Emmy.” His warm, minty breath was

mere inches from my ear. I rolled my head and nearly dropped the guitar when his thumbs dug into the pressure point just at the base of my neck. “Oh, my God.” It came out as a husky, premature moan that almost made me burst from my chair and hit the ground running out of utter embarrassment. But who was I kidding? I wasn’t going anywhere. This felt too good to deny. He could inappropriately massage my tension away as long as he wanted. All day, every day. And twice on Sunday. “I thought you were a musician?” I groaned, loving the way his fingers worked my body. “The chick at the front desk said nothing about a masseuse.” “Should I stop?” he laughed, his timbre telling me he knew full well I had no intention of asking him to cease his magical ministrations. “Hell no,” I sang, melting into his touch. “We still have a lesson to get through, you know.” “A lesson? What lesson?” I joked with my eyes closed and my head lolled to the side. Milo’s hands stilled and my head snapped back to see why. When my eyes met his, he was fingering his sexy whiskers in an up and down motion along his chin. “How about I make you a deal?” That got my attention. Were all music lessons

conducted this way? If so, I’d quit my job, milk the alimony, and sign up for five sessions a week rather than just the one. “I’m listening,” I answered, curiosity in full gear. Milo crouched down and dug his elbow into my back. “Ohhh,” I moaned again, not caring how needy I must sound. “You keep playing and I’ll keep rubbing.” His offer to rub had my mind darting to dirty thoughts and my mouth salivating. “How do you expect me to do anything when you’re touching me like that?” A devilish rumble vibrated in his chest. I felt it, too, as his body was now pressed against mine. “Deal or no deal?” he asked. How could I say no to that? “Deal!” The word flew from my mouth so fast my brain didn’t have time to warn me to calm my jets. “That’s what I thought.” Cocky bastard. “Now, I’ll recite the notes and you play. Let’s see how much you remember.” “And don’t forget the rubbing.” “I won’t forget the rubbing, Emmy, but if you get one wrong . . . there’ll be a punishment.” Why did that sound so extraordinarily kinky? I snapped my head around to face him and gauge his expression, but flirting didn’t come easily for me so I had no clever retort. He grinned at my obvious wordlessness, his cool eyes dark with seduction.

God, was he sexy. Milo remained silent and merely circled his index finger to gesture that I turn around and get back to business. His elusiveness only intrigued me more. I loved the idea of figuring out the enigmatic type. It was a thrill I was sure would only get me into trouble, my heart taking the brunt. But with my body at the mercy of his long, nimble fingers, I was willing to lay it on the line for the greater good.

get through the lesson with zero punishments (boo) and a ray of hope that I would one day actually play something other than “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” The stress in my shoulders was long gone, but the sexual tension was just getting started. The enjoyable flirting and his inebriating massage was cut short, however, by a phone alarm which indicated our time was up. After an awkward good-bye and a promise to practice what he taught me—more like fantasize about what I wanted him to do to me—we bid each other farewell and I left the studio with my guitar strap between my legs. There was too much pent-up lust inside me to simply retreat home to my empty apartment, so, fishing my cell phone from my crossbody bag, I thumbed in my friend Jane’s number. Texting wasn’t her thing—she was a rarity in this day and age, a girl who still took pleasure in the art of real conversation. But Jane’s spare time was often occupied now that she was in a writing groove, so I left her a voicemail. WE MANAGED TO

“Hey babes, it’s Emmy. I just spent the most exhilarating hour of my life at my first guitar lesson. I’m heading to Flask & Folly for happy hour. Was hoping you’d meet me so I could tell you all about it. If you get this, I’ll be there waiting with bated breath and a juicy tale. Drinks on me!” Sensual daydreams about the warmth of Milo’s hands on my body swarmed my woozy brain as I hopped into Flask & Folly like the Easter Bunny in spring. This place was so cool it was almost laughable. One could say the owner tried too hard when it came to décor, but it was my favorite hangout because of those pleasing aesthetics. Strings of Edison bulbs hung overhead, a steady auburn glow illuminating the dark room. The walls were exposed red brick lined with chalkboards that listed the different kinds of cocktails, draft beers, and menu choices. The bar itself was constructed of what looked to be reclaimed barn wood, distressed to perfection and coordinating well with the worn leather seating throughout the entire expanse of the small space. At the back of the narrow room was a modest stage with a shabby sofa centered atop a threadbare tapestry rug. The throne and freestanding mic, fit for their performer, were spotlighted amongst scattered wooden crates and various pieces of turn-of-the-century luggage. It was so inviting I imagined myself sitting on that sofa one day, strumming the chords taught by my

sexy instructor. But I was getting ahead of myself, and therein lay my need for a reality check—an ice cold brewsky. I wedged my way through the crowd of suspender-wearing, handlebar-mustache-sporting, whiskey-drinking barely legals and scored an empty seat at the bar. I placed the guitar on the floor between my legs and took pride in how I seemed to fit in with the vibe thanks to my instrumental accessory. When the bartender—a girl with a platinum blonde pixie cut and lips the shade of raven’s blood—pointed to the chalkboard with the drink specials, I ordered a malt beer instead of my usual Blue Moon. Pixie girl gave me a thumbs up and set to pouring my drink. I smiled, wishing I could high-five myself. I was doing it. Finally! It only took four years, one divorce, and sixty minutes with a hipster hottie, but this shy Arizona girl was taking life by the horns and adapting to her chic surroundings. My curious gaze scanned the bar, taking in the throng of trendy folks I so wanted to emulate. When Charlie and I first moved here, I was overwhelmed. He dove right in, growing his beard to almost ZZ Top length and replacing more than half his wardrobe with plaid. I was more of a gradual adaptee—careful not to come off as an imposter. Now, however, I was dying to blend in. Unfortunately, the divorce set me back some in the

socializing department—you kinda hole yourself up after your high school sweetheart stomps on your heart and crushes all the dreams you envisioned for your future. But today was a new day—a step in the right direction—and I was feeling oh, so good from my encounter with Milo. Lifting the frosty glass and blowing at the thin layer of foam, I lifted the beer into the air and toasted to myself. “To . . . Just Strummin’ It!” I took a swig and slammed the glass down, only to be startled by a familiar grip on my shoulders. “I’ll drink to that,” Milo announced and tapped his LUCKY hand on the bar to get the bartender’s attention. I was momentarily speechless, my smile preceding my voice. My cheeks ached with an uncontrollable grin as I managed to gush, “What are you doing here?” To say I was surprised was an understatement. I was floored. Pleasantly floored, but flabbergasted nonetheless. “Scotch on the rocks,” he told the bartender, and without making eye contact with me, he blurted, “I followed you.” In this effed up day and age of perverts and weirdos, that should’ve made me nervous. Instead it made me giddier than I cared to admit. “I thought you had another lesson.” I sipped my beer as if this whole exchange wasn’t making me tremble in my leopard-printed TOMS.

“I had someone cover for me.” He still hadn’t made eye contact, but his body was mere inches from mine. One of his legs was bent with his foot resting on the bar rail, his right hand draped around the back of my stool. It was all very predatory, as if he was claiming me, and I didn’t mind it, not one bit. No, siree, Bob. This mysterious, beautiful man followed me, rearranged his schedule for me, made an effort for me. An hour ago, we were two unsuspecting strangers. And now, here we were, in this utterly awkward yet insanely thrilling predicament. Was this how everyone around here went about wooing and courting? Or had I been living under a veil of naivety during my decade-long relationship with Charlie? Was that even what he was doing— pursuing me? I couldn’t tell because his answers were so clipped and cryptic. I never knew that could be a turn-on, but it totally was and it awakened a boldness in me that had lain dormant for most of my life. I didn’t know how to disguise my eagerness, so I grazed my lower lip with my teeth and tightened my grip on the no-longer-frosty glass before asking for an explanation that required more than three words. “Why?” “Because.” So much for that. His CaribbeanSea-colored eyes sought out mine. They scanned my face, a smile creeping across his sexy mouth.

“That’s not an answer,” I prodded, adoring the way his pupils had dilated. “Is this?” Without warning, Milo leaned in and kissed me. His lips were soft—just as I imagined— and his beard prickled my skin—much as I hoped. Shock had no time to register as his tongue swept the seam of my lips, petitioning access to my greedy mouth. Neither Milo, nor his tongue, were rejected. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt and allowed my tongue to dance with his in reckless abandon. All external components seemed to vanish around us as we lost ourselves in this unexpected but extremely satisfying kiss. It was the kind of kiss that turned your brain to mush, causing you to forget you were in public, making out with a man you’d only just met but wanted to get to know so much better. And I was about to shamelessly let him get to know me a lot better right here on the barstool had it not been for the sudden splash of bitter-smelling beer that soaked me from behind. “Shit!” I yelped, arching my back from the cold sensation. “Sorry! My bad!” A sloppily drunk patron patted my back with a few bar napkins. “It’s okay,” I huffed, shooing him and his efforts away. “You’re really wet.” Milo pinched his kissswollen lip and leaned closer to feel my shirt.

I was really wet. And not just on my shirt. But I was also annoyed and cold and . . . I really wanted to get back to that kiss. “Talk about a buzzkill.” I frowned, although my buzz was still humming at heart galloping speed. Milo seemed to be on the same page because he gulped down the rest of his Scotch, leaned down and fisted the handle of my guitar case, and then pulled me off the barstool with his other hand wrapped around mine. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I have a shirt you can borrow.” I paused, mentally warring with my inconsistent thoughts. You want this, Emmy. You know you do. But did I hear him correctly? Was that an invitation to his place? Could I really go through with this? Bucket list! Bucket list! Bucket list! My inner cheerleading squad convinced me to get out of my own head and take Milo’s proffered hand. I laced my fingers with his and took his lead. I paused midway through the crowd. Milo looked back with a brow raised at my delay. This was all so strange, I imagined I was still in bed, dreaming up this wild fantasy. But after secretly pinching myself in the thigh and appreciating my reality, I shrugged and decided to go with the Miloled flow. Once outside, he released my hand and tucked his fingers in the back pocket of his jeans. “Where are we going?” I didn’t know why I

bothered to ask. I was so smitten by him I would have followed him to the depths of hell with a smile. “My apartment,” he answered, peering at me with a mischievous side-eye. We walked in harmony, matching footstep for footstep, but I felt the need to put up some resistance to make sure he didn’t think I made a habit of doing this sort of thing. “What kind of girl do you think I am?” “A beautiful one. With sweet lips and an even sweeter body. Besides, I got the vibe you wanted more than guitar lessons from me back at the studio.” “Is that so?” “That it is.” “You’re very sure of yourself, Milo.” “Not as sure as I am that that shirt won’t be bothering you much longer.” Wow, this guy. He was blunt and accurate because by the time we made it up the two flights of stairs to his cramped but well-kept loft his lips were on mine again and he was pulling my damp shirt over my head without a peep of defiance from me. “Milo.” I interrupted the fast pace of things as he unbuttoned his black denim skinny jeans. “Emmy?” “I’m not usually so . . .” How did I put this?

Spontaneous? Eager? Slutty? “Free.” That was a good choice. Milo smirked and closed the distance between us as he slid his pants down his muscular legs. “I know. I can tell, but that’s the beauty of it, doll. Let me show you how to let loose; you’ve been begging for it since you walked in for your music lesson . . . And you didn’t even know it.” He whispered the last part and then leaned down to tease my neck with a lingering kiss. I tried not to react, but when his tongue dipped out to trace soft circles on my sensitive skin, my traitorous body gave in, annihilating any misgivings. I dug my fingers into his messy waves and tugged so I could look into his eyes. Needy and hungry, they empowered me to take what I wanted. With his lips now available for tasting, I dove in for more. I’d only kissed one other guy in the eight months since the divorce and it was nothing to write home about, so this was the first real hookup since the end of my marriage. It felt like a revival of my spirit. “Damn, you’re a good kisser,” I admitted into his mouth between unruly breaths. “You too,” Milo grunted in response and then hooked his arms around my back, unclasping my bra. Bared for him, he took a step back and observed. I felt shy as his gaze coated my exposed skin, but then he grabbed me by the shoulders and

guided me to a leather couch on the opposite end of the room. Laying me down gently, he spread my legs with his knee and then knelt on the cushion. My skin was on fire as he hovered over me, and his fingertips roamed my body. I watched his lips curl with pleasure as his eyes went along for the journey. His tongue traveled from my collarbone to my breasts in a ribbon of warmth. Cupping one in his hand, he clamped a nipple between his fingers and leaned down to suckle the other into his mouth. My body arched, begging for more. Milo sucked harder, circled the taut flesh and flicked it with his tongue. Then he bit down gently and sent me into a frenzy. “Oh, my God!” I moaned, already on the verge of orgasming. “You like that?” he asked as his nose and lips created a path of yearning below my belly button. “Uh huh,” I panted, my brain vacant of real words. “Then you’ll love this.” In one unbroken motion, he slid his fingers inside the waistbands of both my leggings and underwear and lifted my ass as he dragged off my clothing. Yanking them from my feet and chucking them to the side, he wasted no time in burying his face between my legs. “Holy fuck!” I anchored his mouth to my sex by burrowing my fingers in his hair. He mirrored the torturous pleasure he’d

wreaked over my nipple, only this time my clit was the target for his tongue, lips, and teeth. Heat washed over me with blinding force as he took turns nibbling and lapping at my most sensitive spot. “Yes!” I shouted, my arms falling limp above my head, my thighs opening wider. And then one final nip at my throbbing flesh caused a bundle of riotous pressure to let loose and gush through my bloodstream. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh. My. God,” I chanted as my body quaked with my release. Milo kissed my inner thigh and chuckled, then ascended the length of me until his mouth met mine. Swathing my cheek with his hand, he slipped his tongue inside my mouth again. I tasted myself on him and loved that he wanted to prove what he’d done to me. Sated and luxuriating in my afterglow, I still thought it only fair to return the favor. My fingers explored the band of his boxers but my efforts were put to a stop with a firm hold of my wrist. “Not tonight,” Milo uttered against my neck. I was taken aback by his blunt refusal. “But I want to.” “You will. Just not tonight.” Confusion got the best of me. “Huh?” Milo sat up and ran his palms down my sides. Goose bumps prickled my skin even as his heated gaze coated the bare flesh. His eyes were glued to

mine when his hand reached my thigh and he fanned his fingers, his thumb reaching between my legs. I hissed when it found my slit and then slowly slid inside of me. “Tonight, is all about you, Emmy. Let me give you what you need.” This afternoon I was sure all I needed from Milo were a few guitar lessons. Now, I knew I required so much more. We never broke eye contact, even when he replaced his thumb with two other digits and began working me in slow thrusts. I panted as my hips sprang forward in time with his fingers. A wicked smile curled Milo’s lips. “Surrender to me for one night. Let me . . . teach you to let go. Let me give you what you need.” In that moment, I didn’t care that none of this made sense. We’d just met. How could he know how badly I needed to be set free to explore what I’d been missing for so long? Somehow it didn’t matter, because another monsoon of pleasure was about to rage through me. I would surrender to him all night if it meant feeling this good.

wimp out on his promise. In fact, the only thing I could think about as I strolled to Starbucks to meet Jane the next morning was how well he kept that promise. I covered my mouth as I yawned in spite of how my body was satisfied straight down to the soul. While I enjoyed every last second of Milo’s titillating exploration, I got little sleep. There was nothing quite as embarrassing as taking the walk of shame at five-thirty in the morning in yesterday’s clothes—with a guitar slung across your back. After a shower and less than two hours of shuteye, I debated flaking out on my coffee date with Jane, but there was no way I could keep these erotic details to myself a minute longer. Sleep be damned —gossip now, nap later. The door to the coffee shop swung open and a mom with twin girls, each guzzling whipped cream topped lattes through signature green straws, scooted past me. “Sorry. Sugar high in full effect. On to the next stop,” she explained, rolling her eyes. “Is it September yet?” MILO DID NOT

I laughed as I watched her scurry after her daughters. I remembered my mom wishing the summers away when I was a kid, too. I wanted constant entertainment, and being an only child meant my stay-at-home mom was also my onewoman show. Memories of the summer she taught me to swim in our backyard pool, our girls-only trip to Disneyland, and homemade tents and s’mores had me pining for her. I missed being only a quick car ride away from home. Another reason to hate Charlie. If not for my stubborn determination to make it here—without him—I’d be on the next plane to Arizona, safe in Mommy’s arms. But it wasn’t only a pride thing anymore. I had actually grown to love it here. The change of seasons, the buzz of so many different cultures and people, the feeling that anything and everything was right at my fingertips. I’d made friends, set a routine, and finally felt as if I was fitting in. Moving back because I was homesick from time to time would only prove to Charlie that I was stuck in the past and still dependent on my parents’ approval. Besides, I couldn’t turn my back on Brooklyn now. It took me in when I was wary and frightened; it comforted me with shiny new distractions when I missed everything I left behind; and now this beautiful borough was holding me in its warm embrace as I spread my wings and discovered who I wanted to be at this stage in my life.

Ah Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in. Are you aware the shape I’m in? My hands they shake, my head it spins. Ah Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in. I recalled the Avett Brothers’ lyrics to “I and Love and You” and walked into Starbucks with a feeling of serenity. Brooklyn was my home now. There was no doubt about that. I scanned the room for my friend, but came up short. Her usual spot in the far right corner was empty and available so I forewent the long line at the register and parked my deliciously sore behind at Jane’s usual booth. I needed caffeine desperately, but the baristas were busy with the summer rush so I sat patiently and scrolled through my phone as I held our spot. Snapchat filters and my Instagram feed could not hold my attention, however, because my mind kept drifting to the previous night’s activities. A tingle of longing throbbed through my lady bits as I recalled the almost dominant way in which he pleased me. There were no whips and chains or anything like that, but he was adamant that each and every experience be all about me. At first, I worried he’d think I was selfish for surrendering so easily, but after the second or third scream-inducing orgasm, I realized he took pure enjoyment in giving pleasure as much as receiving it. Still, I hoped for a second roll in the sheets to show him I could hack it, too.

We hadn’t set ground rules or made future plans, but when he kissed me good-bye at the crack of dawn this morning, he smiled mischievously when he mentioned next week’s lesson. A part of me hoped I’d get a chance to see him again before then, but I wasn’t jumping the gun. I could do the screwing around for fun thing as long as I kept reminding myself that it was a normal part of being a single adult in this day and age. Getting some reassurance from a fellow single lady—aka Jane— would totally help my case. “And what’s got you grinning so brightly this fine Friday morning?” My adorable but sneaky friend startled me out of my daydream. “Summer Fridays?” I shrugged, but I could tell she wasn’t buying it. She scooted into the booth across from me and rested her laptop bag on the seat beside her. “I don’t see anyone else as googly eyed as you, and most of the city observes summer Fridays.” She looked around the busy room, her eyes lingering a moment too long on Ezra the scruffy barista, and then snapped her attention back to me. “What was that?” I asked, wondering if Jane had an ulterior motive for holing herself up in this booth three days a week. “What was what?” Without moving my head, I shifted my eyes toward Ezra and nonchalantly pointed a thumb in

his direction. “You checking out Ezra?” “Who’s Ezra?” I tilted my head and gave my timid friend the stink eye. “Don’t play coy, young lady. You’re here almost every day and so is he. If I know his name, you do, too.” Waving off my inquisition, she slid her glasses up her nose and then set to rummaging through her bag for her wallet. She pulled it out and slapped the nasty fashion-don’t onto the table. “Emmy, I don’t come here to make friends. I come here for my coffee and to write. And speaking of which, are we going to order? I’ve got words to get in and I want to hear all about your night.” I wasn’t sure I believed her innocent act, but I wasn’t one to meddle. Especially not with someone as close-lipped as Jane. If she wanted to share guy gossip, she knew where to find me. I, on the other hand, was ready to spill the beans about Milo over a cold brew with a triple shot of espresso. I stood from the booth, noticing the line had diminished. Jane opened her—I couldn’t even bring myself to call the ugly plastic atrocity a wallet —thing to take out her gold card. I shooed it away and went to place our orders. After retrieving our drinks and two Cinnamon Morning Buns, I waltzed back to Jane who was already firing up her Mac. “Almost done with it?” I asked, placing her breakfast in front of her.

“Thanks. And no. I’m struggling a little, but it happens sometimes. I’ll find my groove again.” She closed the laptop, pushed her work in progress aside, and took a nibble of her cinnamon bun. I also caught her taking another glance at Ezra, but it was so fleeting I decided not to probe. “So, Just Strummin’ It,” Jane started. “Deets, please.” I bit my bottom lip and scooted to the edge of the bench so only Jane could hear my whispersqueal. “I know you’re more the bookstore type, but have you ever been there?” “Can’t say I have. I do not belong anywhere near a musical instrument,” she laughed. “That may be true, but if there are more teachers like Milo hanging around there, you might want to reconsider that.” I waggled my brows. “Oh, Milo. Love that name.” She jotted it down on the notepad that sat next to her Mac. I shook my head. “What? You know I’m always on the lookout for cool names for my characters.” “I know, I know. Writer life,” I announced, making the hashtag symbol with my fingers. “Anyway. Continue.” I swallowed a gulp of coffee and didn’t go back to it until I was done telling Jane every last detail. When I was finished, her jaw hung slack and her cheeks were bright crimson. Even still, she

managed to brush her embarrassment off long enough to say, “Why didn’t you tell me to record that? This is perfect material for my next project.” “Jane! Focus for a second! You can totally write a smutty tell-all once I’m done living it, but can you take off the writer’s cap and give me some single-girl to single-girl advice? Milo’s the first guy I’ve been with since the divorce. This is kind of a big deal.” I didn’t mean to get all me, me, me on her, but now that I’d relived the whole experience in my head, I was kind of freaking out. Jane scanned the place to make sure no one was looking. I used to think I was shy, but Jane was a whole different brand of introverted. It took over a year for her to speak a word to me after we’d run in to each other at the same bookstore every week. And even then, I was the one who initiated the conversation. She was younger than me by five years so I attributed a lot of her reserve to her age, but now that we were friends I looked forward to her letting loose a bit. Would it kill her to chat sex, boys, and one-night stands with me? By the looks of her, it might. “I’m sorry.” Her cheeks were still flushed. “I’m just a little . . . Did you say three times?” Her voice was a soft, curious whisper. There’s my girl. I raised my right hand, lifted three fingers, and nodded my head. “Three times and no actual . . . sex?” She spoke

the word as if her lips would fall off as she said it. I giggled at her naiveté. “Yup.” I popped the P, but then slumped into my chair, uncertainty getting the best of me. Maybe I should’ve taken a page from Jane’s modesty book. “Do you think I’m a slut? I mean, I’ve never done anything like this in my life. I’ve only ever been with Charlie and one other guy, but I’m ready to . . . explore. I’m doing this stupid bucket list thing and Milo was just so . . . Oh, my God was he sexy . . . and he knew exactly what I needed and how and when and . . . I’m a raging whore, aren’t I?” It was Jane’s turn to snicker, her cheeks no longer tinted. “Emmy, calm down. You’re not a . . . whore.” The pink was back, her tone once again hushed. I had to admit that meant a lot coming from her. I valued her virtuous opinion and trusted her guidance. Although we hadn’t known each other long, she was there with ice cream and chocolate after I found Charlie cheating, and it was Jane who took me out for drinks to celebrate the finality of my divorce. We were a mismatched pair—an Arizona girl trying to fit in and a Bohemian Brooklyn artist chick on the rise—but our friendship was genuine. “How did the two of you leave off? Do you think you’ll see him again?” she asked. “Well, duh. He’s my guitar teacher. I’ll see him

next Thursday for sure.” “Oh, yeah.” She scratched her head as she sipped her latte. “Do you think things’ll be awkward or are you okay with the smash-n-dash?” I spit out a mouthful of my coffee. “Jane!” “Shhh!” She wilted into her seat. Ezra and some new guy behind the counter must’ve heard my outburst because all barista eyes were on us. We both shot them a mind-your-own-business look and they quickly went back to doing their jobs. “Smash-n-dash?” I snickered quietly. “What? I use the Urban Thesaurus a lot. Would you rather I said flirt-and-squirt or maybe pumpand-dump?” I covered my mouth with my hand to muffle the roaring laughter that threatened to erupt. I guess what they said about writers was true—they could take on a whole different persona when it came to their work. Jane the Bookworm came off prudish and inexperienced, but Jane the Writer was obviously in the know. When I could look at my friend without breaking out in a fit of hysterics, I finally asked, “You’re a closet ho, aren’t you?” Jane fiddled with the top button of her flowery, collared sundress and cleared her throat. “Uh, no. Not even close. Now, back to you and your dilemma.” My ears were hot as my stomach sank to my

toes. “So, you do think this is a dilemma?” “I didn’t say that.” My eyes narrowed but I wasn’t about to argue. “Seriously, Jane. Urban Thesaurus and your puritanical ways aside—what should I do?” She stared back at me without expression. “What do you want to do?” It was a simple question. I didn’t have to think twice about my answer. “I want to see him again, and not just for my guitar lessons, but I don’t necessarily want anything serious.” There. That was easy. Jane nodded and took the last bite of her breakfast before saying, “There’s nothing wrong with that. What kind of vibe did you get from him?” I thought long and hard about how we left off. A sweet kiss, a lingering touch, a sly wink, and a sexy smile. “He told me he would see me next week at our lesson and not once did he make any of it feel like a . . . smash-n-dash.” It was growing on me. I’d have to scope out this Urban Thesaurus, too. Something told me the dating scene was very different now. I might have to do some homework. With that out of the way, Jane pulled her shiny brown hair into a low ponytail. It was a telltale sign —along with the tapping of her long, dainty fingers —that she was ready to start her writing day. “Emmy, it sounds like you answered your own

question. I say you just go with it. Have fun marking those items off your bucket list, and let Milo lead the way as long as you want him to. This is your first summer as a single woman. Enjoy it! You have my blessing.” For whatever reason, Jane’s go-ahead was exactly what I needed to hear. I didn’t want to keep her any longer and my lack of sleep was starting to catch up to me. Besides, the more I harped on all of this, the more I’d second guess my decision to roll with it. With Jane’s reassurance and my first encounter with casual dating in the books, it was time to turn the tables on my wise friend before I let her go. “What about you, huh? You have your sights set on anyone this summer?” My eyes darted to Ezra for no other reason than to ruffle the feathers of my easily ruffled friend. “And on that note . . .” she sang, pulling her laptop in front of her and adjusting her glasses. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, but didn’t your mother ever tell you what’s good for the goose is good for the gander?” Her eyes avoided mine as her fingertips tapped the keyboard. “I don’t believe in proverbs, so your silly witticisms do not apply here. Now, scurry along. Dreams of Milo and random men with manbuns await.” It was Jane’s way of nicely telling me to buzz

off. I respected her privacy, even if I wished she would give Williamsburg’s most eligible barista a chance to prove the Urban Thesaurus right. “Thank you for this,” I said as I stood and collected my purse. “Anytime. Same time, same place, next week?” “Sounds good to me!” I wished my friend a productive day and set off to wash away last night’s fun. Fun being the operative word.

THE WEEK DRAGGED on

uneventfully and Milo-less. It was the day of my next lesson and I was jittery as all hell about seeing him again. Being a girl, I had a thousand and one scenarios running through my head, and at least nine hundred ninety-nine of them were negative. I’d come to the simple conclusion that if Milo wanted anything other than our smash-n-dash he would have contacted me. No, I never actually gave him my number, but it was on file at the music store and it was 2017. Social media was more effective than Sherlock Holmes for stalking someone, and everyone and their mother was aware of that. Knowing that my Facebook profile was public and that our neighborhood was tight, I marked it off to being another notch in the hot teacher’s belt. It was what it was. No tears or tantrums necessary. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t thought much about it until today, and that was only because I was about to come face to face with the sexy beast himself. As I walked past Pumpernickel and neared Just

Strummin’ It, I tried to curb my mental freak out. I’d been fine all week and now my nerves were getting the best of me. After my chat with Jane at Starbucks last week, I decided to put myself out there. On Saturday, I hopped a ride on the East River ferry to take part in Smorgasburg. The food festival was like nothing I’d ever seen before, attracting thousands of visitors on any given day. While chowing down on the best meatballs ever, I caught the attention of a fine young thing who later bought me a drink at a beer garden. Nothing came of it except some pleasant conversation and a boost to my confidence, but it was the push I needed to keep my heart light and my explorative mood in gear. Sunday had me craving more culture, so I bought a ticket to an indie release at the Nitehawk Cinema. The movie was quirky and funny and the bartender at the Lo-Res bar downstairs from the theater was more of the same. Much like my encounter with the guy at the meatball stand, there was nothing to tell, but it was nice to know I had options—other than Charlie and Milo. There were plenty of fish in the East River. I’d be just fine. But try as I might to convince myself that my possibilities were plentiful, my heart thundered with anticipation as I stepped into the store for my lesson. The girl with the dreads who manned the front

desk last week greeted me with a smile. “Hi, there. What time’s your lesson, hun?” I stood tall and adjusted the strap of the guitar case that was sliding down my arm. “Six. With Milo.” At the mention of my instructor her apologetic eyes met mine. “Oh crap, I’m sorry. I must’ve forgotten to call a few of his students. He’s not in today, but there is someone covering for him if you’d like to go ahead with your lesson.” An unexpected surge of heat traveled up to my ears, burning them from canal to earlobe. I thought you had another lesson . . . I had someone cover for me. He’d used the same line on me just seven days ago when he followed me to Flask & Folly and lured me to his apartment to teach me a few things. I shouldn’t have been disappointed. Disappointment was not part of the casual dating thing. Milo and I were nothing to each other. It was a no-strings-attached hookup, nothing more, nothing less. I guess that was his MO. Massage the anxiety out of a deprived and eager student, ditch the next lesson for a smash-n-dash . . . lather, rinse, repeat. “Unreal,” I mumbled, but then gulped back the letdown. “That’ll be fine.” Dread girl went about typing something into the computer and my eyes scanned the small

storefront, taking in the wall-to-wall instruments, speakers, and sheet music. When my attention returned to the collection of colorful guitar picks decorating the front desk, the girl interrupted my wandering thoughts about how I was already failing at my attempt to philander. “You know. This isn’t like him.” “Like who?” “Milo.” She smiled. “He takes his students very seriously.” “Oh, I’m sure he does,” I blurted, unable to contain my cynical laughter. Her dark eyes narrowed and her caramel colored lips glinted with amusement. “He’s in Long Island for the weekend.” “The Hamptons? Wow. I totally read him wrong. I don’t see Milo as the yacht club type.” “No,” she laughed. “You definitely won’t find Milo in a polo shirt and white shorts anytime soon. His parents live in Port Jefferson. He and his sister took a few days off to go spend time with his dad. He was in a car accident.” “Oh, my God!” I suddenly felt terrible for casting judgment. “Is he okay?” “Oh, yes. Nothing serious. Just a little shaken up. But Milo and Marley are really good kids. They’d drop anything for family.” Shit! So, he was sweet. What else could I get out of her? “You seem to know a lot about him.

You guys been working together long?” She flashed a genuine grin. “Name’s Zoe, by the way. And yes, boss hired me on the spot the day he opened shop. I love working for Milo; he’s a great guy.” I couldn’t help wondering how great a guy Zoe knew him to be, but she was so nice and informative I didn’t want to go down that road. I was more focused on the fact she called Milo her boss. “Milo owns this place?” “Uh huh. Part owners with Frankie, who is more of a silent partner so you won’t see much of him around here. He’s not a fan of the . . . creatures.” “Creatures?” “That’s what he calls the hipsters. Frankie’s old school; not much into conforming. But they keep him in business and Milo draws in a lot of new customers, so Frankie stays happy.” I could understand Frankie feeling left out and reluctant to adapt, even if I was a creature craver myself. Everything Zoe told me set my mind at ease but made me that much more eager for next week. I didn’t want her to know that—I already felt she had some kind of sixth sense and could read my feelings for Milo—so I nodded politely and said, “Works out for everyone, I guess.” “Yup. And I’m sure Milo will make it up to you somehow at your next lesson. You’ll be in good

hands with Renee, though.” Thoughts of how well I would like him to make it up to me danced around my head but the tempo of my daydream was halted by Renee’s greeting. “Hey! You must be Emmy. Come on back. Let’s see how far you got with Milo.” I bit my lip to stifle my laughter and when my eyes caught Zoe’s she winked. “Have fun,” she sang. Either Milo had told her about us or she was just that good. I found myself hoping Zoe didn’t have a clairvoyant bone in her beautiful body.

Smorgasburg triggered a massive case of heartburn, but my weekend flew by without much excitement. Part time work as a receptionist at a real estate office took little brain power, but with the neighborhood’s booming market, there was rarely a dull moment. When quitting time rolled around, I contemplated taking the L train over to a place called Happy Feet where the magical masseuses could rub out a long day of photo copying and fetching coffee for the brokers. But the boisterous vibe coming from Flask & Folly was far more enticing than a steamy twenty-minute subway ride, so I opted for happy hour instead of happy tootsies. This place never ceased to amaze me with its eclectic list of events and ever-changing music. Tonight, folksy bluegrass exploded through the sound system and a mob of young and vibrant . . . creatures belted out the words as if the song were a mantra. I, of course, had never heard the catchy song, but the group’s contagious comradery did not deter me from parking my tired ass on a barstool ANOTHER WEEKEND AT

and ordering a beer. I people watched and tapped my feet to the music, only to be startled by two warm, calloused hands on my bare shoulders. “Fancy meeting you here.” His voice was deep and his whiskers tickled my cheek. I didn’t want him to register my reaction to his closeness, so I took another sip of the ice cold beer before swiveling around to face him. “Oh. Hey, Milo.” Smooth as silk. Cool as a cucumber. Tell my panties that. “I was hoping to run into you again before Thursday.” Long, wispy eyelashes fluttered as he blinked his mesmerizing blue eyes. I loved the array of colors that made up his flawless features. He was a beautiful canvas of varying depths—Caribbeanblue eyes, russet and auburn hair, golden sun-kissed skin, and swirls of vivid tattoo ink. “It’s good to see you, too,” I managed to croak. I couldn’t take my eyes off him long enough to stop drooling. “I’m sorry about missing our last lesson.” His gaze coated my skin as he took in my gossamer dress and peep toe wedges. “That’s okay. How’s your dad?” I ignored the way my body tingled from the thought of him undressing me with those eyes. He seemed taken aback by my question. “He’s good, but how’d you . . . Zoe, huh?”

“Yes, she’s great. Renee was great, too.” Milo’s left eyebrow vaulted into a sexy, inverted V, his fingers toying with his beard. “Hmm. Would you like me to hand you over to her? She’s looking for more—” “No! I mean . . . um . . .” Before I could embarrass myself further with my eagerness, Milo placed a hand on my cheek and I eased into his familiar touch. Part of me hated how effortless it was to submit to him, while the rest of me took comfort in it. Once Zoe told me about his devotion to his parents, most of my negative thoughts about being a notch in Milo’s belt vanished. That still didn’t make it easier to adhere to the informality of whatever was going on between the two of us. There was an undeniable pull, an intense attraction, and as long as I kept my emotions in check, I could do this and not feel guilty about it. “You’re really cute when you fumble on your words.” He smirked and his thumb caressed my bottom lip. I could tell him how that made me feel— vulnerable, giddy, all gushy on the inside—or I could play the flirting game, too. Clutching his hand, I stroked his fingers. “You’re really cute when you’re strumming that guitar of yours.” He edged closer, our mouths a breath apart. His

blue eyes were offset by large black pupils as he took me in and examined my waiting lips. “Can we pick up where we left off last week, Emmy?” I nibbled on my bottom lip and crept closer still. I could taste him without kissing him—my senses had committed his intoxicating flavor to memory. I wanted this oh, so badly, but I also wanted him to sweat it out the way I had. When the alluring bristle of his fuzzy beard brushed my skin, I ignored what my body wanted and pulled back to look him in the eyes. Bold and assertive, I said, “Sure, I’m on the second verse of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” Are you free for an impromptu lesson?” Milo’s eyes closed as his head fell back and a raspy chuckle escaped him. When his laughter subsided, I took note of the creases of amusement around his eyes and the gentle way his hands rested comfortably over mine. There was no denying that I liked him. It was stupid to pretend I didn’t want the obvious. But what was the obvious? Just sex? Or more? Did I really have to choose right now? “I’m sorry for being so presumptuous.” He finally spoke, putting the kibosh on my hasty decision making. “I don’t make a habit of stalking my students and dragging them to my apartment to have my way with them.” It was my turn to laugh. “Oh, no?” “No.” He shook his head and looked to the

empty barstool beside me. “Mind if I sit and buy you another beer?” “Sure, but I thought you wanted to pick up where we left off.” I accentuated the phrase with a seductive timbre. Before claiming the seat, Milo stole a quick kiss that also stole my breath. “I want nothing more than to continue what we started, Emmy, but I also think you deserve better than my caveman manners.” I leaned closer and whispered, “But I like your caveman manners.” His eyes went wide. “You do?” “I do. Very much, in fact.” “But you . . . I thought you were . . .” Crap. I’m messing this up. My hand flew up to slap my forehead. “I’m sending mixed signals, aren’t I? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I just suck so bad at this.” Lifting my chin with his finger, Milo’s comforting gaze assaulted all my worries. “Hey, no apologies. You don’t suck at anything.” “Oh, but I do. I totally do. I haven’t dated in so long and then you came along and I thought I could do the casual hookup thing and . . . last week was so good . . . but I wanted more.” Shit! Wait a second. “Oh, God. Not marriage and babies more, like more . . . sex. More fun. More you.” I slid off the stool without looking at him and grabbed my

purse. “I should just go. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Please add me to Renee’s roster. It was great to . . . uh . . . meet you, Milo.” I turned to leave before I made an even bigger fool of myself, but before I could take one step closer to the exit, Milo was at my side, a strong hand gripping the delicate bend in my elbow. “Don’t go, Emmy. I don’t want you to go.” I still couldn’t make eye contact. “But I’m screwing this up.” “You’re not screwing anything up, babe. Come sit. Let’s have that drink; I won’t bite. Unless, of course, you want me to.” His subtle wink and kind smile soothed me. “Drink now? Bite later?” I found the chutzpah to ask. Milo answered with a throaty laugh and pulled me tighter against him as he escorted me back to the bar. “For the record, I really dig you, Emmy Not-Mrs.-Dillon Ryder.” “For the record, I have no idea what I want right now but I dig you too, and if you’re okay with coming along for the ride, I’d love for you to continue to . . . teach me a few things.” “An eager student . . . Music to my ears.” I giggled at his corny joke and took my place beside him at the bar. We enjoyed our drinks and thumped to the music, laughing through easy conversation and carefree flirting. The friendly

atmosphere of Flask & Folly and the warm summer breeze floating in from outside enveloped me with a feeling of homegrown hospitality. Ah Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in . . . I was excited for the next phase of single life and my bucket list mission. Deep within my newly liberated soul, in that light-hearted moment, I knew that even if nothing more came of hooking up with Milo, I’d be more than okay.

“VENTI ICED CARAMEL

latte, soy, no foam, two

pumps of—” “Hazelnut,” I spoke over my shoulder. Without a nudge of help the new dude would no doubt mess this up. And from the little I knew about our mysterious daily visitor, she wasn’t the type of chick who tolerated people fucking things up. Part of me wanted to see him botch the order just to get a reaction out of her, but I was once in his position and I sympathized with the poor guy. Tony was yet to learn the secret motto most baristas mumbled at least ten times a day: If your coffee takes more than three words to order, you’re part of the problem. Complicated shit aside, I glanced her way hoping to catch a glimmer of appreciation flash across her face from underneath her dark-rimmed glasses, but nope—nothing. Just like always. I was beginning to think either she needed better glasses or I was invisible. Not likely, though, since the sexy-bearded-barista-thing was irresistible to most of the women populating (and merely stalking)

Williamsburg. And I happened to fit that description to the T. Tony finished ringing her up and then scribbled her name—I use the term her loosely here—across the plastic cup. I busied myself behind the counter while checking her out. A daily pastime. She fumbled through her wallet—a fuchsia vinyl piece of junk held together with a strip of zebra washi tape—while biting on her burgundy painted and silver-ringed lip. Shit! That again? Did she not know what that did to me? I ignored the current of neediness that pumped through my body from tongue to cock, like the double shot of hazelnut I’d infused into Greta’s coffee. “Greta?” I mumbled, rolling my eyes as I turned to face her. I thought about calling her out on it because I’d finally caught on. Yesterday it was Ava, the day before Marilyn, and last week she had the cashier squiggle Rita on her cup. Hollywood starlets. Quite clever for a chick her age. She couldn’t be more than twenty-one or twenty-two, if that. I only hoped I wasn’t drooling over jail bait, for Christ’s sake. “Yup. That’s me. Thank you,” she whispered grabbing her order with her eyes lowered toward the floor. I extended the cold, perfectly brewed beverage into her hands and held on a second longer than

usual, hoping her eyes would meet mine. Nothing. Not a smile, not a flush of embarrassment, not so much as a glance at our fingers that were mere centimeters apart, wrapped around the same cup. She was indifferent. I hated that. There was nothing worse than wanting the attention of someone who couldn’t care less that you existed. But it was a challenge. The cocky part of me didn’t have to question that the opposite sex liked what I had to offer. Hell, I lived in the most diverse slice of Brooklyn. Forget about the opposite sex; dudes liked what I had to offer, too. But regardless of my carefully groomed, bearded armor, there was a dormant insecurity from many moons ago that was awoken by this mystifying woman hell bent on ignoring me. When I noticed that the morning rush had simmered to only one last customer in line, I took it upon myself to end this charade for once and for all. Fuck it! What did I have to lose? “I’m on to you, you know,” I blurted with a crooked grin while I rubbed my fingers over my scruff. “Excuse me?” she muttered with a scowl, her brows angling inward to the bridge of her cute little nose. I guessed she was offended that I finally spoke more than the four typical words to her. Too bad. There’s more where that came from,

Miss Garbo. “I know your name isn’t Greta, or Rita, or Marilyn for that matter. So, now that I figured out your clever name game—which was pretty slick, might I add—why don’t you tell me what your real name is so I can ask you out the way I’ve been wanting to since you strolled in here ordering your obnoxious concoction and made me mad wondering whether you’ll lose your glasses and the pencil in your bun when you finally let me kiss you.” Starlett-Wanna-Be’s brilliant green eyes went wide behind those sexy-as-hell specs. Her alabaster skin flushed pink along her faultlessly sculpted cheekbones. Stunned speechless, she took a half step backwards and gulped back the sip of coffee she’d taken before I started making the moves on her. I leaned forward, rested my elbows on the “Pick Up Your Order Here” counter and waited for her to say something. Anything. I might’ve gotten a hard on even if she told me to fuck off. But what I hadn’t expected was for her to run to her regular table in the corner, grab her notebook, and dash out the front door at the speed of a freight train on a one-way track to get-me-the-fuck-outta-here. “Real slick, Ezra. I’ve never seen that girl jet out of here like that. What did you say to her?” Tony was behind me snickering as he wiped his

hands on his apron. I shook my head and made my way back to the coffee machine to brew a fresh roast for the midmorning crowd. “Eh, nothing. Guess she had somewhere to be.” I waved him off as if I hadn’t a care in the world, when in reality I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking of how she blew me off all day. Lucky for me, she’d be back. Not because of me or for another coffee fix. No. I was certain she’d return because on the table in the far right corner–her table—sat the white electrical cord to her MacBook Air. That was my in. When she came back I’d make it a point to get her name—and her story—once and for all.

the clock for so long my eyes were starting to cross. Mid-morning had turned into lunch, and lunch had turned into evening quicker than I expected. It didn’t help that Tony’s shift ended hours ago and Shelby had some kind of crisis with her cat or her iguana—or was it her chinchilla—and had to beat feet to tend to her ailing pet. I was holding down the fort—solo—and aside from the hum of the music which had become an annoying blend of whiney elevator music, the rain pelting against the front window of the store was all that was left to keep my mind off the clock. A bright burst of lightning animated the darkened sky, a loud crack of thunder booming shortly after. Today’s temperature had reached well into the nineties and the air was so thick with humidity I needed an extra dollop of beard balm to tame the mane. The summer storm came as no surprise—nature’s way of throwing a temper tantrum from heat exhaustion—but the blasts cracking in the midst were like nothing I’d ever I’D STARED AT

heard before. “Shit! It’s getting bad out there,” I mused aloud as I dried one of the pots I’d just cleaned. Not only was it pouring buckets, but now the lightning and thunder had become impossible to ignore. Not that I was scared or anything, but the streets were deserted and I’d rather be home binging on Game of Thrones than here in this lonely coffee house waiting out a storm. And keeping an eye out for a girl who wasn’t showing up. Stupid me had jumped at the chance to tack on an extra shift so I could be here when Greta–or whatever her real name was—came back. Stupid me never did shit like this—wait around for a chick. Stupid me . . . Who was I kidding? If the weather wasn’t apocalyptic out there, I’d still be holding out hope that she’d walk through those doors. How could I not? Stupid me had been drooling over her from afar for the last three months. It was a wonder I’d waited this long to make a move, but God help me if there wasn’t something oddly intimidating about her. She’d caught my attention from the moment I laid eyes on her, stumbling into the store on a much colder day than this, wearing a funky sweater and an oversized scarf that covered most of her face. When I finally caught a better glimpse of her, sans winterlings, I was smitten from the start. But I wasn’t attracted to her solely because of how

pleasing she was to the eye. No, it was her whole timid-but-owning-it aura that really got me. She was petite and cute in that bookish pixie sort of way, but she was also remarkably beautiful. Green eyes, fair skin, heart-shaped lips always painted red. Her dark hair was shiny and long, but she usually chose to wear it off her face, especially when she was hard at work doing whatever she did on that computer all day. Her sense of style was quirky beyond belief—I was sure she frequented the thrift shop more often than the shopping mall— but it suited her and felt genuine, unlike so many of the wanna-be’s crowding these parts of town. My heart swelled at the thought of her, even though we’d never spoken. And after my brash stunt today, I wondered if I’d ever get the chance again. For all I knew, she’d ditch the charger, buy a replacement, and start frequenting the Starbucks on Union. That’d be my bad luck, wouldn’t it? I took one more glance at my wristwatch, another meandering gaze around the empty store, and decided to call it quits. Didn’t matter that closing time wasn’t for another half hour. Who was braving this storm for overpriced caffeine or stale scones? Definitely not my coffee girl crush. “I guess I scared her away.” I laughed to myself, scratching my beard as I thought about what I said to her. I allowed the memory of her shocked expression to penetrate a

moment too long and warm my weary body. I jangled the set of keys I was given once I made management, and walked to the door to lock it shut. With one hand twirling the key ring and the other undoing the string around my apron, I blinked twice as I approached the foggy, rain soaked glass. “No. Fucking. Way.” I had to be imagining things. But who in their right mind would ever conjure up the vision of an enormous red umbrella and hideous yellow and white polka dot rain boots? “Greta?” I shook my head and unscrambled my eyes to make sure they weren’t playing some kind of pathetic trick on me. But sure enough, as I hurried closer to the door and swung it open, the rain and wind rushed in as if they were welcome guests and the umbrella lifted ever so slightly to reveal the girl behind the dark-rimmed glasses who had me counting the seconds, minutes, and hours all day. Even protected by the parachute-sized umbrella, her dark hair was matted to her face with tiny drops of rain dripping down the bridge of her upturned nose. “You’re soaked. Come in!” I shouted above the howl of the torrential downpour and another deafening crash of thunder. The snap and crack of the boom sent Greta jumping straight into my arms, the red umbrella an afterthought as it flew out of her hands and floated

behind her. I was momentarily stunned by the feeling of her body against mine—wet, cold, trembling—but then peered over her shoulder to catch the path her umbrella was headed on. Call me a hero—or a dumbass, your choice— but I felt as if that umbrella was some kind of lifeline. She’d need it to get back home in this storm, and although it had failed her from the look and feel of her saturated clothing, the need to retrieve it before it was lost for good overtook me. “Hang on.” I peeled myself away and darted toward the door. As soon as I stepped outside, the rain assaulted me, clouding my vision. I managed to catch sight of the flyaway umbrella to my right and took a few bounding steps through puddles that soaked the hems of my jeans. With a leap and a stretch that was action-movie-hero worthy, I clutched the red fabric and held on for dear life before it had a chance to drift further down the stream of water that had formed in the gutter. “Got ya, you son of a bitch!” I didn’t bother closing it, or thinking about anything but getting back inside. Once I did, however, and after I shook off the rain like a shaggy dog just in from a jaunt in the mud, I realized the umbrella might have been safe, but the keys to the store were not.

the dry warmth of inside as the keys drifted downstream and out of sight. They did not share the same fate as the red umbrella. They were goners. “Mother fu—” I started to yell, but thought better of it when I remembered I had company. Unexpected, albeit welcome, beautiful, wet company. I scared her off once; I didn’t want to risk her running out into this stormy night. Besides, she was here now. Just us two. It was finally a chance for us to talk, for me to get know her better. I warded off the bundle of nerves that waltzed through the door along with Greta and the rain, and turned on the charm. “Welp.” I shrugged. “Guess this is something we can tell our grandkids one day, right, babe?” I ran a hand over my drenched hair, slicking it back while arching an equally drenched brow as I sized up my lady friend from head to toe. Greta’s eyes narrowed behind misty lenses. Her nostrils flared and her hands balled into merciless little fists at her sides. She couldn’t have known I WATCHED FROM

that the rain boots threw off the whole I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna take it anymore vibe. But she was angry nonetheless, and if her ears could have produced smoke, their cue would’ve been now. “Oh . . . oh . . . just . . . scruff you, alright! Scruff you and your lumbersexual, I’m God’s gift to Williamsburg attitude. For your information, I did not risk my life—nor my dignity—in this shitty weather to hear more of your cheesy pick-up lines or to be harassed. I’m on deadline and I left my charger and I’d like it back so I can get out of here and be on my merry way!” Well . . . shit! Tiny but fierce! I didn’t want to laugh. I really didn’t, but scruff you? Did this girl have any idea how adorable she was? I tried as hard as I might to hide the humor staining my lumbersexual features, but there was no use. Laughter erupted, escaping my nose and pissing off Greta even more. “You’re a real piece of work, Ezra!” Now that got me to stop laughing. “Hey, that’s not fair. How do you know my name? I’m stuck labeling you with made-up monikers because you’re too cool for school and here you are bitching me out on a first name basis.” “I can read,” she smarted. “Huh?” “Your name tag, genius. You wear one every

day on that ugly green apron.” Oh, duh. Here I was thinking she took the time to learn my name when in actuality an occupational hazard was to blame. “Well, in that case . . .” What? I froze, devoid of a clever comeback. What could I say to get this girl to stay a little longer and to stop hating me. I was out of pick-up lines or anything worthy of what this feisty girl was looking for. But I was also saved by the bell, or in this case the crash of thunder that forced Greta back into my arms. The world—or our tiny Starbucks bubble the two of us inhabited at the moment—turned pitch black. “Ezra? What the hell was that?” The sprightly, smartass demeanor I was so fond of dissipated with every second she pressed herself into the protection of my body. Underneath a soggy shirt, my heartbeat picked up. I prayed it wouldn’t give me away, but when I finally mustered enough courage to reciprocate her embrace, I felt her shivering. I cleared my throat of gravelly nerves and explained as if it weren’t obvious, “Lights must’ve gone out.” No shit, Sherlock. But she didn’t retreat or retort the way I imagined she would. I relished the momentary peace and quiet between us. I closed my eyes— although there was no need in the darkness

provided by the storm—and sucked in the deliciousness of her rain dampened scent. Strawberries and cream mixed with a tinge of earthy steel. I could’ve stayed like that all night, just to get closer to this mystifying woman. Funny how in my arms she no longer felt like a stranger. She’d let down her guard; that had to count for something because nothing about Greta screamed damsel in distress. From the little I’d observed, she was meek but confident. Independent yet delicate. Damn, did I want to know more. Against my better judgment, I cleared the silence before I took the liberty of indulging in what had become my most current craving. “You okay, sweetheart?” I hated how the endearment slipped off my tongue so cheaply. She deserved better, but was I really supposed to call her Greta when I knew damn well that wasn’t her name? She backed away, her hands against my chest for support, and I could make out the silhouette of her face looking around the darkened room. “Yeah. Sorry about that. Not a big fan of thunderstorms.” “Yet you braved this one to get your charger? I’m not complaining, but couldn’t it have waited till tomorrow?” She scratched her head and then put her hands in front of her, feeling around the room. “I was on a roll. The idea of calling it a night because my Mac

had no more juice seemed kind of . . . amateur. Plus, I planned on pulling an all-nighter so I thought I’d grab another latte.” I followed her around like a lost puppy even though my eyes were adjusting to the darkness and the familiarity of my home away from home. “Aw, come on. You can admit it already, Grets. You wanted to see me again.” She stopped dead in her trek around the opaqueness of the store, causing me to bump into her. “I should’ve known you couldn’t control yourself for more than a minute.” She huffed, then squealed a frustrated, “Ouch!” and turned back around. “Stupid chair! Don’t you have any flashlights, or candles?” “I might,” I joked, taking advantage of her exasperation simply because I could. “Seriously, dude? Why are you doing this to me?” Even in the dark I could tell her nose was crinkled and her hands were at her hips. “Doing what to you?” “Being so . . . so . . . aggressive and elusive and . . .” “Oh, no. Don’t stop. Please continue. You seem to have painted quite a colorful picture of me.” By this time, we’d reached the far end of the store where upholstered booths lined the wall. She plopped down on one and grumbled. “I know nothing about you.”

I sat next to her, keeping a safe distance so as not to piss her off further, although what I was about to say would surely do the trick. “I could totally change that, you know.” Her arms flew into the air and landed in her lap with a loud slapping sound. “See what I mean!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “You walk right into it, honey. I’m resourceful.” “You’re relentless.” “I never said I wasn’t.” She had no idea how much restraint I’d exhibited around her. But now I had her right where I wanted her. I might as well pull out all the stops. Go big or go home, Ezra. No time like the present. She’ll either clock you or kiss you. Exuding my sexiest smolder, I raked my hand through my still damp hair and rested comfortably against the booth’s cushioning with my hands behind my head. “Welp, since it looks like we’re stuck here for a while, whadda ya say we kiss and make up?” Greta remained silent, dejecting my come-on save for the heavy, irritated flow of her breathing. Her hands flew to her waist and she chomped down on her bottom lip so hard I imagined she’d gnaw through it. It shouldn’t have turned me on, but goddamn was she sexy when she was mad. I stifled another bout of gratuitous laughter only to jump out of my skin at the sound of a crash and

shattering of glass that came next. “What the fuck is going on here tonight?” I yelled, my attention darting to the source of the smash. One of the small windows on the side of the store had blown out. Out of nowhere. Greta scooted closer, wrapping her legs over mine and anchoring me to my seat. I stared down at those bare legs—still dotted with raindrops but smooth and tempting. My hands itched to stroke them from ankle to apex. My mouth watered at the thought and I suppressed a guttural growl. I wanted her. I wanted her so fucking bad. In that moment, the safety of the store—and both of us—should have been my priority. What I should have done was find the reason for the broken window. But that’s not what I did. Instead, I gripped Greta’s tiny waist with ravenous hands and lifted her off the seat beside me. In one swift movement, she was straddling me, our mouths inches apart. She didn’t speak and neither did I. The only sound filling the room was our ragged breathing and the rain hammering the pavement outside. With one last inhalation of her sweet, intoxicating scent, I crashed my mouth over hers and nearly lost control of all sense and sensibility when she didn’t object.

into my scalp and then traveled to my face with feather soft caresses over my scruff as she deepened the kiss. Her legs coiled around my waist as she ground her core against mine. Her moans filled the dim and otherwise quiet room, as she nipped and sucked and drove me mad with her lips. She was also the one to stomp on the brakes just when things were getting good. “Stop. No. We can’t.” Her words came out in breathy spurts, her ribcage rising and falling underneath my grasp. I didn’t want to let go, or to stop, but she clearly had other plans. “No, no, no. Keep going. We get along so much better when we’re not talking.” I leaned forward to connect with her succulent, seductive lips again, but she backed away and practically catapulted off my lap. “I’m not this girl. I don’t . . . This isn’t . . . I have to go.” Fortunately for me, another bang of earsplitting thunder ripped through the silence, causing Greta to return to the safety of my greedy arms. HER FINGERS DUG

I nuzzled my nose into the crook of her neck. It was an intimate act, but I couldn’t help myself. If she kept jumping into my arms, I’d be an idiot not to take advantage. Or maybe I was a creep because I was taking advantage. Either way, we were here together and I was nothing if not an opportunist. But rather than try my luck and risk a swift kick in my manhood, I opted for actually daring to learn a bit about her. “Can I ask you a silly question?” “Mmm hmm.” She nodded, staring at the tempered glass window that was no longer a solid sheet but a web of crushed glass. The broken pieces created a beautiful sea of iridescence as the moonlight glinted off the rain-dropped fragments. I ran my hands up and down her arms, fingering the prickle of goose bumps that coated the bits of skin exposed by her rolled up sleeves. Deep down I hoped I was the cause for the gooseflesh, but I knew her damp clothes were probably the reason for her chills. “You’re obviously petrified of thunderstorms, right?” I finally asked. “Clearly,” she grumbled in response. I stifled a laugh and continued. “Then what in the world ever made you think you’d be okay in a storm like this? I know you’re hell bent on getting your charger and finishing up whatever it is you’re working on, but for someone so freaked out by thunder, you could’ve waited. I tucked it away in a safe place. I knew you’d eventually be back.”

“Must I repeat myself?” she sighed. “I told you. I’m on deadline. You wouldn’t understand . . .” This time her voice was low as it trailed off. She was right. I didn’t get it. “So, why don’t you make me understand? Let’s start with: what exactly is this project that has you on such a strict time constraint that you’d confront a storm and one of your biggest fears?” With her arms wrapped around herself she stood, leaving my arms with that empty, lonesome feeling again. “That’s just the thing. I’m facing yet another huge fear by working on this project.” It was a bold statement that made me want to unravel more of her mysterious charm. To say I was intrigued was an understatement. “Well, brave lady, spill it. Or are you planning to keep me guessing, like with everything else about you?” Before she could respond with a snarky quip, a slash of bright light illuminated the sky, and her gaze snapped to the window to ready herself for the boom that was sure to follow. When it didn’t, she glanced my way and arched a brow, a slight smile creeping onto the corner of her lips. “Could it be over?” This chick was a master of distraction, I had to give her that. She darted to the front door with childlike excitement, only to be slammed with disappointed when the door failed to reward her

with the freedom she was obviously hoping for. “Uh, Ezra?” I shot up from the booth when I realized she wasn’t simply making a show of pushing the door with all her might and getting nowhere. “Well, ain’t this grand.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. We were locked inside thanks to a mammoth-sized tree branch that must have snapped off in the storm and landed, yep, you guessed it, right in the path of our escape. Before I could even appreciate the humor in the situation or say a silent prayer to whoever was in charge of my and Greta’s fate, she was shrieking. “This is some kind of trick, isn’t it? You . . . you . . . trapped me in here on purpose!” Gone was the girl who was loosening beneath my touch. In her place was the guarded enigma from before who made nothing but inaccurate assumptions about the kind of guy I was. I no longer had it in me to play nice. “Yeah, that’s what I did, Greta. I snuck outside, chopped down the tree like good ol’ George fucking Washington, and then super sleuthed my way back inside. In fact, this whole thunderstorm is a diversion, too. Smoke and mirrors. I did it all to get you alone and have my way with you.” Her eyes narrowed on me, her hands on her hips. Before she could come back with something to further sour my mood, I took it upon myself to

deflate the ego I’d played a part in giving her. “Listen, sweetheart. I want out of here as much as you do. You think I want to spend my night holed up in here with you? Pssh! I’ve got shit to do, too. You’re not the only one with deadlines and projects, ya know?” “Is that so?” “Yes, it is. And to think I stayed around here just to—” Oh, no. I wasn’t about to confess that I stuck around for her. I’d already given too much and gotten nothing in return. It was time to forgive and forget and put the fantasy of winning over the coffee shop chick to rest. I shook my head and scrubbed a weary hand over my drying facial fuzz. “Never mind. I’ll see if I can get us out of here through that broken window. Or maybe there’s an ax or something around here. I don’t know. You think you can stay put or will you need to use me and my lap again for false protection when you’re spooked by the thunder?” “Don’t, Ezra. Don’t be a dick.” “Why, not?” I laughed, shaking my head. “If it walks like a duck . . . quack, quack, baby. You’ve already made your judgments about me. I might as well fit the bill.” I had no idea what came over me. In the short amount of time I was trapped with this girl—this stranger—my emotions ranged all over the place. It wasn’t normal to feel anything because of her. I hardly knew her. In fact, I didn’t know

anything about her! Not even her goddamn name. With the dismissive flick of a wrist, I started off to the back room to find a way the hell out of here. Before I could take a step further into the awkward, silent shadows, Greta spoke. “I guess I was right about you, even if I hoped I wasn’t. My observations—the research, if you will. You’re perfect for the part because you are the part. Typical cardigan wearing, Kings of Leon lovin’, not-trying-to-be-cool-but-totally-trying-too-hard hipster who thinks his trendy beard can melt the panties off any lady with a simple finger trail through his scruff.” I ignored the part about the research—for now —just to knock her down to size. “Me? Have you looked in the mirror, darlin’? You’re the poster child for Hipster Magazine. With those thrift store glasses—that’re probably fake, by the way—and your chunky bangs, and your cutesy wardrobe of shabby chic threads, sipping on your expensive artisanal java every day like a walking cliché. Not to mention the whole Hollywood starlet shit. You’re what, barely legal? What the hell would you know about the classics and the silver screen? I’m no more of an act than you are, sweetheart. I’ve got your number. You, on the other hand, know nothing about me. I don’t even drink this fuckin’ coffee, for Christ’s sake! America runs on Dunkin’!” In the darkness, I could make out the moonlit

silhouette of her face. She was stunned still, silent. Not angry, definitely not indifferent, maybe a bit hurt. I’d worked myself up with my little tirade, my breathing now erratic. I took a deep inhalation to calm myself and expected her to react before I was able to simmer. What I didn’t expect were tears. Fuck! I was a sucker for tears.

sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” I rushed to her side, treading lightly as I reached out to graze her arm. “Jane,” she whispered, cupping her hands over her glasses to hide her eyes. “What?” I sidled up to her once I was sure it was safe. “My name. It’s . . . Jane.” It sounded like an apology and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. Yes, we’d just gotten into it over nothing. Yeah, she’d been a bit presumptuous in judging me based on very little knowledge. But I made her cry, and that wasn’t cool. I should be the one apologizing to her. “Jane.” I let it slip off my tongue with ease. It was simple and delicate, timeless even. “It suits you.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her tears wavered and she sniffled, but her stiff stance told me she thought I was being sarcastic. I laughed then. To myself, of course. I didn’t want to rouse the fierce tiger that lived inside this “SHIT, GRETA. I’M

petite, adorable kitten. Jane was a mixed bag of personalities, and not in the schizophrenic way by any stretch of my wild imagination. In fact, it was that blend of sweet and spicy that found a way to creep under my skin—every day since she first walked into the store right until this very moment. By some cosmic twist of fate, we’d spent more time together tonight than we had in the months I’d pined over her. I couldn’t exactly say it was time well spent, or that it was under the most luxurious of circumstances, but hey, I’d take what I could get. Only, I wanted a do over. I needed a chance to show her that there was more to me than good looks and a furry face. I wasn’t just some wanna-be Brooklyn Flea, following the fads. Hell, I sported a beard before it was even cool. I took on this job for the benefits—the health benefits, mind you. I had depth, interests, a heart. If she got to know me, she’d learn to like me. One could only hope. We stood in silence another moment, stagnant yet peaceful. We weren’t getting out of here any time soon, and I thought it would be nice to make the best of it and walk through those doors— whenever that happened to be—as friends, if nothing else. Taking a step closer, I cleared my throat and swiped a few tousled strands of hair off my forehead. “Why don’t we start over?” I rubbed my hand across my jeans as if to brush away any cooties she thought I might have and then extended

an open palm to her. “Hi, Jane. I’m Ezra. Nice to meet you.” Jane peered over the top of her glasses, some of her lashes sticking together from the tears she shed. She took a beat too long and for a second I thought she’d snub me—yet again—but to my contentment, she took my hand in hers and shook it with a gentle squeeze. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” “Phew.” My chest deflated with the breath I’d been holding. Jane’s did too. Relief filled the air with a refreshing vibe, so I ran with it. “I think we’re going to be here a while. Your clothes are still damp; you’ve got to be cold. Want me to see if I have an old uniform shirt in the back?” “That would be great, but can you not leave me out here alone? I’m still kind of spooked.” She adopted a low tone as if she had to keep her fears secret, as if I didn’t already know she was a wuss when it came to thunderstorms. I thought it was cute, like everything else about her. But I was getting ahead of myself. Friends first, Ezra. Play it cool. “Sure. Come with me. Then we can munch on some not-so-fresh bagels until we figure out our escape plan. I don’t know about you, but all this bickering made me hungry.” Jane laughed—a melodious chuckle—as we felt

around in the dark and made it to the employees’ lounge. I managed to feel out the utility closest where a flashlight would be waiting for us. “And God said . . . let there be light.” I flicked it on and accidentally shined the bright beam into her eyes. She raised her hands to shield them from the light and I changed the direction of the stream so it hit the ceiling and gave the room a low glow. “Better?” I asked. “Much.” “Sorry about that.” “No worries.” This being nice thing without cracking inappropriate jokes was harder than it seemed. I felt tongue-tied without the defense of my tried and true sarcasm. I could sense Jane felt the same as she perused the small room filled with lockers, chairs, and a water cooler. After ogling a second too long over how timid she’d become, I made my way over to Shelby’s locker—which she always left open—to look for something suitable for Jane to wear. Rummaging through a mess of unopened mail, crumpled napkins, a pair of ugly Crocs, and lots of female toiletries, I found something promising. “Do you mind green and yellow plaid? I actually think it’ll go perfectly with your eyes.” She smiled shyly when she retrieved the garment from my hands and then ordered me to

turn around with the twirl of her index finger. “There’s a bathroom, you know?” “Yeah, in the dark. I’ll trust my luck out here instead; just don’t get any ideas by sneaking a peek.” I arched a brow, a dirty comeback on the tip of my tongue, but I thought better of it in light of how nice it was to actually be getting along with her rather than at each other’s throats. Although, being at each other’s throats had sparked an aggressiveness in her that I hoped would resurface before the night was over. What? You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Crossing my heart, I nodded and did as I was told. “Want me to check for a pair of pants too?” I asked as I stared ahead into blank space, fantasizing about what her pert breasts looked like underneath her clothing. Were they more than a handful, or less? Were her nipples a rosy pink, standing at attention because of the circumstances? Was she soaked down to her bra, and needed to shed that too? Or did she even wear one at all? God, the possibilities were endless, and much like the anticipation of solving a mystery, what the mind invented in the crevices of its wonderings could drive a man mad. “You all right over there, Ezra?” “Um . . . yeah,” I croaked, covertly adjusting my crotch. To my surprise, the mere thought of her

naked body right behind me, so close, had my dick straining against my jeans. “You can turn around now,” she finally said. But I wasn’t sure I should. It was dark but I was tenting big time and I didn’t want to get her all worked up again. Wait. Let me rephrase that: I totally wanted to get her worked up again, just not in the way I knew she would if she saw that the head in my pants wanted to get to know her before the head on my shoulders did. “Fits like a glove,” I mumbled, walking past her and gesturing for her to follow me back out front. Our quarters were too close in the lounge and I couldn’t trust myself not to go back to my old ways of flirting and teasing her onto my lap again. “So . . .” I finally said, trailing off with a smirk she couldn’t see. “You mentioned research. How ’bout I set us up with something to snack on and then you fill me in? Looks like we have all night. Might as well make it a working evening since you’re on deadline and all. Whadda ya think?” Her gulp was audible; her embarrassment almost was too. I relished the idea of putting her on the spot and making her squirm the way I had while she was undressing behind me only moments ago. Something told me Jane’s secret project was very interesting.

in a booth adjacent to the table she usually parked herself in during the day. I’d scrounged up a few still-decent croissants and muffins, and created her signature beverage like a boss. A green tea with lemon was my poison tonight, though a few finger widths of scotch or whiskey would have been much better. The storm had subsided somewhat, although every now and then a rumble of thunder caused Greta . . . I mean, Jane . . . to look my way. My fingers longed to touch her skin; my lips tingled with the thought of hers on mine, but I kept my hands to myself and my dick in my pants because we were getting along in the peaceful silence by the glow of a single-bulbed flashlight. I ignored the elephant in the room—her mortified expression at the mention of her secret project—as long as possible, hoping she’d spill the beans on her own. She picked at the cranberry muffin like a cautious bird, hardly ever making eye contact. I decided to break the ice because my curiosity was killing me. My fingers made a show of WE SAT TOGETHER

dramatically rubbing my beard. “I’m thinking of shaving it,” I blurted out of nowhere. Jane’s eyes abandoned the muffin and popped open, homing in on mine. “The hell you are,” she spoke matter of factly. Taken aback but loving every minute of her bluntness, I narrowed my eyes in question. “What’s it to you, huh?” Jane took a deep breath and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. I could tell she was nervous because her hands were busy with mindless tasks—making a pile out of muffin crumbs, smoothing her fingers through long strands of dark hair, wiping the corners of her pretty mouth. When she finally rested them on the table in front of her, I reached forward and clasped my much larger hands over hers. “Would you sit still? You’re making me dizzy.” “Dizzy,” she mumbled with a chuckle. Her green eyes met mine again and I couldn’t help but bite my bottom lip to stop myself from saying something inappropriate. What she said next, though—all bets were off after that. “The beard stays. I like it. Even if it is a bit . . . generic.” She was fucking with me but it was all in good fun because I could tell she didn’t give a shit that it was generic. She dug it! I knew it! Before I could ruin the moment by babbling something along

the lines of I told you so, she continued. “It’s kind of what got me here in the first place. You. You’re my research, Ezra.” I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or offended, but either way this got my attention. “Huh? What are you talking about?” She removed her hands from beneath mine and started to fidget again. She lost her perfect posture and slouched into the upholstered booth. Closing her eyes and gnawing on her lip, she divulged her best kept secret. “I’m writing a screenplay for a class, and you—well, someone based on you—is the lead character.” If not for the fact we were locked in here against our will, I expected her to jet out of here faster than I could say manbun. But I wasn’t letting her off easy. No fucking way. All this time I’d been practically obsessing over her and she was writing a goddamn story about me. This was too good to be true. “You totally want me, don’t you?” I leaned over the table, resting my chin in my hands and batting my eyelashes obnoxiously. Her defenses were up but her eyes told a different tale. “Who said anything about wanting you? I’m intrigued by you, for my story, of course, but that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with you.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I raised both hands in the air. “Look who’s jumping to conclusions. I said nothing about sleeping together. I was only looking

for a date. A good, honest night on the town with the quirky customer who orders the annoying coffee concoctions. But if you’re game for skipping all the small talk and getting-to-know-each-other shit, I can up the ante on your research and give you something really good to write about.” “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” She rose from her seat and shimmied out of the booth. I followed her to the center of the store, came up behind her, hands on her shoulders, and spun her around to face me. “The jig is up, darlin’. Don’t play shy now.” “I’m not playing shy, Ezra.” She closed her eyes and I imagined she mentally counted to ten before she opened them again. Green irises shone before me with an innocent glimmer, but something shifted and I could sense her discomfort. I wanted to ease it away with a tender touch, but I wasn’t sure she’d be okay with that. She must have registered my restraint, however, because she searched for my hands, now nestled in my back pockets. Taking in a shallow breath and releasing it through her upturned nose, she admitted, “I am the most introverted person you’ll probably ever meet. This whole situation has me on the verge of breaking out in hives. I’m sorry if I came off snobby or whatever; I wasn’t trying to. I usually stick to myself, my writing, my books.” Her honesty and vulnerability only made her

that much more attractive. Jane’s reserve and the way she’d come clean—to me—was one of the biggest turn-ons I’d ever experienced. My heart raced for her—realizing how hard this must’ve been to admit aloud—and it galloped for me because, well, I really wanted to kiss her again. Jane seemed anything but introverted when we were kissing. I didn’t want to force her out of the comfort of her shell, though. I’d rather she left willingly—even if it was at a maddeningly slow pace. Besides, maybe she was misdiagnosing herself. I’d seen her in action. She wasn’t a total loner. That meant . . . just maybe . . . she could make room for me. “Jane, you may be a shrinking violet, but you’re not exactly a recluse. I know you have friends. I’ve seen you with that girl you meet on Fridays sometimes. Emmy, right?” “Wow, stalker much?” She couldn’t even insult me without blushing. I rolled my eyes. “No, I’m just perceptive and my job kind of requires me to write the names of my customers on their beverages, remember?” “True,” she conceded. “But even Emmy can tell you it took me quite a while for us to be friends. I’m . . . not good at cultivating relationships. I was kind of a geek all throughout my school years and I kept to myself. It’s easier being alone.” “It’s lonely being alone.”

“That’s not always a bad thing,” she retorted with a tilt of her head. I knew what she was getting at. We lived in a neighborhood that was crammed full. People were squashed like sardines from Greenpoint to Bed Sty. There was no breathing room, let alone a place for your personal thoughts to ruminate without stepping on someone’s toes and becoming distracted. I happened to enjoy that kind of living— most of the time—but I could understand why someone might not. It did make me wonder, however, why Jane called this part of the great big world her home. Settling into a booth, I gestured for her to join me. When she did so without complaint or hesitation, I leaned back and asked, “What made you choose Williamsburg as your ‘you are here’? Don’t writers like to hole themselves up in quaint little cottages on acres of farmland while they work?” Jane smiled and chuckled inaudibly. “That might’ve worked for the Paul Sheldon character in Misery, but I’d rather be a Martin Scorsese or a . . . Larry David. When you immerse yourself in culture this way, there are so many places to pull inspiration from, you know? Besides, I’m challenging myself by stepping out of my comfort zone. And as you can see, it’s quite the challenge.” I couldn’t argue with her there. We were

surrounded by so many possible characters on a daily basis, so much to learn from, gawk at, see, hear, and taste. Still, what was her comfort zone? I hoped she’d give me some insight. “Are you from around here or did you migrate like so many of the rest of us?” She shook her head and picked at the dark paint of her chipped manicure. “Brooklyn born and bred, actually. My grandparents lived here way before the gentrification. From what they told me, it was not the safest of places, but it was what they could afford, and luckily my mother’s upbringing did not suffer for it. When she went off to community college, she met my dad, who grew up in Sheepshead Bay. They wound up moving into my grandparents’ place when my grandfather passed. Grammy’s since moved into assisted living, and Mom and Dad—” “Are sitting on a veritable gold mine! Jane, do you know how much cash they could get for that place if they sold it?” “You don’t even know where I live, Ezra,” she huffed. “Doesn’t matter exactly where, everywhere here is prime real estate. We’re talking millions.” “I know. We get offers on the daily,” she said with a shrug. “I’m sure you do. I share a two by four shithole with an even shittier roommate and I still can’t

seem to come up with my share of the rent at the end of the month. I cannot believe the cost of living around here.” “Says the man who works at the place that charges almost eight dollars for a large coffee.” “Says the chick who orders a drink that takes twenty minutes to make. I get paid by the hour, babe. Supply, demand, and all that shit.” I realized that made no sense, but I wanted to change the subject. I was no real estate tycoon, nor was I an economist. I was just a smitten barista, finally chatting up the girl of my fancy. Jane shook her head and giggled, her body less tense and her eyes more inquisitive. The rain was still coming down in heavy streams, but the thunder and lightning had subsided. It was way past closing time and I’d been here since the sun came up. I should have wanted nothing more than my warm, dry bed and a good night’s sleep, but I didn’t want my time with Jane to end. Maybe she felt the same or maybe she was simply being polite, because she asked, “Did you always want to be a barista?” “Uh, yes and no. Unlike you, I’m not from around here.” “I could tell. You don’t have the atrocious accent.” “I love the atrocious accent. In fact, can you throw a ‘Fugget about it’ at me?”

“No.” “I didn’t think so.” I laughed. “Anyway, yeah, I grew up all over the place, an army brat. We moved around a lot, depending on where my dad was stationed. We spent a few years at Fort Hamilton before it was time to transfer again. Only, I decided I didn’t want to leave Brooklyn. I was finally of age and had a good group of friends. I didn’t have the drive to follow in my dad’s footsteps, and I wasn’t exactly the best student, but I wanted to make it on my own so I enrolled in online business classes while working at a mom and pop-type coffee shop. Long story short, this place had an opening with potential to move up the managerial chain. I had experience in the field, and I, like many of the other inhabitants around here, was fascinated by the hip and happening vibe. So I took the job, found a roomie, and the rest is history.” “You don’t miss the traveling? It must have been fun to have a different home every few years.” I let out a long puff of air and remembered the sadness of saying good-bye to my friends as quickly as I’d met them, or getting used to a new room, in a new town, with a new routine. “It was awful, to be honest.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it that way,” she offered with genuine concern. “Are you here for good, or do you think you’ll ever uproot again?”

It’s not as if I hadn’t thought about it. My parents and sisters currently lived in Virginia. I had nothing keeping me here other than my job and some close buddies, but there was something about Brooklyn that made me proud to call it home. And there was something about Jane that made me feel like confessing something I hadn’t admitted to anyone. “I’m really happy here. Rather than uproot, I think I’d like to plant some roots of my own here one day.” Jane nodded with a smile and then looked off to the front door again. Instead of allowing her thoughts to linger on the fact we were trapped in here involuntarily, she turned her head to face me again, her shoulders relaxed. “Well, between the goldmine I’m sitting on and your eagerness to plant some roots—” “We’re both here to stay, and I get to see your beautiful face for many more mornings to come.” My compliment brought a flush of crimson to her fair cheeks. She looked down at her hands without a peep. I enjoyed the silence between us; I sensed it was something comforting to her, too. But when the quiet darkness became too much for my vociferous nature, I stood from my side of the booth and slid in next to her. Jane turned her head toward me. She blinked. I blinked. Our eyes met and we both smiled. I leaned closer and she did not protest. Our mouths only

inches apart, her sweet breath tickled the tip of my nose. I wanted to kiss her. Terribly. But I also wanted her to initiate. To succumb and validate that she had it for me as badly as I did for her. “Jane,” I whispered, teasing her. “Ezra,” she moaned, her eyes shielded by lowered lids and those adorable specs. “I’ve done my own kind of research, too,” I admitted, pressing my forehead to hers. “But it’s not for any book, or screenplay. Just for me, Jane. I’ve watched you every day since you first came in here. Talk about intriguing . . .” I trailed off and groaned, nuzzling my scruff covered cheek against her soft one. “You think you can finally stop snubbing me and come out of that shell?” To think only this morning she was a mystery. She still was, but I was gradually unfolding so many interesting details about this girl, and I had this humdrum job at this run-of-the-mill coffeehouse to thank for it. Of all the coffee joints, in all the world . . . “Y-You don’t think I’m a weirdo?” She inspected my face, from the gelled tips of my shoulder-length lumbersexual hair to the bushy depths of my whiskers. I grinned and let a rude chuckle escape. “Oh, I totally think you’re a weirdo, but you’re an adorable weirdo. So, whadda ya say? Can you give me a shot . . . Greta?”

In the middle of a dark room, locked away from the world, with the rain still coming down in intermittent sheets, we sat with our gazes locked in the cozy booth—two strangers with the possibility of becoming so much more. Jane giggled, rested her head against my shoulder and then peered up at me with a devilish grin. “I think I can arrange that. For research, of course.”

Walk in!” I took one final swig of the tepid coffee I’d reheated at least five times since visiting Ezra—my favorite-but-currently-unavailable-barista—this afternoon, and rubbed my hands along the torn denim covering my thighs. Tossing the cup in the trash, I stood from my station, dramatically marked myself with the sign of the cross, and prayed. Anything but a rose, goddammit. Just not another rose, I beg of you, dear Lord. I caught Darren muffling a chuckle as he worked on a tramp stamp, straddling the thirty-something chick who occupied his chair. Scowling yet smiling, I flipped him the bird and made my way to the front of the shop. Once at the reception area, I pulled my hair out of my face and into a messy-but-tight topknot. With my tongue circling the inner side of the piercing at the corner of my mouth—a habit I’d probably never abandon as long as I wore the tiny metal ring—my eyes scanned the waiting area. Two teenage girls scrolled through their phones, enthusiastic with rebellion. A “MARLEY, YOU’RE UP.

couple held hands, an engagement ring on the woman’s left hand, the man’s tattooed arm resting on her knee. An older dude with graying hair displayed an impressive portrait of a pin-up model on his calf. And then there was him. A rugged, blond-haired blue-eyed, all-American dude with virgin skin and a nervous grin, beckoning me toward him. Please let it be him. He definitely doesn’t want a rose. My eyes darted in a Russian roulette sort of fashion as I awaited the moment of truth. Who would it be? Whose skin would be forever marked by my hand. I loved this part of my job. The meet and greet. There was something strange and beautiful, intimate even, about being the artist designated to permanently decorate another human being. Granted, this was just a run of the mill walkin and not an appointment in which the client actually went about researching my work and sought me out, but still—my art + their body . . . forever. I found myself eager to discover which of these strangers would grant me the honor. “Well? Which one of you lucky peeps is my next victim?” I finally blurted, my anxiousness getting the best of me. Anxiousness was a bad word for it. It was more like the adrenaline rush you experience right before riding a roller coaster, and I’d never tire from this particular exhilaration. Even if it is a rose.

After one more pregnant pause of silence, he stood. All-American boy. A grin drew my lips up at the corners. It was a smile I felt tugging at my anatomy. I could barely control my hands from involuntarily clapping and rubbing themselves together. I walked a footstep closer. He did, too. We stood toe to toe and then he declared, cracking his knuckles, “One scared shitless victim comin’ right up.” A scaredy cat. How cute. I would’ve never guessed based on his appearance, but then again, I knew all too well that looks could be mighty deceiving. Sixty percent of my milky, freckled skin was covered in ink and I had more holes from piercings than I did from God. But I was a daddy’s girl and my big brother, Milo, meant the world to me. I was a softy at heart—my outer shell did not match my innermost nature. I liked that I could encompass both hard and soft without much effort, and used that power to greet my latest client. Extending my left hand—my working hand—I stepped closer to him. “Hey, I’m Marley. No reason to be scared. I promise I won’t bite.” It was something I said to all seemingly uneasy clients, but for some reason, this time I meant it. I would take care of him, or at least promise not to laugh if he cried from the pain. “Hey. Jasper. Nice to meet ya, Marley.” His

smile was a mix between charming and terrified. I had to wonder if he was here on a dare. No one this visibly nervous wound up in here of their own accord without bringing someone for moral support. “Jasper,” I whispered, leaning in closer. “You sure you want to do this?” Gulping and closing his eyes simultaneously, he nodded. “I’m sure. And I’m sorry for coming off like a . . . well, like a pussy.” He whispered the last part and looked around to make sure no one was listening to our private conversation before his eyes settled on mine again. Innocent. Sweet. Genuine. It wasn’t often someone like him, in packaging like his, came in here looking for ink—from me. Before I could say anything, he opened up to me like a blooming flower, thirsty for what was to come. “It’s just . . . I’m new here. I’m embracing my surroundings, trying new things, livin’ in the moment. Ya’ know? It’s not so much my fear of needles that has me shakin’ in my boots. It’s more the fear of the unknown.” I almost staggered from his directness. And his drawl. A southern boy. Fascinating. Jasper had piqued my interest within a matter of minutes. I’d totally do him up a rose if that’s what he was into. Even though I smiled—practically giggled, actually, from my personal joke—Jasper’s demeanor still resembled one of a deer in headlights. It was then I contemplated the unthinkable. Maybe I should get

him stoned. A puff for me, a pass to him, everyone’s calm and relaxed. But suddenly I remembered. I was a woman. One hell of a badass woman, might I add. He didn’t need a joint to calm his nerves. He had me. And I was about to welcome him to the neighborhood and pop his tattoo cherry all while giving him my very own dose of southern hospitality. I rose up on tippy toes and curled my arm around his neck. “Come on, Jasper. You’re in good hands. I’ve got you.”

with a client, I sized them up. Their tattoo choice usually said a lot about the person they were, or who they wanted to be, anyway. Each of mine meant something special to me, with careful consideration as to placement, color, size and significance. Sure, there was always that random kid who wanted a meaningless butterfly, or some Chinese character just for the sake of getting inked, but the majority of people who decided to mark their bodies for all of eternity put a modicum of thought into it. Jasper was no different. Much like me, his tattoo came with a story; a good one, too, might I add. That story and the way he told it with his whole body had me unable to tear my eyes away from him as he spoke. Be it his southern accent or his rugged good looks, I didn’t know. What I did know was that I was intrigued for the first time in a long time. You see, this country boy was the furthest thing from my type. Then again, you had to actually date to have a type and I hadn’t been on one in over a year. I was busy. I was preoccupied. I ANYTIME I MET

was burnt out from too many disappointments. I blamed Brooklyn and the whole hipster community. Slap a pair of suspenders and some facial hair on a dude and all of a sudden, they’re God’s gift. Not many other options in these parts. Hence my sudden fascination with Jasper. With my unwavering attention on his mouth, I listened to the tail end of his story. “It’s my favorite quote from that song, and anything by Willie Nelson was basically Pop’s gospel. I’ve been wanting to commemorate him in some way since he passed, and well, this just seems like the perfect way to do that.” I nodded and smiled. I couldn’t agree more, even if you couldn’t pay me to sit down and listen to a single Willie Nelson tune without tying me to a chair. But Jasper wasn’t paying me for my two cents; he was paying me for my art, and I was more than happy to draw up the tattoo he asked me to create for him. “So, placement . . .” I scanned his thick bicep with my eyes and then reached out to inspect it with my hands. Jasper’s lips curled into a grin and he flexed his muscle when my tiny fingertips touched him there. “Sorry,” I said, arching a brow. “I have this thing where I need to feel my canvas before I work.” “Touch away,” he drawled, rolling his sleeve up even higher.

I laughed at his mild dose of flirting. “The needle won’t feel as warm and fuzzy. You okay with that? You seemed a little tense when you first walked in.” Jasper bowed his head and then snapped it back up to greet me with an embarrassed smile. “Not exactly a huge fan of needles, but I’ve always wanted one and Pop’s anniversary is coming up, so . . .” He trailed off and I felt a hint of his sadness in my own chest. “I’m sorry.” I offered a tight smile and rubbed my hand up and down the strong arm that was my blank canvas. “When did he pass?” Jasper swallowed hard. “Five years ago. It was sudden and it kind of rocked my world. My mom and sisters, too. But Mama’s moved on and found herself a guy who makes her happy again. Pop would want that for her. He’d want this for me, too.” I then remembered what he said earlier about a fresh start and being new here, and I decided I really wanted to know more. It was an added bonus to the job I already loved—having people tell me their life stories without reservation. My hands left Jasper’s arm and I stood from my stool. “Let me get this drawn up for you—half hour tops—and then I want to hear all about what brought you here. The tattoo shouldn’t take more than, say . . . two hours, so at least we’ll have something to chat

about to keep your mind off . . . the needle.” Jasper gave me a thumbs up, the somber moment behind us for now. “Sounds good to me. Should I wait here?” “Here, or back at reception. Wherever you’re comfortable.” He eyed my work station—pictures of me and my brother, some drawings—and then caught a glimpse of Darren huddled over the tramp-stamp he was working on. Apparently, that piqued his interests because he said, “As long as it’s all right with you, I’ll park myself right here until you’re ready for me.” Who was I to deny a man a free show? I winked at him before walking away, and smiled to myself knowing I’d soon have another satisfied customer.

I came back with the drawing, I was kind of digging it and really proud of my work. Other than the quote from a song called “Wonderful Future,” Jasper asked that I incorporate a Stetson and a pair of cowboy boots. I found it endearing, albeit so far from my own taste, and hoped Jasper would like what I’d come up with. A badass replica of vintage boots, a large brimmed hat, and the quote let me trade one tomorrow for one yesterday in an upturned arch of freehand script. “Hey, cowboy, what do you think?” I swung my hips as I walked back to my work station, eager for Jasper’s approval. Extending the sketch to him, I anticipated his initial reaction with the impatience of a four-year-old awaiting a visit from Santa. Luckily, it took mere seconds to read the excitement on Jasper’s face. “Holy smokes, Marley. This is exactly how I pictured it. Better, even. Girl, you ’bout made my year. I only wish Pop was here to see it.” I leaned over him and placed a comforting hand BY THE TIME

on his shoulder. “I’m sure he is, Jasper. It’s moments like these I like to think the ghosts we once knew are right alongside us, enjoying the ride.” Jasper nodded his head, not tearing his eyes from the sketch. I’d done good. Another happy camper. Although I was speaking too soon; we had to get this bad boy on his arm before I could blow my own horn. “Ready to make it permanent?” I asked, clapping my hands and rubbing them together. “I reckon I am. Just tell me what to do and I’m all yours for the next few hours.” That sounded so much more appealing than it should, but I smiled in spite of myself and gave Jasper the rundown of what to expect next. Jasper was a trooper. The first prick of the needle almost made him jump out of his boots, but once the steady, numbing vibration of the tattoo kicked in, he relaxed and our conversation flowed just as comfortably. “I really commend you for picking up and coming here, sight unseen, all on your own. New York is a big place. I’d be totally overwhelmed if I hadn’t grown up here.” “Who said I wasn’t totally overwhelmed?” he joked. “Yeah, it’s a lot to take in, but there really is no place I’d rather be.” I used a towel to wipe the

excess ink and droplets of blood from his arm and continued talking to keep him distracted. “Why Brooklyn and not Manhattan, if I’m not being too nosy?” “Please. Be nosy. Ask me whatever you want, so long as you keep me occupied.” He winced when I moved the needle to the fleshier inside of his arm. “I’m sorry, but this part’s going to sting a bit.” “Never mind that.” He closed his eyes, but continued in a monotone voice. “You were asking why here and not the big city?” I nodded, snickering at his adorable guise. “I’ve always wanted to live in New York at some point in my life, but the idea of all those tall skyscrapers and crowded streets didn’t feel so welcoming.” “Not all of Manhattan is tall buildings, country boy.” “I’m sure you’re right, but something about Williamsburg just feels quaint . . . like back home.” “Yeah, well, 125,000 people crammed into two square miles of space isn’t exactly quaint.” I could tell Jasper wanted to laugh but he was too afraid to move. “Not to mention the price of real estate. I could own a whole farm back home for the cost of one year’s rent out here.” “And your apartment is the size of a shoe box, isn’t it?”

“A toddler’s shoe box.” We shared an appreciative chuckle as I dabbed his skin with the towel again. “That’s New York for you. Big city, big dreams, teeny tiny living space at astronomical prices.” “That might be true, but the good definitely outweighs the bad.” “Yeah? What are your pros?” I was curious. “I’ve met lots of different people that I wouldn’t have if I’d stayed in Alabama.” “I am pretty cool, aren’t I?” “That you are, Miss Marley.” “What else?” I urged him. “Men in cowboy hats seem to get a lot more attention here.” He waggled his blond brows. “That doesn’t surprise me,” I admitted. “Fedoras and manbuns are a dime a dozen here, but Stetsons and Tony Lama’s . . . not so much.” Jasper hooted. “Damn, girl, you know your southern boy accessories.” I leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. “Can I tell you a secret?” “Please do.” “I’ve always wanted a pair of blue and brown Tony Lama’s. I think they’re so . . . kickass.” “Oh, they are! I can just picture you in those dream boots of yours, with your colorful ink, and that wholesome smile. You’d be this Alabama boy’s perfect combo of back home and new beginnings.”

There was a frisky spark to his blue irises, a handsome smile curling his lips at the corners. “Jasper, if I didn’t know any better I’d think the ink is going to your brain.” I ceased tattooing and scanned his face to make sure the pain hadn’t caused him delirium. There was no way on God’s green earth someone like me appealed to someone like him. We were night and day, black and white, and while most people tended to believe that opposites attract, I thought our worlds were too different to collide. “What? Why’re you surprised? You’re a fine looking woman, Miss Marley. I could write at least ten songs off the top of my head about those adorable freckles sprinkled across your nose and that charming giggle of yours.” “You write music?” I asked, returning to my work. “Write, play, and sing. Triple threat, darlin’.” “Ah, now it makes sense.” “What?” “Why you’re here.” “For my tattoo, you mean?” “No. In New York.” I shook my head. “Because you’re trying to ‘make it big’ with your music. That’s cool. I totally get it, but if there’s one genre of music I will never ever listen to, it’s country.” “Is that so?” His forehead wrinkled.

“Very so.” “Can I ask why?” I had shared in this conversation many a time before. My taste in music was pretty eclectic; I liked it all. Hell, my brother was a musician, so I was basically forced to like anything he was playing while we both lived under the same roof growing up. I had Milo to thank for introducing me to so many of the indie bands no one knew about—Lord Huron, the Strumbellas, The Head and the Heart. He even took me to my first concert when I was only twelve years old. And even though country pop was going mainstream these days—Eric Church had just sold out Barclays Center, for Christ’s sake—it was still the one genre of music I couldn’t seem to get into. “No disrespect to your roots, but it’s not my cup of tea. It all sounds the same. Beer, trucks, girls, repeat. Wasn’t it your man Willie Nelson who said every country song was made up of the same three chords?” “No, Willie said, ‘country music is three chords and the truth’.” “Same thing.” He laughed but I could tell by his reddening complexion that he was minding his manners. “It’s definitely not, but . . . I won’t argue with a lady with a tattoo gun in her hand.” It was my turn to laugh and change the subject. “What do you do when you’re not writing hillbilly

tunes?” “Construction. I’m good with my hands. Hey, you know what? I bet I could change your mind, if you let me try.” “Jasper, you’re super sweet and very convincing, but we can still be friends and not like the same music. Darren over there,” I pointed to the workstation next to mine, “is into opera, believe it or not, and we still shoot the shit over a beer at Flask & Folly every other Friday night.” “Flask & Folly, huh? The open mic night place?” “That’s the one. You’ve been there?” “Only a few times.” “Guess it wasn’t my usual Friday night or we would have run into each other.” Jasper might not have been my type, but I would have remembered seeing him. He stuck out like a sore thumb, in the sexiest way possible. A diamond in the rough. “Hey, maybe you’ve heard my brother play. Milo Crawford. He’s part owner of Just Strummin’ It, a few blocks down.” Jasper searched my face as if trying to make the connection. “Oh, snap! Milo’s your brother? Now that you mention it, I can see the resemblance. He’s a great dude.” “The best.” I smiled. “How do you know him?” “I met him at his shop when I first moved here. He was actually the one to give me the info about

open mic night. I’m playing this Friday.” “This here your strummin’ arm?” I asked, lifting the needle from his bicep. “No.” He chuckled. “But I’ll be fine by then, right?” “Nothing some ibuprofen and a shot of whiskey before show time won’t cure.” We sat in silence for the first time since he graced my chair with his southern charm. I kept to working and he started humming. The catchy melody was nothing I’d ever heard before so I imagined it was one of his redneck ballads. I was about to ask just to be nice when he broke my train of thought. “So? You gonna come watch me play?” His question and the smug way he asked it caught me off guard, but I’d be lying if curiosity wasn’t killing this cat. “What if I hate it?” “You won’t.” “So sure of yourself, country boy. I kinda like that.” And I did. I liked Jasper a lot. I could see us being friends and it sounded as though he was in the market for some new ones. Plus, he knew my brother and if Milo thought he was good people (I’d have to get the low down, of course) that was all I needed. “It’s not my usual Friday, but I think I can make an exception for you.” “I bet you say that to all the boys, Miss Marley.”

“No, only the ones who strut in here twanging and drawling and making me realize what a great big world it is out there.” “Glad I could be of service, darlin’.” He made like he was tipping his hat and exaggerated his Alabama boy inflection. I went back to filling in his tattoo with vibrant colors as he alternated between humming and regaling me with tales of his upbringing. I found myself working the needle slower than usual so Jasper could stay in my chair a little bit longer.

was abuzz with many a bearded man. If you weren’t from around these parts, there was no telling if you’d walked into a Civil War reenactment or a hipster hangout. Being a local, however, I happened to appreciate the similarity between the two. I marched straight to the bar where I ordered one of my favorite draft beers—a neighborhood brew. Looking up at the strings of bulbs setting the room alight, I cracked my neck from side to side and then took in my surroundings, face-by-face. I’d frequented this bar for the last three years—since my twenty-first birthday—and could usually spot at least one familiar person. Tonight, that was not the case. The bartenders and wait staff were the only people I recognized. The crowd was . . . off. A little more laid-back, a lot less thrift-shop. I shrugged my shoulders and swung my gaze to the door where I hoped Milo would appear at any minute. Earlier in the day he mentioned the possibility of a date. That word from my brother’s lips was like a Hail Mary from an atheist and I FLASK & FOLLY

nearly dropped the phone during our conversation. But I never pried because I found when I asked too many questions I wouldn’t get another chance to ask them for a while. Milo was closed off, even with me, and I respected that because I, too, hated when he meddled in my dating life. We prided ourselves on being loners, never getting too attached, focusing on our careers, and living it up while we were still young. Even though a small part of me longed to see him happy and not just dipping it in every guitar-teacher-groupie that came his way. The crowd murmured in anticipation of the opening performer. A hoot or a holler here and there broke up the monotony of the hum. I scrolled through my phone, switching between Facebook and Instagram, and mindlessly “liking” my friends’ recent memes and current pictures. Most of my inner circle was single and unattached, like me, but a few had taken the plunge and settled down, diving even deeper into the Land of Adulthood by having children. I smiled at the toothless grin of a high school classmate’s eight-month-old son, sporting a bow tie and a Mohawk at one of his baby friends’ birthday parties. If I ever had a son of my own I’d probably dress him in a similar style. But that wouldn’t be happening for a while. I had a five-year plan that included buying my own shop and featuring some of my art on surfaces other than skin. A girl can

dream, right? Before I could glance at the door one more time, the patrons started to cheer as a petite blonde woman in cut-off shorts and a plaid shirt tied at the midsection graced the stage with a banjo. Yes, a banjo. Now, I’d witnessed plenty a banjo-wielding performer here at Flask & Folly, but none of them ever wore Tony Lama’s (those of my fantasies!) and sang with a twang. As the woman started to play a fast-paced but well-executed ditty, I rolled my eyes and slumped into my barstool. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” I whined aloud. “Yup. Country night. My least favorite addition to open mic night.” The bartender made herself busy pouring drinks, but her expression matched mine—clear and utter repulsion. “I have to get out of here,” I exclaimed. “At least you have the option. I can’t even wear earplugs. It’s frowned upon.” I shook my head feverishly, gulping the remains of my beer, and reaching in my purse for tip money. After hastily balling up a five-dollar bill and forcing it into the bartender’s hand with a “Sucks to be you, babe,” I scurried to the door only to come chest to chest with my brother. “Where’s the fire?” he said, looking down at me. We shared the same genes but not when it came to height or body type. His broad frame and

lofty stature towered over me with slight intimidation. But nothing, not even his brick wall of a body, could deter me from jetting the hell out of here before I had to endure the ear-splitting anguish of country night. “You know I hate this kind of music, Milo. A heads up would’ve been nice.” I caught the wily grin even underneath his fullgrown beard. “Jasper is expecting you. Would it be nice to ditch him, seeing as he was so stoked you’d be coming?” “He told you that?” Milo crossed his chest with the fingers of his right hand. “Scout’s honor. Now turn around . . . and park it.” Turn around and park it I did, but not of my own volition. My brother’s strong hands on my shoulders guided me to an empty loveseat facing the stage, where we sat and he ordered us both a round of drinks. How bad could tonight be? Milo was here, sans date, so I needed to find out about that, and Jasper was expecting me. Even if my ears started to bleed in protest of the Carrie Underwood song the chick on stage was currently belting out, I was in good company. “So.” I leaned closer to Milo and ignored the tiny crowd’s rather wild roar of applause. “What happened to the girl?”

“What girl?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the stage, his fingers taming his deep auburn whiskers in place. “Don’t play dumb with me, Milo William Crawford! You said you might be bringing a date and here you are . . . dateless.” Examining his profile, I noticed his jaw ticked and tiny crinkles of despair appeared in the corner of his eyes when he squinted them shut. “Never mind that. Your date is up next.” “Date? What date?” My head snapped to the direction of the stage where Jasper was making himself comfortable in the tattered sofa, adjusting the mic, and then tuning his guitar. He looked good. Better than I remembered from the tattoo parlor. His T-shirt hugged his body this time, showing off dips and valleys in all the right places. Places I hadn’t noticed, for some odd reason, when he was seated in my chair, telling me his life’s story and marking his skin with my ink. Biting my lower lip to contain—I don’t know . . . whatever that sound was a woman made when she was about to emit her lustful emotions into the universe—I quickly brought my attention back to Milo. “Jasper is not my date. He’s a friend. A sweet guy. He asked me to come see him play so here I am. Had I known what he’d be playing, I might have turned him down.” “You know he’s from Alabama, right?”

“Yeah.” “He got a Willie Nelson tattoo.” “And?” “And it never occurred to you that he’d be playing country music tonight?” Well, when he put it that way. I huffed, admitting defeat. “I thought I could sit through one or two redneck hits, but an entire night dedicated to this shit? I won’t survive, Milo. I just won’t.” “So fucking dramatic,” my brother mumbled, taking his Scotch from the waitress and passing my beer to me. By that time, Jasper was addressing the audience with the strum of a few chords and made eye contact with me. I could feel the warmth of his smile from across the room, his blue eyes sparkling with recognition. “Thanks for welcoming this country boy to your big, bold city,” he started with an extra ping to his drawl. “I hope I can make a believer outta you yet, Miss Marley.” He winked my way and got to playing. “Yeah, not a date.” Milo’s deep chuckle vibrated between us. I slapped his rock-solid arm and set my sights back on Jasper who, in the most adorable yet hickish way, punched out the lyrics to a song about fried chicken, cold beer, and a pair of jeans that fit just right. The song was ridiculous but the melody was catchy—and a crowd pleaser, as they all sang

along to every word—and I wondered . . . if I stuck around to listen to a little more, would Jasper wind up driving me redneck crazy?

was done, Jasper tipped his hat, accepted the thunderous applause, and then looked over to where I sat. My guess was he was seeking my approval. The nudge from Milo in my ribs was the affirmation. “Would you smile at the dude? Don’t be a bitch.” “Hey!” I tutted. “He’s still looking at you.” And he was. I registered his nervousness and the way he held on to the guitar with a tight grip. My lips couldn’t help but curl into a sincere grin when I gauged the adorable expression on Jasper’s clean-shaven face. But my smile had little to do with his performance and everything to do with him. From across the crowded room, I could sense he found comfort in my acknowledgment. We locked eyes for a few moments longer before he stood from the sofa to retrieve a different guitar. “Wow,” Milo stated. “What?” I swiveled to face him. “He’s totally feeling you.” WHEN THE DITTY

“Milo, he is not. He’s just a nice guy, in a new town, looking to make friends. Why does everything with you have to be about hooking up?” Milo shook his head and simultaneously rested his right foot on his left knee. “You are so thickheaded sometimes.” “Me? Speaking of thickheaded . . . Where’s this date you were supposed to maybe bring around tonight? You’ve been awfully secretive lately and I know you . . . It means you’re feeling someone new.” Milo remained silent, his lips pressed together and his jaw tensed. I was on to something and with a bit more of the little sister nagging I’d become so good at I’d get him to confess. Luckily for him, before I could start in again, Jasper was strumming a few chords to another song. And it was . . . mesmerizing. The stage lights dimmed and the audience started to sway as the jazzy, bluesy tune permeated the bar. I, too, was entranced by the song Jasper chose as a follow up to the tune about fried chicken. This one didn’t sound like country at all. He replaced the rapid plucks of his guitar with slow, sultry glides across the strings. His voice was raspy and soulful, telling a story in and of itself. And the lyrics—they were jaw-droppingly beautiful, about smooth Tennessee whiskey and salvation in the

form of his woman. “This is not country,” I whispered to Milo, unable to tear my eyes off of Jasper. “Is so. Chris Stapleton. Insane talent. Jasper’s doing him proud.” Still confused, but starting to care a lot less whether it was country, polka, or reggae, I watched on and then something clicked. “Didn’t Justin Timberlake sing this, too?” Milo dismissed me by closing his eyes, clearly enjoying the way the song had lulled him into a trance. “Shh, just listen. You’re ruining my music high.” Musicians. So weird. Not Jasper, though. Sure, when he walked into the tattoo shop I immediately thought he was . . . different. But the meek, awkward country boy was a smooth, confident artist up on that stage. He owned it like a boss because he wasn’t even aware of the swagger he exuded while holding that guitar. He sang his heart out to the point I had goose bumps from the storminess in his voice. Each note, every lyric clung to the air and lingered long enough to douse me in their melody. Jasper was winning me over, one song at a time —one country song at a time—and I wasn’t so sure I was okay with that. Taken aback by my emotions, I inhaled, garnering Milo’s reaction. “What now?”

I clutched my chest and it was then I could feel the rapid beating of my heart beneath my palm. I stared into Milo’s widened eyes unable to form a coherent sentence suitable to explain what I felt. It was a high similar to the one Milo probably felt when playing an instrument. It was a euphoria I’d experienced the first time my artwork was displayed proudly on someone’s body. The thrill of a first kiss, the urgency of an unexpected crush, and a wave of unbridled desire all rolled into one. “Wow.” I was dumbfounded. Milo grunted and then leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Well, yeehaw! Looks like you’ll be singing “Sweet Home Alabama” all summer long.” “Would you grow up?” He stuck out his tongue and laughed at his own joke. So much for growing up. “Seriously, Marls. What’s the big deal? Give the hick a chance.” He meant no harm in his comment, but I found myself suddenly defensive. “He’s not a hick! He’s actually . . . not what I expected at all.” My fingers splayed over my throat, my eyes homing in on Jasper who was finishing up his set on stage. I blamed my brother for getting into my head. Or maybe this wacky music was doing funny things to me. Whatever it was, there was definitely something about Jasper that had my wheels turning. It had been a while since I’d crushed on a guy.

Everyone around here was so cookie cutter, so . . . Urban Outfitters. And then this dude strolled into my life with a dingy baseball cap and absolutely no beardage in sight, singing about whiskey and fried chicken, and got me all . . . DTF. What was up with that? Where the hell did he come from? Alabama, Marley. That’s where. It had to be the allure of being with someone off the beaten path. The thrill of trying something new, jumping out of my comfort zone, grinding against the grain. Either way, as I watched Jasper croon the final lyrics into the mic and then open his eyes to meet mine, the idea of hooking up with a country boy was all consuming. “You’ll be all right if I bail?” I turned to ask Milo. “You’re leaving?” “Nope.” I stood from the loveseat and slung my purse across my body. “We’re leaving.” Milo’s eyes widened, as did his devilish grin. “Stand by your man, Marls,” he hooted loud enough for a bunch of people to turn toward us. Paying him no mind, I flipped him the bird and made my way to the front of the room so I could be the first to greet Jasper when he came off stage.

I bum rushed him like a backstage groupie at a Def Leppard concert. “Wow, Jasper. That was . . .

something else.” His cheeks rounded with a hearty smile, his eyes sparkling. Scratching the back of his head, he walked closer. “So, I impressed the Brooklyn girl?” “Um . . . yeah! You were amazing, Jasper!” His performance was more than amazing. It was convincing. Inspiring. Sexy. Hearing him sing flipped some kind of switch. I liked to think I wasn’t anything like the women who drooled over my brother simply because he was a musician, but here I was doing some very serious salivating of my own. Vulnerable, I bit my bottom lip when I noticed how he stared at it. It was as if his cobalt eyes were coating my mouth with heat, temptation, want. I wondered if it was intentional or an innocent reaction. It had to be deliberate because he moved closer still as he adjusted his hat. It wasn’t until then that I saw it was a Yankees’ cap. I laughed to myself. This guy—he was really trying. I liked that more than I cared to admit. I liked him more than I cared to admit. Something must’ve given those feelings away because he reached out to grip my chin and his thumb caressed my jaw. I didn’t shudder at his gentle but bold affection; I welcomed it. I wasn’t even taken aback when he bragged, “I told you I could change your mind, darlin’.” Forget that he was right. My focus was on one

thing. That mouth. He’d called me darlin’ before, but this was the first time I was aware of the way it slipped off his tongue so smoothly. That tongue. Country boy had game. And I wanted to play. A carnal warmth flooded my senses. My fingertips ached to touch him; my lips hungered for a taste of him. I wished we weren’t in such a crowded place. I wanted him all to myself. Now. Overwrought with untamed need, I blurted, “You wanna get out of here?” at the same time Jasper asked, “Can I buy you a drink?” We both laughed—equally sharing the embarrassment—but my eyes would not leave his. I wouldn’t let go of this moment. Never had the roles been so reversed. Me, the one blatantly looking for some action; the guy, the one out for some getting-to-know-each-other chit chat. But if hell hadn’t frozen over due to my sudden appreciation for country music, surely I’d survive this. There was a first time for everything and I was about to hurdle this first better than Jackie Joyner-Kersee ever could. “I’m not really that thirsty,” I admitted, pressing my chest to his. Still focused on my mouth, he whispered, “Neither am I.” I blinked, gulped, and went in for the kill. “My place?” His eyes turned wild, but not with shock. It was

a visible emotion far more appealing than that. “No . . . here. I’m not sure I can wait any longer.” Before I could comprehend what was happening, Jasper was pulling me by the hand through the dense and boisterous crowd. Luckily, we avoided my brother as we stumbled outside into the thick summer air. There, we rounded the corner where Jasper backed me up against the brick alley wall of Flask & Folly and stole my breath with a kiss. There was no chance to object—not that I would—as he buried his talented fingers in my hair and covered my mouth with his. It was rough and forceful; not what I expected but everything I wanted. I couldn’t stop myself from moaning into his mouth when his tongue glided against mine with fervent skill, reminding me of the way the songs had seeped from his lips. It was wild and graceful. Passionate and savage. Everything I never expected. And then it was . . . over. “God, Marley. I’m sorry.” He pulled away, leaving me exposed and helpless to the hollowness his withdrawal brought on. “Sorry?” I asked rubbing my fingers over my tender lips. “For what?” He took a step back, scratching his head again. “I didn’t mean to . . . attack you like that.” “I wanted you to attack me like that.” “You did?” He ceased fidgeting with his cap

and dragged his gaze up from the ground. “Yes.” I shamelessly yanked his shirt, pulling him closer. This time it was my mouth that claimed his, my fingers wandering over his body. He submitted with a throaty grunt, driving his heaving chest against mine and pressing me harder into the wall. Enraptured by the easy way we fit together, I lost myself in our streetlamp-lit moment. I positively adored the way he cradled my face in his hands while he alternated between deep, pantymelting kisses and nuzzling my cheeks and neck with his nose. “I would’ve sung to you in the tattoo parlor had I known I’d get this reaction.” He spoke with our lips still connected, garnering a giggle from my preoccupied mouth. “Not sure my boss would’ve liked that.” “Probably better off then.” “Yeah, I’m liking this much better.” “Me, too.” There was no more busying our tongues with words after that. People passed us by; the music from inside the bar hummed through the walls and into the hot summer night. It was dark but there was little privacy for our escalating appetite for each other, so again I found myself inviting him back to my place. “You sure?” he asked, panting. “We don’t even

—” “Know each other?” I finished for him. My breaths were uneven too, but I was well aware of what I wanted. He nodded, his forehead pressed to mine and his lips worshipping my face. “I know all I need to know, Jasper. Let’s go.” Brazen? Maybe. But if he was as good in bed as he was at kissing—or singing—I wasn’t passing this up. Not when I had him right where I wanted him. Jasper took a brief moment to steel himself. He adjusted his shirt by the hem and then cleared his throat. For a split second I braced myself for rejection, but the glint of mischief that shone in his eyes was more telling than anything he could say. “I pride myself on being a southern gentleman, Marley. But you don’t have to ask me twice.” With that, he playfully nipped the corner of my mouth with his teeth and asked me to lead the way.

the bar to my apartment was under ten minutes, but between the strangling humidity and the eagerness growing between us it seemed to take forever. “This is it,” I finally announced, hopping up the steps to the front door. He followed me, his hand resting at the small of my back as I dug inside my bag for the keys. “My place isn’t too far from here,” he said. “I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other before.” I, too, was surprised as it seemed we ran in the same circles, but my horniness outweighed the shock. “You wanna sit out here and shoot the breeze or would you like to come inside?” Jasper laughed, toying with the brim of his hat. I really liked that he embodied so many diverse qualities. He was a shy, reserved gentleman when he needed to be and he was sexy and confident without even knowing it. The blend of those dynamics made him all the more likable, making me all the more impatient to get him the hell inside. “One more to go,” I said once the door was THE WALK FROM

open. I lived on the first floor of the old two story, so there was yet another door to unlock to get to my apartment. “Patience, darlin’. It’s like unwrapping a present.” Jasper’s whisper tickled my ear and brought goose bumps to my overheated skin. It also compelled me to open the door a lot faster. The keys jangled madly as I forced the right one into the hole. “Finally!” I tossed the hunk of brass to the floor, slammed the door behind us with my foot, and threw my arms around Jasper’s neck. Our mouths collided and our limbs fought to hold on to each other wherever they could find purchase. A giggle-moan escaped me when Jasper lifted me by the waist and guided my legs around his torso. I shouldn’t have been surprised by his strength—he was a tall, muscular man and I was only five-foot-two—but it was his take-control attitude that sent me into a tizzy. “My bedroom’s the last room at the back of the apartment,” I muttered between frantic kisses. He didn’t respond, he simply carried me through the dark space with our bodies connected and our lips never disengaging. The journey was bumpy, maneuvering through archways and around furniture, but that only made my adrenaline pump harder. This was hot. This was exhilarating. This was what hookups were supposed to be like.

I considered myself a classy, modern-day, casual-dating woman. I was currently experiencing a dry spell, but I’d brought guys back to my place before. Couldn’t say I’d ever invited them back this hastily, though. I usually got to know someone a little better before showing them were I lived—the whole stranger danger thing was a big deal to me because our neighborhood was full of weirdos. But with Jasper, those worries vanished. And with the way he was kissing me, he could be Jeffery Dahmer for all I cared. Lead the way to my demise—as long as you let me die coming, baby. Once in my bedroom, I released my grip from around his waist and set to undressing him. The cap was the first to go. “I must have some serious hat hair.” He raked his fingers through the messy short cut. I ruffled it even further with both hands. “I’m not looking at your hair, Jasper. I promise.” I had to sound like a sex-starved animal, but I didn’t care. After hearing him sing his country music, I knew I had to have him. Now there’s a sentence I never thought would come out of my mouth. After the hat, I tugged at the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it up to expose his chest and stomach. Even in the darkened room I could tell he had quite the impressive physique. When I tattooed his arm, I noticed he was fit but I had no idea that a man’s abdomen could be this solid.

“Holy mother of God, Jasper.” I shamelessly rubbed my hands up and down his six-pack. Or maybe it was an eight-pack. Maybe it was time to turn on the lights and get a peek at who he really was. I backed away to do just that but Jasper’s grip on my wrist put a quick stop to that. “Oh, no, you don’t. You stay right here.” His words were throaty and stern as he pulled his Tshirt over his head with stripper-like swagger. “Oh, my God! A striptease?” I asked biting my lip and clapping my hands together. “Pretty please?” Jasper’s head fell back as he laughed, only giving me a better view of the deep-cut ridges that decorated his smooth, hairless skin. When his eyes met mine again, his expression was no longer playful, but very serious. “It wouldn’t be my first.” “Shut up!” My hand flew to my mouth. “You’re so not the shy country boy I thought you were, are you?” Inching closer to me, Jasper ate up the space between us with long strokes and backed me against the edge of my bed. My heart pounded in my ears and my fingers twitched to reach out and touch him. But my balance was compromised by his gentle shove, so I sat down on the bed and spread my legs when he nudged them open with his knee. “I thought you were in a rush to get these off,”

he said, unbuckling his belt. “I-I am.” I lunged for his zipper but his strong hands grabbed mine before I could make contact. “Not so fast, Miss Marley. I think it’s high time I show you that this Alabama boy doesn’t have a shy bone in his body.” Holy shit. That’s the last time I judge a book by its cover. Words fled my brain as I watched him create a performance of undressing himself. My eyes adjusted to the dimness, and the light from outside did the job of illuminating my room enough to enjoy the show taking place before me. First, Jasper bent down to remove his socks and boots. Next, he stood upright, took my hand and placed it against the smooth skin of his chest. In a slow, sensual glide, he skimmed his torso with my palm and then tucked it into his unbuttoned jeans. Bold and zealous, I fought his restraint and crept lower to cop a feel. My fingertips grazed what felt like a cock rocket of epic proportions, but were quickly pulled away before they could complete the mission. I huffed out my frustration and Jasper steered my hands down to the bed where they twitched astride my lap. “I told you already, Marley. These things take patience.” With that, he kept my hands in place on the mattress but bent down between my legs.

Letting go of my hands, he stretched me wider at the knees and then slid his hands up my thighs to jerk my shorts off my hips. “Hey,” I protested. “My clothes are supposed to stay on while you take yours off.” “Not in this striptease, darlin’. I call the shots, and if you want me to shed my Levi’s, I’m gonna need to see what you’re hiding underneath those skimpy shorts of yours.” Glad to oblige, I lifted my bum off the mattress. Jasper continued to drag my bottoms down my legs, leaving me vulnerable in a pair of cotton kitty-cat thongs I’d thrown on earlier without imagining anything like this would happen. “Cute pussy,” Jasper chuckled, flinging my shorts over his shoulder. I covered my eyes and laughed in an effort to mask my embarrassment. Jasper was quick to tug my hands away from my face, kissing each of my fingertips and then dropping them to the bed again. “Now who’s the shy one?” he asked, dipping down to sprinkle my bare skin with open-mouthed kisses. “Fuck!” I whimpered when his tongue darted out to trace my inner thigh. “The tease is over, Jasper. I need you. Now.” That elicited a hearty howl out of him, but I wasn’t taking no for an answer. Game over. Kittythong be damned. I jerked my hips off the bed and tore my skivvies down in record time. Without

giving him time to speak, think, or object, my fingers flew to his jeans and I pulled them over his buns of steel. His cock sprung free—My, my, my; Jasper goes commando!—and greeted me with what seemed like an invitation to touch. So, I did. With a tight grip and long strokes, my thumb circling the velvety tip. “Ahhh,” Jasper grunted, thrusting into my hand. By the feel and sight of him, I knew he was ready. I sure as hell was. Like an hour ago. “I have condoms in my nightstand,” I told him. “I have a few in my wallet,” he interjected, reaching down to find his pants pocket. Wasting no time, he retrieved one, ripped the packet open as I stroked him, and together we sheathed his length with the love glove. “Come here,” he ordered and tugged me off the bed. I stood, still stroking, and attacked his mouth with my own. While we kissed, he stepped the rest of the way out of his jeans and pulled me against him. I craved skin to skin contact, so I backed away only long enough to lose my shirt. Strappy tank tops and visible bra straps were a huge peeve of mine, so much like Jasper’s lack of undies, the girls were set free once I chucked the shirt. “So hot,” Jasper mumbled, cupping my breasts and thumbing my nipples. The mesmerizing lyrics and sultry tune of Tennessee Whiskey still swam in my head as our

bodies became acquainted. All this foreplay was divine—the flirting in the tattoo shop, the music at the bar, the strip tease at the foot of my bed—but I was ready for the main event. It was time to see what this country boy was really made of. “Bed, Jasper. I can’t wait any longer. Please,” I begged, arching my back and giving him access to my chest and neck. He bowed down to take my breast in his mouth. I cradled his head in my hands, ravaging his hair, urging him to continue. He released my nipple with an audible pop and then pushed me down onto the mattress. I allowed gravity to take hold of us and welcomed the weight of his body atop mine. Wrapping my legs around his waist, he slid inside of me and my hips bucked in response. “Yessss,” I hissed, the temptation finally tamed. Okay, maybe tame wasn’t the right word. There was absolutely nothing tame about the way Jasper rocked in and out of me. Or the way our bodies danced to an innate beat that mirrored the rhythm of my new favorite song. Or the way we came undone together. Jasper collapsed next to me on the bed after one final pump of his release. “Spread love, it’s the Brooklyn way.” “You did not just quote Biggie.” “I’m pretty sure I did.” Shocked by his knowledge of the legend, I

jumped up and straddled his naked body. “You listen to Biggie?” Clearing his throat, he laced his fingers in my hair and sang, “Biggie, Biggie, Biggie can’t you see, sometimes your words just hypnotize me.” “No, you didn’t.” Uncontrollable laughter burned my core. “Oh, my God, Jasper. You’re too much.” My unbridled amusement fueled him to continue rapping, this time the infamous words to “Juicy.” The twang in his voice made it that much funnier, but also made him even more adorable than before. When he was done serenading me with more hip-hop than anyone born and bred in Alabama should be privy to, I rested my head against his chest and caught my breath. “You know?” I mused, lulled by the soothing beat of his heart. “If you don’t know, now you know—” “Alright, alright, enough rapping for you, country boy.” I placed a hand over his mouth and gaped into his blue eyes. He laughed against my palm. “What is it I need to know, Brooklyn girl?” I liked the sound of the two nicknames, side by side. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but I kinda hoped this casual hookup would not turn out to be a one-time thing. I chewed over my words before I opened my

mouth and said something I’d regret. Truth was, I didn’t know Jasper well enough to lay my heart on the line, but I did want to get to know him better. “You can say ‘I told you so’ now.” His eyes sparkled with self-assurance. “And what exactly is it I’m rubbing in?” I took a moment to inspect the healing artwork I’d created on his arm. It suited him well. The perfect combination of southern sweet and Brooklyn badass. He would fit in here just fine; I had a feeling about this one. Dragging my gaze back to his blue eyes, I smiled. The kind of guy I usually went for was tatted up like me and none of them could belt out a song about fried chicken the way Jasper could. I never thought I’d be in the arms of a dude with a Willie Nelson tattoo, but if meeting Jasper taught me anything it was that sometimes it was worth it to try new things. “I’m a fan, Jasper,” I admitted. “The music, the cowboy, the whole kit and caboodle.” I rested my chin on his chest and took comfort in the way his fingers traced invisible lines up and down my back. “I knew I could make a believer outta you, Miss Marley.” “I reckon that’s exactly what you did.”

and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise . . . I chanted that exact phrase quoted by Benjamin Franklin every morning as I crawled out of bed, pinned my hair into a stylish bun at the nape of my neck, and got ready to head to the bakery to start my day. Every morning, I also thought longingly of the way my dad would say those words when I told him what I wanted to do when I grew up. Big, huge wedding cakes and lots and lots of cupcakes, Daddy. He was my number one fan, even back when life at For Heaven’s Cake was only a pipe dream. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to show him I could do it. I wanted to emulate him in every way possible. Dad was a hard-working, blue collar man who provided for his family with a modest income and an abundance of love. Everything I knew about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness . . . I learned from my dad. Early to bed, early to rise. But Dad was also a smoker, so the other half of Ben’s well-known phrase was unfortunately not true for my deceased father. EARLY TO BED

As was part of my morning ritual of prettying myself up for a fresh new day, I also talked to him as if he were still here. I was often angry at him for leaving me and Mom too soon, but the hurt of missing him overpowered any ill feelings by a mile, and my daily one-sided conversation always ended with, “Time to make the donuts. Love you, Dad.” The sun wasn’t even up yet, my day beginning at an ungodly four thirty in the morning. I walked the six blocks from my apartment to the bakery, enjoying the chirp of the waking birds and the warm breeze that accompanied a new dawn. There was something magical about living so close to the city. I could literally reach out and touch the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges if I walked through DUMBO, and I loved experiencing the skyline in all its glory at various times of the day. Many people favored the twinkling lights at night time, but I loved how the tall buildings shone in the sunlight. Big steel monsters casting shadows onto the East River, standing like stoic giants, reminding me that I had the honor of living in the greatest city in the world. At least, that’s what I liked to believe as a trekked in to work each morning and took in the sights. I wasn’t necessarily a morning person, but I did love my job. Baking was a passion, and owning my own business was the icing on the cake. After high school and through much of my early twenties, I

traveled abroad with various culinary programs, taking odd jobs with caterers, restaurants, and even signing a year-long stint with a cruise ship as a pastry chef. At twenty-seven-years-old my life was very fulfilling but for the one tiny hole in my heart that my dad once occupied. However, he was part of everything I did, quite literally in fact, because it was the nest egg he’d set aside for me in his will that made it possible for me to open For Heaven’s Cake and achieve that final goal in my career. Opening the doors to my bakery, I stepped inside and flicked on the lights. A pleasant waft of sugar and flour infiltrated my senses. After all this time, the scent was something I should be accustomed to; it had seeped into my skin and embedded itself in my molecular makeup. The quiet hum of the cake and pastry refrigerators welcomed me home with a reminder to give them a spritzing or two of glass cleaner to sparkle them back to life. The chime on the front door swung with a sweet clinking sound, greeting me. Since I didn’t open for a few more hours, I dead-bolted the lock behind me and walked through the bakery, eyeing the carefully chosen details with a smile. Two large crystal chandeliers hung from the copper tiled ceiling. The walls were pristine white subway tiles, and decorated with Andy Warhol-type art of larger than life cupcakes, cookies, and donuts. The floor completed the classy

look with light gray and white vintage damaskpatterned tile. In my office and in the kitchen— where all the magic happened—hung pictures of me and my parents, spanning their lives as a young couple, all the way through my childhood and present years. I breathed in the aroma of my accomplishment with pride. This was my home away from home; the only thing missing was a bed where I could lay my head at night. Had there been enough space, I just might consider it. It would save me a buttload in rent, that was for sure. But you’re not supposed to shit where you eat, right? At least that’s what Dad used to say.

Before I knew it, Hammond, Miriam, and Kyra had taken their places and the day was rolling past us with ease. Hammond and Miriam were students from Kingsborough Community College’s culinary program, and Kyra was a young girl, still in high school, looking for a summer job to get her feet wet in the industry. She reminded me of myself at her age and I took an immediate liking to her ambition. Thus, I hired her on the spot. My tiny but mighty staff helped me run this place with much ease and tons of laughter, creating a vibe that any employer could only pray for. It wasn’t until a bubbly Kyra came into my

office to drag my attention from invoices and future orders that I noticed the morning had bled into afternoon and it was already close to lunch time. “Lina, there’s someone here to see you about a wedding cake.” Her eyes were wide with wonderment as she gnawed the gloss off her bottom lip. This led me to believe the customer was a man. An attractive man, of course. Kyra took the bus from the heavily Italian-infused Bensonhurst to our other-worldly Williamsburg every day. She’d informed me she wanted a job at the bakery because it would beef up her resume, but I imagined she was more interested in the wide variety of enigmatic hipster men than she was in learning to fill a cannoli. “Girl,” I laughed. “Let me guess; manbun, Ray Bans, and grizzle for days?” Kyra arched a brow and then waggled both of them. “Nope. Not even close. I’ll admit he’s not my usual type, but damn, is he fine!” I shook my head and stood from the squeaky desk chair. “Too bad he’s inquiring about a wedding cake.” Kyra shrugged. “Could be for his sister. You never know.” “Maybe it’s for his boyfriend.” “Skeptic.” She stuck out her tongue. “Hornball,” I retorted. “Now get your cute little tush back on the floor. I just heard the chime ring.

We have customers.” Kyra scooted back to the front with a sway to her hips. I waved her off as I arranged the mess of papers on my desk into a neat pile. Summertime in the city was prime wedding season and it seemed there weren’t enough hours in the day to keep up with running the business end of things and baking. I wasn’t complaining, though, because it could’ve been a lot worse. I stood from my rickety chair and re-knotted my hair into its bun as I walked through the shop to meet with my customer. Once our eyes met, I immediately remembered him from when he and his fiancé came in to select their dream wedding cake. Zander and Zoe—I thought their names were adorable together—were set to be married at a spot on Eighth called the Brooklyn Winery. I loved the spot in all its rusticchic glory, and the intimacy of their one-weddingat-a-time policy. Not to mention, their wine was crafted on-site and it was pretty damn fantastic— the dry rosé was my fave. Zoe was a haughty, petite blonde with a British accent who fell in love at first sight with the handsome, dark, and free-spirited Zander when he served her an Oyster from his stand at Smorgasburg. No, I wasn’t a stalker; merely a hopeless romantic. And one of the best parts of creating wedding cakes for a couple’s special day was learning how they met.

Zander and Zoe’s story stuck out to me because, A, he was a foodie like me; and B, the fact they were polar opposites made me curious. It was obviously not uncommon for an African American man and a Caucasian woman to marry, but a Trump supporter and a liberal . . . you catch my drift? While it was pleasant to see him—everything about him was more than pleasing to the eye—I wondered why he was here. “Hey, Zander.” I greeted him with a smile and a friendly pat on the arm. “What brings you by? Your deposit was squared away weeks ago and your balance isn’t due until delivery.” If memory served me, and it almost always did, their wedding was set for the second Saturday in October. My innocent question caused Zander visible distress. He blinked his gorgeous amethyst eyes two or three times and his full-lips arched into an unmistakable frown. He stared back at me, seeming forlorn, and then brought his gaze down to the floor before dropping the bomb. “The wedding’s off. She left me a Dear John letter and went back to Manchester. Apparently, I’m to deal with cancelling all the vendors. Talk about adding insult to injury.” I knew I didn’t like that bitch. Zander had seemed too good for her. She was so picky when choosing their cake fillings. Right from the start I could tell he was easy to please and nice to a fault.

Of course, darling. Whatever you want, babe. How could she do this to him? I wanted to tell him this was a blessing, not a curse. He would be relieved when he looked back on this someday, remembering her pert little nose turned up in the air when she sampled my red velvet and called it ordinary. Okay, maybe I was making this a personal thing. This had nothing to do with Zoe’s awful taste in baked goods, and everything to do with what she’d done to her clearly distraught fiancé—er, make that former-fiancé. While I didn’t need consoling, poor Zander was on the verge of tears. “Oh, my God, Zander,” I whispered so no one in the shop would overhear. “I am so sorry.” Impulsively, I wrapped my arms around him in a great big hug. He accepted my gesture, allowing me to take it a step further and rub his back with soothing strokes. My curious hands couldn’t help but roam the expanse of his broad shoulders and beyond when they caught on to the rock-solid physique he’d been hiding beneath his signature shortsleeved button downs. Zoe, you bloody fool. When I looked up from taking a whiff of his scent—musky cologne, a hint of the sea, and pure manliness—Kyra’s eyes were on me with a minxy grin. Caught mid-decadent sniff, I immediately

loosened my grip, stood tall, and cleared my throat. “I-I . . .” What was I supposed to say? Forget that prissy wanker. I can make you feel better. Marry me instead. No. Never. That wasn’t me. While I may have been thinking it, nothing of the sort would ever leave these lips. Instead, polite and kind by nature, I said, “Why don’t you come back to my office? I’ll get that deposit back to you.” The contract they’d signed stated the deposit was nonrefundable, but come on. My heart proved bigger than my business sense in this situation. Downtrodden, Zander nodded. I placed a hand on his back, ushering him through the shop. I peered over my shoulder to check on Kyra for good measure. Little biotch was giving me the thumbs up. Two, in fact. Luckily, Zander was too preoccupied by his current jilted-groom status to notice when I sliced my hand across my throat and gave my erotically charged assistant the death glare.

from me, his large frame wilting in the small wooden chair. I hardly knew the guy, but I hated to see him this way. I realized I was merely the baker here, but an innate need to wash away his sorrow brewed inside as I wrote up the check to refund the deposit. I peered at him over the top of my reading glasses. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked with the slightest hesitation. My question could be received one of two ways. Zander would either think I was nosy and overstepping. Or perhaps— even though I had no place—he would realize I was trying to be a friend and offer him an outlet for his feelings. It took about two point three seconds to understand it was the latter. “I still can’t believe she did this, you know? I can’t even focus on the heartbreak because I’m still so shocked! There was no indication she was even the tiniest bit unhappy. Everything was perfect. Unless I was being insensitive and didn’t see it. Do you think I’m insensitive, Paulina? Do you think I ZANDER SAT ACROSS

caused her to pull a Runaway Bride?” “Oh! I love that movie.” Is that really the first thing that flew out of my mouth? God, what an idiot. But I couldn’t help it. I absolutely adored Richard Gere and Julia Roberts onscreen together, and I was the queen of putting my foot in mouth at the most inappropriate moments. Like when you suddenly get a fit of uncontrollable giggles at a funeral. Or you can’t keep a straight face when your icing tube makes a farting sound while you’re instructing a lesson in front of a room full of students and your supervisor. Yeah, that was me. Finding humor one unfortunate moment at a time. “Forgive me,” I apologized, handing him the check. “I get stupidly awkward in situations like this.” To my surprise, Zander cracked a smile and my heart rate decelerated from nervous galloping down to a jumpy pitter-patter. “It’s okay. I always liked that movie, too. Up until now, of course.” He took the check without looking at it and folded it in half before tucking it into his back pocket. He quietly stared down at his empty hands as they rested in his lap. Poor guy was so sad and here I was, illequipped to better the situation. How could anything I had to say mend his shattered spirit? He didn’t know me beyond these bakery walls and even though I could say the same about him, I felt I

had a handle on the type of man he was. I was good at reading people—maybe I should’ve told Zander my qualms about Zoe after our first meeting, but then again, he wouldn’t understand a stranger’s warning. It was best to keep quiet and not risk infringing where I don’t belong. Unless, of course, someone is asking my opinion, right? Words from the heart. I heard Dad’s voice in the back of my mind. Sensitive situations such as these always called for TLC. Too much thought would ruin the sincerity and muddle the meaning. Say what you need to say—beautiful song lyrics and a wise truth. It couldn’t hurt to tell him what I really believed. Before I lost my nerve or gave my awkward giggles the chance to appear, I rolled the chair closer to the desk and made sure our eyes were connected before I said what I felt needed to be said. “To answer your question . . . No, Zander. You couldn’t possibly be insensitive. I don’t know much about you, but from the little I’ve seen, it looked as if Zoe was very happy. She was eager to share the wedding details when we had our meeting. Her eyes twinkled when she spoke about how you first met and your plans for the future. And if I’m being honest—even if I didn’t exactly think she was the friendliest person around—I could tell she was genuine with you. Her hands never left you, Zander. She made sure the two of you were

physically connected the entire hour. I imagine the need to be that close is a sign of the purest love. It was real. There is no mistaking that.” I shook my head, lost in the haze of romance. I was yet to have that with anyone. The necessity to always touch or be touched. Usually, too much contact with anyone was bothersome, if anything. But I imagined when I finally fell in love, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him for fear of letting him slip away. “That means a lot,” Zander said, still hanging his head. “Does it make you feel any better?” “No, not really.” He chuckled. At least I got him to laugh. And what a melodious sound it was. The way his shoulders quaked and his eyes glistened made me that much angrier at Zoe for taking that joy away from him. And then he said something that really made me want to jet to Manchester and slap the deserting bitch myself. “I feel so lost without her. I can’t explain it.” I felt physical pain at his admission, my hand clutching my chest. “Oh, Zander. I’m so sorry. I know it must hurt like hell right now, but you will get over her. You’re a great guy. She’s an idiot for letting you go.” “I know. I know. This too shall pass, but for now I’m the one who feels like the idiot.” It was obvious why he was so down on himself.

Hell, I’d be picking myself apart one flaw at a time if I were in his Doc Martens, but I wanted to help him snap out of it. There was only one thing left to do. Chocolate therapy. “Hey,” I called out and sprang from my seat. “Wait right here.” My deep chocolate cupcake with fudgy ganache filling was to die for. One might say it was For Heaven’s Cake’s most beloved item. I ran to the front of the shop and plucked one from the display counter. Kyra sidled up next to me and nudged me with her hip. “Having fun back there?” “Kyra, I don’t know how to get this through your hormone-flooded teenage brain, but a man and a woman can be in the same room together without jumping each other’s bones.” Her hands flew to her hips. “That sounds like a personal problem. Maybe you should let me back there instead.” “You’re sixteen!” I scolded, cradling the delicious treat in my hands. Had they not been full I would smack that smile right off her face. “Now, let me get back there before he thinks I’ve jilted him, too.” I swiveled away from her and started for my office. “Wait a hot minute. Are you saying—” Crap! Me and my big mouth. “That’s why you were hugging him, isn’t it? Oh. Em. Gee. Paulina! This is perfect!”

I turned back to face her and then scanned the store to make sure no one was around. When I noticed the coast was clear, I inched closer to Kyra and whisper-yelled, “How is this perfect? I lost a customer and the potential of more because the event is cancelled. Not to mention, he’s a mess and this gives me one more reason to believe true love only exists in romance novels. Nothing about this scenario is perfect, young one. Now, go Windex the front door again. I have a pity cupcake to deliver.” “But, I Windexed it this morning.” “Do it again.” She was lucky we had a sort of sisterly bond. Another boss might have fired her on the spot for her sassy ’tude and backtalk, but it was all part of Kyra’s adolescent charm and I knew she meant well. “Fine,” she huffed before stalking off and saying, “But the way I see things, that hottie doesn’t need a cupcake. He needs a rebound, and you need a good time. It’s been too long, Lina. Even my parents get more action than you do.” With that, she stalked off, found the Windex under the cash register, and left me with my mouth hanging open and a really yucky visual of Mr. and Mrs. DeLeo.

In the seconds it took me to return to my office, I rummaged through multiple excuses why I hadn’t

put myself out there in so long. I was busy with the shop. All the guys around here had longer hair than I did and it kind of grossed me out. I didn’t fall lightly into bed with someone. Who actually wanted to be a rebound, anyway? I was confident in my decision to ignore everything Kyra said, and then I caught sight of him again. My reaction was similar to the way a starving person might devour the cupcake in my hands with their eyes, their mouth watering in anticipation of tasting the scrumptious treat, their stomach growling with expectation. While my stomach wasn’t rumbling, a hunger I was unaware of kicked up inside of me. He was still seated in the chair, his back toward me so I could take the chance to ogle unsuspectingly. He rolled his head from side to side, probably unkinking the stress in his neck. His hands gripped the arms of the chair. They weren’t visible from this angle, but I could tell he had a pretty strong hold on the wood because his triceps contracted, showing off just how defined his muscles were. Even from behind, he was something to look at. Short curly hair, caramel colored-skin, a quirky sense of style captured by his llama and cactus covered button-up shirt. Surely, Kyra had gotten to me and reminded my libido that it had been ignored for a bit too long, because never in my life had this kind of thing happened to me. The guy was practically crying

over the loss of his soul mate and I was eye-fucking him from behind. Clutching the cupcake, I willed my own raging hormones back in check and announced my entrance. “If this doesn’t make you feel better, even if only temporarily, then I’ll have to rethink my recipe.” Zander craned his neck and his gaze followed me as I walked closer to him and handed him the cupcake. Smiling with every inch of those lush lips, he received my offering and said, “How’d you know chocolate is my favorite?” “It’s mine, too.” My eyes took him in from head to toe as the words popped out of my mouth. I snapped my lips together when I realized what that must’ve insinuated. “I mean . . . I just . . . I’m gonna shut my mouth now and let you eat your cupcake.” He laughed at my failed attempt to cover up my brain leakage and then peeled the wrapper off the cupcake. Bringing it to his nose, he took a sniff—I had the same habit of smelling my food before I ate it, too—and then licked his lips. “It smells delicious, so I can only imagine how good it must taste.” That sounded more erotic than it should have. My cheeks heated at his words, his somber but sexy tone, and the way his tongue darted out to take a lick of the icing. Gulp! Don’t moan, Paulina.

Please, God, whatever you do, don’t moan. “Oh, God,” I managed to keep my whimpers at bay, but Zander, however, did not. After taking a generous bite, succeeding in eating half the cupcake, he closed his eyes and savored as he chewed. My eyes dared to follow the lump that traveled down his throat as he swallowed my cupcake. He swallowed my cupcake. Talk about erotic. “You like?” I asked, nibbling on my lower lip in anticipation. “I love!” he grunted and opened his eyes. “Why do you not have a stand at Smorgasburg? If you sold these alone, you’d make a killing!” My fingers itched to swipe the few remaining crumbs from his lips. He must’ve noticed my attention on his mouth because he thumbed them away and then sucked his finger clean. Is he doing this stuff on purpose? I cleared my head of all sexual thoughts in hopes of giving him a solid explanation to the question I’d been asked time and time again. “I’ve tried. There are too many cupcake stands at the festival. I apply every year but For Heaven’s Cake never makes the cut.” “Seriously?” “Yep.” “I guess I got lucky with my oysters, then.” “Not as much competition, I’m sure. That’s a

good thing. And I’ve had them—you should be proud. I’m not the biggest fan of shellfish, but your oysters did something to me.” His eyebrows waggled and a suggestive smirk danced across his face. I raised my hands in warning. “Don’t even say the aphrodisiac thing. So overdone. Besides, you don’t need to go that route to sell them. They’re delicious as is.” “But sex sells. Every business owner knows that.” “There’s nothing sexy about cupcakes, Zander.” “I beg to differ.” He took another bite of the chocolate decadence, annihilating it. “This is the sexiest cupcake I’ve ever had.” I shook my head and laughed through my nose. “How so? Sexy isn’t a taste. It’s a state of mind.” “Exactly! Half an hour ago I was ready to swim across the Atlantic to beg Zoe to come back to me. This cupcake put me in a New York state of mind. I had a solid few minutes where I didn’t think about her at all.” “Then my work here is done!” “If only mine was.” It was amazing how quickly his demeanor changed. He was back to hanging his head as he balled up the cupcake wrapper and tossed it into the trash beside my desk. “I’m on my way to cancel the florist, the band, the

officiant, and then I have to work up the nerve to get over to the Brooklyn Winery and put the final kibosh on the whole thing.” “Aw, Zander. That sucks. I’m so sorry about all of this. Can I make you a care package of cupcakes to go?” He slid his hand over his shirt, caressing what I was sure was a twelve pack. “While I appreciate that, I’ll have to pass. I’m back on the market, remember? I need to keep my girlish figure.” His blasé wink made me wonder if his mind was already set on finding that rebound Kyra mentioned earlier. He would surely have no problem in that department, between his good looks and his pheromone-inducing oysters. Ignoring the pang of jealousy that tightened my gut, I shrugged. “If there’s anything else I can do to make this easier on you, don’t hesitate to stop in.” It was an innocent offer, but I could understand where he might get the idea I was proposing something other than a dozen fresh-baked cupcakes. A flicker of . . . something . . . dashed across his face. Gratitude? Hope? I couldn’t tell. But before either of us could contemplate, his hands were in his shorts pockets and he left me with a, “See you around. Thanks for everything, Paulina.”

Saturday in August and I hadn’t taken a day off in . . . Crap! Had it been over a year? There was that saying that August was the Sunday of summer, and I totally understood why. I had that remorseful feeling that summer was coming to a close and I had nothing to show for it. I needed to play hookie with a vengeance. Well, my version of hookie, anyway. I woke extra early that day and baked my ass off. With a place for everything and everything in its place, I turned the keys over to Hammond and Miriam, and read Kyra the riot act. They could close by four only if the customer per hour ratio was less than two by that time. I had no doubt it would be, since mid-August seemed to be a very popular time for New Yorkers to take out-of-state vacations. Once the business was on steady feet and I could trust someone to man my baby the way I did, it would also be my week to venture off to some distant spot in the tropical sun, far away from the traffic, smog, and overcrowded streets. But for today, my dreams of the Caribbean Sea IT WAS A

were put on hold to spend a lazy afternoon with my friend Marley. We’d grown up together, attending St. Stanislaus Kostka Catholic Academy from pre-k to eighth grade. Even though we went our separate ways in high school and then college, we managed to stay in touch and got together as often as we could. Our schedules made that difficult—me up at the crack of dawn to get to the bakery, and her tattooing into the wee hours of the morning—so this was a long overdue get together. Today was a long overdue everything. I checked my Uber app and clicked on the one set to arrive the soonest. Within a hot New York minute, my compact four-door chariot pulled up to the curb outside my apartment and I was on my way to meet Marley at River State Park. I was looking forward to walking around aimlessly and chatting carelessly. It seemed like forever since I had the chance to do anything other than focus on the bakery. Can you say workaholic? For a pleasant change, there was zero humidity and the temperature was in the low eighties. It beat the inferno of a heatwave we’d experienced the prior week when it was so hot I was lazy enough to take advantage of Uber to drive me to and from the bakery. The six bucks a trip was well worth avoiding swamp ass and the boob lagoon, not to mention heat like that made me crankier than a toddler at naptime. But not today. Today, the sun

was shining, the sky was blue, and I was ready for whatever Marley had in store for us. Jumping out of the car, I thanked the driver, swiped through the app to give him the stellar rating he deserved for his cleanliness and timeliness, and searched the benches lining the riverfront for my gal pal. Off to the right, sitting under the shade of a large tree, I spotted her with her phone to her ear. I took the opportunity to sneak up behind her and eavesdrop. Hey, before you judge, remember that I had like no social life. These days, I lived vicariously through others and would take whatever thrill I could get. For all I knew, she was on the phone with her gynecologist’s office, making an appointment for her annual. Hell, that would still be more action than I was getting. Jealous of sterile stirrups. Jesus, something’s gotta give. “Yes, baby. Uh huh. Just the cowboy boots.” She giggled and my jealousy grew to new lengths. “Oh, and don’t forget the chaps!” She slapped her bare thigh, her head lolling back in melodious laughter. Our eyes met, hers from an upside down perspective, and she immediately shot up and cleared her throat. “Um, Jasper, lemme go. Paulina just got here.” She said her good-byes, all the while smiling so brightly I couldn’t wait to ask her who this Jasper guy was and why she’d been holding out on me. “Hi,” she said, trying to hide her smile but

failing adorably. “Hi to you, too.” I scooted beside her on the bench. “Who’s Jasper and why is he wearing cowboy boots?” I cut right to the chase before giving her the chance to change the topic. The sleeve of ink on her freckled skin made Marley come off bold and daring. But deep down I knew the true Marley. Guarded and cautious—especially with her heart. I was itching to hear all about the man who had her visibly swoony. “You heard that?” Her hand flew up to her mouth, revealing a chipped cobalt manicure. “If you hadn’t noticed I was standing there earjacking your convo, I probably would’ve heard all your dirty secrets.” I nudged her shoulder with mine. “Now, come on, tell me more. You seem so happy. I had no idea you were dating anyone.” Marley let out a sigh and stared off across the riverfront. “I wouldn’t exactly call it dating. We’ve never said anything about exclusivity, but I’m not seeing anyone else and I don’t think he is either. Then again . . .” Worry flashed across her face and she cracked her knuckles before placing her palms in her lap and nervously stroking her thighs. “It took me until this exact moment to realize I’d be jealous as fuck if I found out Jasper was sleeping with anyone other than me.” I arched a brow and tilted my head. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never been the jealous type. You’ve always had a what you see is what you get kind of attitude and you couldn’t care less about being the center of attention. I admire all of that about you and I’m not casting judgment, but it sounds like you’ve stepped out of your comfort zone. That’s gotta say something about the kind of guy he is.” “It does,” she hummed. “He’s pretty amazing, Lina.” I smiled, genuinely happy for my friend. “How’d you meet?” “He came into the shop for a tattoo like a tourist on a mission. There was something about him that sparked my interest from the start, but he’s so far from the kind of guy I usually go for, I didn’t even realize I was attracted to him until I heard him sing.” “He’s a musician?” The words flew from my mouth with disdain. I immediately thought of Marley’s brother Milo. Milo Crawford, walking sex-god. When we were growing up, I had the most insane crush on that boy. He paid me no mind but treated me nice enough, being I was his sister’s friend. I resigned my twelve-year-old self to the fact he was out of my league and I was just a baby in his eyes. Until that one summer when I was seventeen and Milo and I ran into each other at a party. I was no longer

a tomboy with pigtails and dirty fingernails, and he took notice. Marley wasn’t around for disproval or forewarning, so we let the buzz of cheap beer and nostalgia get the best of us. That night, Milo Crawford fulfilled every one of my teenage-girl fantasies and kissed me as though he knew I’d been dying for it for years. I’d been kissed before, but not by someone with Milo’s brand of experience. After all, he played in a band and had girls fawning over him for as long as I could remember. I was one of those girls. Nevertheless, that kiss ruined me for any other boy for a very long time. I never saw him again after that and I certainly didn’t tell Marley about our little rendezvous, but I did obsess over it for a few months. What? I was seventeen! I was sure that kiss was a start to the future I’d foolishly dreamed of for Milo and me. I got over it, as most crush-sick girls do, but anytime I thought about him a spasm of regret crept up to remind me how what-ifs and unrequited feelings could linger long after they should be allowed to. I tucked those immature emotions aside to listen to Marley delight in telling me the story of her and Jasper. And what a story it was. I laughed in disbelief when she got to the part about him being an Alabama boy who made her rethink her aversion toward country music. “Marls, you can’t be serious. You? Country

music? That’s like—I scanned my surroundings and pointed to a guy with a thick beard that plunged to the second button of his plaid flannel—that dude and a razor!” I shook my head when I realized I didn’t have to point to one particular guy to prove my point. Marley liking country music was equivalent to any man within a two-mile-radius shopping at Bloomingdale’s over Fred’s Thrifty Finds around the block from the bakery. To my utter shock, my friend of what seemed like a million years raised her hands in surrender. “It’s true. I confess. I’ve been turned.” She proceeded to pull up her latest iTunes purchases and my eyes widened in amazement. Luke Bryan, Eric Church, Maren Morris. “Oh no! Not Carrie Underwood! You blacklisted American Idol for all of eternity when she won! This can’t be happening. This Jasper guy must have a magical co—” And then it hit me. “Oh, my God, Marls. You’re in love with him! This is amazing!” I found myself clutching my chest and beaming. I hadn’t had any luck on Zoosk, OkCupid, or Tinder, but this wasn’t about my non-existent dating life. My friend was in love. I was sure of it. No random hookup or insignificant scoob had the power to get Marley to appreciate what she once called ‘the genre otherwise known as whining with fiddles.’ “Whoa. Hold the fuck up. No one said anything about love. I’ve known the guy a little over a

month. Let’s not get carried away.” Even as she said it, full of conviction, I could tell she was mulling the thought over in her mind. “That means nothing and you know it. Do you know how many weddings cakes I’ve done for couples who’ve tied the knot after only one date?” “How many?” she dared. I chewed at the inside of my mouth and scowled. “Okay. Just the one, but still.” I inched closer to her and grabbed her hands. “Maybe it’s not love yet, but something tells me this is more serious than you’re letting on. You know how good I am at this kind of thing.” “So good, you’re still single.” It was a dig, but a friendly jibe just the same. “Nice. Real nice.” I dismissed her dis and went back to making my point. “I’ve never seen you like this. Can I meet him sometime? I’d love to see the country boy who’s stolen the skeptic’s heart.” “Enough with the heart and all this love shit!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat and stretching her arms above her head. “I’m starving and I’ve been sitting on this bench so long my ass is numb. Let’s grab lunch and then window shop at RePop.” “RePop? Have you been tattooing for the stars or something?” I stood to join her and tugged my purse strap higher over my shoulder. “Nope. I said window shopping. I couldn’t afford a lamp shade from that place, but I love their

displays. It’s like peeking into an art gallery, only with furniture instead of paintings. Gets my creative juices flowing.” I shrugged, but understood because we were both artists in our own rights. Besides, the more we strolled around and did things that made Marley happy, the more she’d be willing to share about Jasper and how she was falling in love with him.

We wound up talking mostly about the bakery and how my mom was coping since Dad passed. Marley brought up a time she’d stayed over for dinner and I laughed, remembering the corny way my dad always tried to butt into our girl talk. It felt good to reminisce about him like that. I focused so much on him being gone that I often forgot about hanging on to the happy times. I had to make a habit of doing that with Mom more often. It would be good for the soul. It wasn’t until the pungent aroma hit me that I realized we’d meandered to Smorgasburg. My stomach growled and my mouth watered in anticipation. I’d only been here a handful of times but not once was I disappointed. “Busy today. Looks like everyone had the same idea,” Marley commented as we weaved through a thick crowd and scattered picnic tables. “Know what you want?” I asked, scanning the

assortment of vendors marked by colorful canopies and nifty logos. “Everything,” she laughed, her nose in the air like a search and rescue dog sniffing out its latest objective. There was everything from gelatos to poke bowls, tacos, and gourmet French fries. Vegans and carnivores alike had plenty to choose from. Those with a sweet tooth or a craving for something savory would surely find their mecca, as well. I was leaning toward a cheesesteak but I felt Marley tug on my arm, dragging me away from the allure of the Philadelphian cuisine. “Oh! Lobster rolls! I’ve been dying for one of these ever since Jasper and I caught Guy Fieri chowing down on one on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.” Without much choice as her grip was pretty firm, I spun around and followed her toward the stand. Once we were in line under the red and white canopy, I looked up to search the menu and my heart drummed in my chest. Behind the counter stood Zander, looking fine —as Kyra would say—and shucking oysters. I hadn’t seen him since that day in the bakery when he poured his heart out to me. And now here we were, about to meet again, and I hadn’t been in contact with a mirror since I left my house at five this morning.

“Crap!” I muttered. “What’s the matter? Forgot your wallet? I’ve got you covered, girl.” Marley was so focused on the menu she didn’t notice me futzing around with my hair to make sure I didn’t look like a mess. But Zander did. “Paulina! You’re here!” I smiled, reacting to the way his dark eyes sparkled and his voice showed enthusiasm at the sight of me. “Hey, Zander. Yes, I am.” It sounded so stupid—stating the obvious—but I was caught off guard, giddy with unanticipated butterflies, and sensitive to the weight of Marley’s curious stare. “You know him?” she asked with a smirk. “Yeah. Sort of,” I whispered with a shrug and caught Zander abandoning his oysters to come around and greet us. “He’s cute,” she said through gritted teeth. “I know.” I clenched my jaw but kept smiling because Zander was approaching. He leaned in for a hug and planted a soft, unexpected kiss on my cheek. “Couldn’t resist my oysters, could you?” The tenderness of his kiss left me feeling alight —the sun must’ve been stronger than I thought— and I struggled to find the correct response. What wound up coming out on the fly was pathetically honest. “No, not really. My friend kind of pulled me over here. I was eyeing the Philly Cheesesteaks.”

Both Marley and Zander laughed—Marley merely spurting out the sip of water she’d poured from the complimentary canteen and Zander scratching his head. “Smooth.” I heard her mutter under her breath before waving at a still smiling Zander. “Hi. I’m Marley, by the way.” “Zander. Glad to hear at least one of you came for oysters.” “Well, actually . . .” she hummed. “I came for a lobster roll, but I’ll try the oysters. Lina tells me they’re addicting.” “She did?” He beamed. I’d said no such thing and we both knew it. But I realized what she was trying to do, and rather than bring more attention to how awkward I’d already made myself look, I rolled with it. “Yeah. I told her they were the best I’d ever had.” “They’re also the only ones you’ve ever had.” How’d he know that? Gauging my obvious confusion, he stroked my shoulder and explained, “Last time I saw you, you told me you weren’t a fan of shellfish. I took a wild guess.” “Good looking and attentive,” Marley pointed out. “I like this guy, Lina.” Oh, Jesus. She had no idea that Zander was recently jilted and grieving the loss of his soul mate. This was no time for Marley to play matchmaker.

Not to mention, I still had no intention of playing the rebound. In an attempt to make this less painful and get on with what we came for, I brushed off her insinuation and looked up at the menu. “On second thought, a cheesesteak sounds ordinary. Can we get a dozen of your famous oysters and two lobster rolls?” Zander’s eyes dashed between me and Marley and finally lingered on my lips. “My pleasure. I’m actually overdue for a little break, do you mind if I join you?” “Not at all,” Marley answered, leaving me with a mouth full of unspoken words. “Well, all right then. Why don’t the two of you grab a seat at that table over there? That couple’s finishing up and if you don’t act quickly, you’ll be out of luck.” “But what about—” I reached into my purse for my wallet. “My treat, Lina. Now, go grab it before it’s gone.” I shrugged and shook my head but conceded because Marley was pulling me toward the picnic table as Zander had directed. “You should take the guy’s advice.” “Huh?” I sat across from my friend and narrowed my eyes. “What are you talking about?” “Act quickly, or you’ll be out of luck. Grab it

before it’s gone.” She lowered her tone to mock Zander’s deep, throaty voice. “Oh, would you stop being ridiculous? There was no hidden meaning behind any of that. He was a customer at the bakery. In fact, if you must know, he was purchasing a wedding cake.” “Oh yeah? When’s the wedding?” I so didn’t want to tell her there was no wedding. It would only add fuel to her I-told-youso fire. But I couldn’t exactly lie, either. The topic would come up soon enough and I’d rather she find out without Zander as an audience. “The bride called it off,” I whispered, almost inaudibly. “What?” She grinned. “Did you just say—” “Yeah!” I leaned across the table, getting closer. “I said the wedding is off, okay? But that doesn’t mean he’s interested in me or that I want to be some rebound or . . . whatever. So, can we please leave well enough alone and enjoy our food?” My ass plopped back on its rightful bench and I closed my eyes in anticipation of the smartass remark Marley was about to make. When it didn’t come, I braced myself by gripping the edge of the table and opened my eyes. “I didn’t mean to get you all riled up, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there. He seemed happy to see you, and you . . . You kind of

got rosy in the cheeks when you first spotted him. I thought maybe there was something more to the two of you that you weren’t telling me.” She paused and eyed me suspiciously. When I couldn’t bear to hold her discerning gaze any longer, I looked down at my fidgeting hands and gave myself away. “There is something you’re not telling me! You like the groom, don’t you?” I looked around for Zander. I’d be mortified if he heard us talking about him. When I was sure he was still rounding up our lunch, I sank into the wooden bench and surrendered to my very wise friend’s scrutiny. “Okay, first of all, can we not call him the groom? It sounds wrong. I’m not about to steal another woman’s man.” Her eyes brightened at the prospect of me staking a claim, but I continued before she could interrupt. “Second of all, even if I do think the guy is attractive—” “Gorgeous,” she interjected. “Okay, gorgeous,” I confirmed with an uncontrollable grin. “His heart was just broken by the person he thinks is his soul mate. He’s a mess. He’s in no shape for a new girlfriend, which means he’d be hooking up with me as a rebound and that’s not what I want to be. I think I deserve better than that.” I took a breath, happy to release what had plagued me since the day Zander left the bakery. Sure, he was attra—gorgeous, but that didn’t mean

he was interested in me. If I were in his position, the last thing I’d be focused on would be dating again. I’d be more concerned with mending my broken heart than occupying my empty bed. “I’m gonna stop you right there.” Marley lifted a hand to indicate it was her turn to speak. Before I could tell her not to, the words were flying from her mouth. “That dude is so far from a mess you’d have to be blind to think otherwise.” I tilted my head in question. What the hell did she know? She wasn’t there feeding him chocolate cupcakes to wash away his sorrows. “She left him a Dear John, Marls. He had to cancel all the vendors, deal with the humiliation of telling their guests. He came into the bakery in tears! You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pursed her lips and folded her hands atop the table. “A mess of a man doesn’t nearly hurdle over a counter to kiss his baker hello on the cheek. I saw how he looked at you and I totally saw how you were looking at him. The proof is in the pudding, and the rest . . . is cake.” She waggled her perfectly arched eyebrows, causing me to roll my eyes. “All this falling in love with your country boy must have you lightheaded. This isn’t some Brooklyn-based soap opera—As Williamsburg Turns—it’s reality. And even if I do think Zander is one of the most heartfelt, intelligent, and hot as sin

men this side of Tumblr porn, I’m not going to—” I stopped because Marley was suddenly looking past me. Above me. Behind me. Her mouth hung agape and then snapped shut. “He’s behind me, isn’t he? He is standing right behind me and he heard everything I just said, didn’t he?” Marley nodded at the same time Zander’s silky voice prickled my earlobe. “Yes, he is. He’s also curious as to what you’re not going to do and . . . what’s Tumblr porn?” “Oh, my God.” I dropped my head into my hands and begged the tears not to come. If ever I wished for the inability to speak, five seconds ago would’ve been key. I felt him scoot next to me and smelled the food being placed in front of us. If I had more confidence, or a bigger mouth like Marley, I would cover up my snafu and chalk it up to flirtatious banter. But that wasn’t me. I had no game when it came to things like this. Think fast, Paulina. What to do, what to do? I peered through the tiny slits that the barriers of my fingers created over my eyes. Without another thought, I reached out and scooped up an oyster, filling my mouth with the cold, slimy sea creature. Luckily, it served as a reason not to speak, but to my dismay it was much larger than the only other oyster I’d ever sampled and the instinct to chew before I swallowed took over. Ew, I thought to

myself as I tried to squash the oyster with my teeth. This is absolutely disgusting. I have to spit it out. But I can’t spit it out. I’m already one insult and ten humiliations deep. It leaves me one choice. I have to . . . swallow. I tried. I really did, but it was too large and too gooey and before I knew it I was gagging, bent over the picnic table with Zander rapping on my back and Marley shouting. “She’s choking! Someone help! She’s choking!” Panic struck but not for lack of air—it was the obliteration of my dignity that had me freaking out. Through watery eyes I could make out the crowd forming around us. Zander was on his feet, his phone in his hand, probably already dialing 911. Marley was still shrieking in an attempt to find someone in the vicinity who could help. And me? I just wanted to die. I wanted that repulsive oyster to actually lodge itself in my throat, the way everyone else thought it had, so I could end this embarrassing nightmare unscathed. Unfortunately, after I spit the thing out into a napkin, I would live to tell about it. I caught my breath and said a silent prayer to my father for keeping me safe. Raising my arms above my head, I stood from the bench and announced, “I’m okay! I’m okay!” My declaration was enough to disperse the growing mob of nosy bodies, but Marley and Zander remained vigilant at my side.

“Wait. I’m sorry. Can you please hold on for a second?” Zander spoke into the phone and then pulled it away from his ear to appraise me. “You can breathe? You’re all right?” I nodded. He continued to assess. “Maybe we should still have you checked out.” He pulled the phone back to his ear but before he could instruct the operator any further, I placed a hand on his to stop him. “I’m fine. Really, Zander. Embarrassed as all get out, but completely fine.” I gave two thumbs up to solidify my well-being. We had a moment. One of those scenes in a movie that played out in slow motion, in which two people’s eyes met and the earth stopped spinning. I beamed at him like a fool and he did the same. In a world of unicorns, rainbows, and Hollywood directors, now would be the second Zander dropped the phone, pulled me into his arms, and kissed the embarrassment right out of me. But this was Kent Avenue, Brooklyn, New York, not Rodeo Drive, Hollywood, California. I was no pretty woman being whisked off by her king of wishful thinking. I was a clumsy broad who’d choked on a jilted groom’s oyster. Our moment was not movie magic, but merely a day in the life of yours truly. Back in real time, Zander thanked the operator and ended the call, then placed his phone on the

picnic table and clapped his hands in prayer. “If you had choked to death on one of my oysters, I would’ve—” His head drooped and he scrubbed his face with his hands. When his eyes met mine again, he licked his lips and shook his head. “I don’t know what I would’ve done. Thank God you’re all right, Paulina.” “Yeah. Thank God,” I managed to mutter, reaching for the glass of water Marley was handing me. I took a sip, resigning to the fact that no one around me could gauge my discomfort. I, however, wanted to crawl under the picnic table and emerge when the food festival was over. In October. “I’ve never met a girl with a bigger aversion to swallowing. Dayum, Lina, you’re a stubborn son of a bitch.” Water sprayed from my nose at Marley’s innuendo. Zander was patting my back again, this times less franticly as he rolled in laughter. “You didn’t have to eat them if you hated them that much. I know they’re an acquired taste and while I appreciate your effort . . . No oysters for you.” His impression of Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi was not lost on me, but my dignity still struggled to survive. This whole ordeal was a major shit parade and I was lucky enough to be the grand marshal.

breathe through both my nose and mouth without obstruction, all laughter subsided. Marley left Zander and me alone to get more napkins and some much needed alcoholic beverages. “You sure you’re okay?” Zander asked again, caressing my back and leaving a trail of tenderness with each stroke. “Promise. All’s good in the hood.” I tied my hair into a ponytail and tried to regain some composure as he looked on with pure concern. “You’re really kind, Zander.” I picked at the soft bread of the lobster roll, careful to avoid the actual meat of the sandwich. It was safe to say that me and shellfish were not a good mix. I’d be staying away for a long time, even if it was Zander’s livelihood. “I know. It’s one of my greatest downfalls.” He smiled, but I could tell it was just for show. You don’t admit something like that with pride. I had to wonder if he was referring to his ex, and decided to take that as an opportunity to ask how he was ONCE I COULD

doing. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I said, “I was too busy choking to ask how you’ve been feeling since I last saw you.” “Yeah, I kind of noticed.” He gave a sideways grin but then nodded. “I’m good. Better. You were right, it was for the best. That first week was painful, but once I realized she was never going to return my phone calls, I forced myself to stop caring. It’s still baffling, no doubt, but why would I want to spend the rest of my life with a person like that, you know? Someone who doesn’t have the courage to come to me with her fears, let me know what’s going on inside her head. Someone who could throw away everything we had without an explanation. It took many late nights and some really delicious cupcakes to realize it’s not me, it’s her.” That brought a smile to my face and I wasn’t afraid to show it. “My cupcakes helped?” “Uh huh.” He nodded, his chocolate eyes penetrating mine. “You helped too, Paulina.” “I did?” I imagined when the question fell from my lips it was accompanied by tiny cartoon hearts floating around my head. “Yes, you did. You’re also very kind, but I’m sure you know that, too.” I did, but unlike Zander, I didn’t see it as a flaw. I’d never been taken advantage of for being too

nice. Sure, I’d been swindled out of a free cupcake here and there and I didn’t take my non-refundable deposit policy seriously, but if I could put a smile on someone’s face just by being me . . . I was winning. I also liked to think it had a lot to do with the kind of people I rolled with. That made me all the more certain that Zander needed to be one of those people. Enjoying the intimacy of our closeness and the comfort I felt in his presence, I nervously looked down at my hands and then cleared my throat. “Looks like we’re just two kind-hearted schmucks, aren’t we?” “Two kind-hearted, lonely schmucks,” he added. It took me a second to realize he’d put emphasis on the word lonely. I didn’t like the idea of him being lonely. And the more I thought about it, I didn’t like the idea of me being lonely any more either. I had the power to put an end to that; it was time I did something about it instead of sitting on the sidelines and waiting for it to happen for me. Channeling my inner Marley and pulling up my big girl panties, I attempted something foreign to me. With a deep but subtle breath, I opened a door to endless possibilities. “Maybe we don’t have to be lonely anymore. Maybe the two of us can be kind-hearted schmucks together.” My lids fluttered shut, an internal instinct to

protect myself from his rejection, but when I reopened them to fix my sights on him, he cupped his hands over mine and said, “I thought you’d never ask.” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Really? Then why didn’t you say something first?” He shifted in his seat, coming closer. “Believe me, I wanted to. I was scared you’d think I was looking for a rebound.” I laughed through my nose at the irony of it all. “What’s funny?” “I was scared of the same thing.” We shared a moment of understanding and smiled in silence. I looked around for Marley because I was sure she’d be intruding on our moment at any second. When I couldn’t find her anywhere in the crowd, I released a sigh of relief and let my guard down. “So, what do we do now?” I asked innocently. Zander shrugged before lifting his hand to my face and dragging his thumb along my jaw. “We cure the lonely.” I bit my lower lip and squeezed my thighs together. “And how do we do that?” “Well, we can start with dinner tonight. If you’re free.” “Free as a bird. Where are you taking me?” “Nowhere that serves shellfish.” I giggled and let my head fall back,

remembering the spectacle I’d made less than ten minutes ago. “That’s probably a very wise decision.” “How’s eight o’clock?” he asked, taking out his phone, presumably to take down my number. I agreed on the time and watched as he punched in a six-digit code to unlock his home screen. I dragged my eyes away, afraid I might see something I wasn’t prepared for: A remaining wallpaper pic of him and Zoe or worse . . . a text message from her in response to all of his missed calls. He must’ve registered my sudden mood shift because he placed a hand on mine again and asked, “Everything okay?” “Mmm hmm.” “You sure?” It was now or never. I was looking forward to our date and I wanted to clear the air now rather than discuss his feelings for his ex over dinner. Big girl panties, Lina. Just say what you need to say. “I’m sure, but are you? Your heart is still healing and I don’t want to get in the way of that. I’m perfectly fine with us just being friends if the breakup is still fresh and you’re not ready to date other women yet.” “I’m not ready to date other women yet,” he admitted, causing me to wince. I knew it. He wasn’t ready. I was stupid to think I could be anything but the dreaded rebound. But

before I could get carried away with my negative thoughts, Zander continued. “I don’t want to date other women, Paulina. I want to date you. I think you’re beautiful and funny, and even though you hate my oysters, the fact you were willing to try them to please me makes you all the more adorable. I’m not sure what’ll happen and I’m at a point in my life that I’m cool with that. We can take things one day at a time and simply enjoy each other’s company. Right now, there’s nothing in the world that would make me happier. Not even your chocolate cupcakes.” I wanted to squeal in delight, but I’d had enough embarrassment for one day. Instead, my cheeks plumped up with a smile and I relished in the happiness that surrounded the two of us. “I leave for a minute and miss the whole thing.” Marley was back, eyeing us, eyeing each other. “Oh, shut it,” I insisted, reaching for one of the three foaming beers she was holding. Taking a generous sip, I offered a private wink to Zander and then turned back toward Marley. “I could swear I heard your cowboy calling. Something about . . . chaps.” “Chaps?” Zander laughed, also taking a pull of his beer. “Never mind her. Her brain lost some oxygen while she was choking on your oyster. Now, how about a toast?”

“And what exactly are we toasting?” I asked. Zander raised his glass first and tapped the plastic against mine, then Marley’s. “To new friends.” Marley mirrored his actions and said, “To the end of summer.” I was last to come up with something to say. And we all knew I wasn’t the most eloquent when it came to things like this. Nevertheless, I had many things to be happy for in that moment. Life, for one —considering my near-death experience—and hopefulness for what was to come. But for some reason, what stood out in my mind was a memory from the day in the bakery with Zander. I remembered the way the pain of his heartbreak was washed away with one simple gesture. It warmed my heart and made me proud. Nodding at my friend and then turning to face Zander with a smile, I lifted my beer and said, “To cupcakes.” He laughed, nudging my leg with his under the table. “To cupcakes and oysters.” “Oh, God.” Marley rolled her eyes. “You two are sickeningly cute. And I think you were right . . . Jasper needs me. I’m gonna head out.” She stood from the bench and then looked over to Zander. “Do I have anything to worry about or can I trust that my friend is in good hands?” “I’ll take good care of her,” he promised. “Good.” She nodded curtly and then turned to

walk away, but not before she left us with an invitation and some wise advice. “Have fun, you two. I’ll see you at my Labor Day party in a few weeks. And don’t forget to swallow his oysters and let him eat your cupcake.”

in Alabama was stars and stripes, cold beer, and hot dogs. While I still shared the same American soil here in Brooklyn, things were mighty different when it came to celebrating the end of summer and the working class man. Sure, it resembled the same patriotic feel, only citified. Almost everyone wore some form of red, white, and blue—be it an item of clothing or hair dyed to match our country’s colors, but the aura was a far cry from this country boy’s norm and I wasn’t sure if I loved it or hated it. What I didn’t hate was watching Marley work a room, bless her pretty little heart. My girl was hosting this shindig on the rooftop of the tattoo parlor. I was thoroughly impressed with the effort she’d thrown into the party, pulling out all the bells and whistles when it came to hiring friends for entertainment and decorating to the nines. A live band Milo knew through his musician connections was set up at the far end of the wide space, tuning guitars and adjusting drum heights. Marley’d rented furniture to stage the area so it felt more like an intimate afternoon in someone’s home LABOR DAY WEEKEND

rather than an outdoor barbeque. It reminded me a lot of Flask & Folly because of the Edison bulbs and cozy couches, but the bar adjacent to the band seemed to be the focal point of the event. Large wooden barrels served as a base for a long copper slab. Three bartenders manned the top shelf liquor that lined two massive bookshelves behind them. My go-to, however, would be the kegs delivered locally from Interboro Spirits & Ale. Marley and I had been there twice this summer; it was there that I abandoned the basic Bud and became a fan of their Super Bad Pale Ale. Every day I became more acquainted with my new surroundings, and every day I felt more at home. I owed much of that to Marley and her eclectic group of friends. We’d spent a lot of time together since that first night she took me home and rocked my world. And I wasn’t letting go any time soon. I planned to make our time together more frequent as the heat of the summer cooled down to welcome my first fall in the city. We didn’t talk much about it, but I thought today might be as good a time as any to let her know how I felt about her. If only she weren’t so damn busy mingling and playing hostess. I caught her in a cloud of smoke with Milo, his girl Emmy, and a barista dude she was friends with. The pungent smell of reefer wafted through the warm air, inviting me to join them. I walked closer

with our beers in hand and nudged Marley with my hip. “Want some?” she asked, releasing the aromatic smoke through her nose. I handed her the beer and shook my head, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She nuzzled into my shoulder and kissed me back, accepting that I was high on life and didn’t need an extra push. I wasn’t opposed to trying it, but I hadn’t ever felt the urge. Back home it was readily accessible but not as openly flaunted. Here, if you didn’t smoke the good stuff, you’ best not consider yourself a hipster. Marley hated when I referred to her as that, especially when I was catching up with Mama or my sisters over the phone, but there was no denying it. In fact, it was one of the things I liked most about her. We were different in so many ways, yet as connected as a couple who’d been dating for years. Southern charm and bohemian appeal was an unusual mix, but it worked for us. What ain’t broke don’t need fixin’. “Darlin’, can I steal you away for a few minutes?” Milo and Emmy were necking like teenagers, and the barista guy—pretty sure his name was Ezra—had just excused himself to greet a new arrival. She was pretty and petite in a floral dress, with thick bangs and dark red lips. Her outfit would easily camouflage the tiny thing from the rest of the crowd, but there was something about

her that stood out—an interesting, old-fashioned quality. By the looks of things, however, she was shy as they came, and Ezra would have to walk her into the party one baby step at a time. Lacing her hand with mine, Marley pulled me down onto a nearby couch. Once seated, she crossed her leg over mine and staked her claim. “You can steal me away for more than a few minutes. In fact . . .” Her eyes darted around the rooftop, looking for what, I didn’t know. “Wanna sneak into the bathroom for a quickie?” A rumble of laughter burst out of me and I clapped my hand on her knee. “As much as I’d love to take you up on that offer, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.” “How much later?” She licked her lips, her hooded lids and slow, fluid movements adding to how sexy she looked. It took grave control not to sweep her up and toss her over my shoulder, but I was nothing if not a gentleman. Most of the time. “You keep looking at me like that and later’s gonna be now, but I need you to focus for a minute. You think you can do that?” By the way her hands grappled for purchase on my T-shirt, I wasn’t so sure. Luckily, she caught sight of her brother eyeing us and thought better of getting frisky. “I’m all ears. Speak to me and make sure you over-enunciate that drawl.”

I laughed again, my head falling back against the couch. We were as different as day and night, but drawn together by an unwavering curiosity and a smokin’ hot passion. I rubbed my thumb over the top of her hand and she flipped it over so I could trace the lines of her palm. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask you something. For a while now.” I was sure of what I wanted to say, but uncertain how she’d react. We’d only been together a few months. We only recently had the I’m not seeing anyone else, are you? chat. Things were perfect and I didn’t want to screw it up, but I did want to take it a step further. I knew her life, her friends, her family, and her environment. I wanted her to know mine, too. I had a hankering that I needed to feed and there was only one way to do it. “What is it, Jasper?” She straightened her posture and fixed attentive eyes on mine. “Is everything okay?” I hated that I gave her reason to worry so I reached out to caress her face with a reassuring show of my affection. “It’s more than okay, darlin’. Don’t you think so?” She smiled and nodded feverishly. “I do. I really do. I’ve been so happy and I’m usually anything but at the end of summer. I get this weird feeling—like a back to school sensation or something—but not this year. It has to be because of you. Us. I feel like things are just getting started,

not coming to an end. Do you feel the same?” She rarely showed vulnerability, but when she did it was sweeter than Mama’s prize winning apple pie. “Oh, you betcha. This is just the beginnin’. And that’s why I wanted to tell you, well—why I wanted to ask you—” “Wait!” she interrupted, clapping her hand over my mouth. “Before you do something stupid— you’re not doing something stupid, right?” I shook my head and chuckled into her hand. Her eyes gauged mine and I guessed she was set at ease by the way I gazed back because she dropped her hand from my mouth. I brought her fingertips back to my lips and kissed each one. God, she made my heart do silly things inside my chest. I’d never felt like this about anyone before. Time to let her know. “You don’t think it’s stupid that I love you and I want you to come back to Alabama with me in a few weeks, do you?” I cocked a grin in anticipation of a girlish squeal, but should’ve known better. There was nothing about my Marley that was predictable or overly frilly. Two more things on the list of things I loved about this city slicker. “Did you just—did someone lace this weed?” she shouted to no one in particular. When her question went unanswered save for apathetic shrugs and a few thumbs up, she shook her head in disbelief. “There’s no way I’m hearing right.”

“You heard right, darlin’, and I know you’re not that stoned, but if you need me to repeat myself, it’ll be my pleasure.” Her eyes sparkled with the reflection of an orange and pink sunset. It was a spectacular night and I was sharing it with a spectacular woman. I imagined there’d be many more sunsets in our future, both here and back home. “I said, I love you, Marley. I had a mind to tell you a while ago, but I didn’t wanna look too eager,” I chuckled. “You love me? You love me?” “Yeah, baby. Why’s that so hard to believe?” “Because . . . Well, we’re so different.” “One of the reasons I’m so drawn to you. I always thought of it as a good thing. Don’t you?” “I do. God, do I, but . . .” But? Maybe I’d been wrong to assume she felt the same. Maybe I was being too hasty. But this party was not the place to hash it out so I interrupted her before she could continue. “I get it. It’s too soon. Forget I said anything for now.” I released the grip on her hand and ran my fingers through my hair. “Jasper,” she huffed. “Let me . . . I—”

and Jasper talking on a couch in the center of the roof. After setting down the cupcakes she’d baked, we weaved through scattered groups of guests to greet her friend. I followed closely behind because, well, I was her plus one and didn’t really know anyone here. “Whoa, slow down. They’re not going anywhere.” I laughed at her childlike enthusiasm. Everything she did was done with fervor. There was no half-assing it with Paulina, and I’d grown to admire that gusto in the last few weeks. “Hey, guys!” she sang, plopping next to Marley on the couch. “What’s up,” I chimed in, extending a fist to Jasper. He gave me a bro-like pound and nodded his head in salute. Jasper was a cool dude. The four of us had hung out the week before at Skinny Dennis—a honky-tonk bar at Metropolitan and Berry—and while it wasn’t a place I could imagine myself frequenting, the company was great so we had a good time. “Oh! Hey, you two.” Marley cleared her throat and shot up from her seat. She brought Paulina in a PAULINA SPOTTED MARLEY

for a hug and winked at me over her shoulder. Jasper remained seated, his eyes never leaving Marley. His jaw ticked as his finger circled the rim of his plastic cup. I sensed tension, but what did I know? I was a newbie to this group—even more so than the newbilly over there—so I played dumb and offered to grab us a few drinks from the bar. “Nah, I’m good for now, but thanks.” Jasper raised his cup and took a swig, and then his eyes darted to the table in front of him. “I’m actually in the mood to get a little dazed and confused.” His hand flew to an unlit joint hanging out of a makeshift ashtray. Without much thought, he blazed up and took a long toke, choking up a cloud of smoke. I’m starting to get a complex. What’s with everyone choking in my presence? Marley spun around at the sound of her boyfriend’s coughing fit. “Jasper! What are you doing?” Both Paulina and I suppressed the laughter threatening to burst at the sight of Jasper’s failed attempt to inhale. Other than the obvious that this had to be his first time burning wood, I didn’t see the problem. More than half of everyone at this party was doing the same thing. But again, I was a newbie and this was none of my business. I preferred to watch on in amusement alongside my adorable lady friend. “Relaaaax, Miss Marley.” He crooned, taking

another hit, this one less climactic. “I am relaxed.” She sat down next to him. “It’s you I’m worried about. Does this have anything to do with—” “Why don’t we go get a drink?” I turned away from their whispered conversation to face Paulina. “I think that’s a good idea.” When we were far enough away from whatever the hell was going on with them, Paulina tucked her hand in mine and leaned her head against my shoulder. “What do you suppose that was all about?” “I have no idea. Everything seemed kosher last week. Maybe it’s just a lovers’ spat; maybe it’s the beginning of the end. One can never tell.” “Well, isn’t that a charming outlook on love.” Her hand fell from mine and rested atop the bar. “I’m sorry,” I offered, flagging down the bartender. We ordered our drinks and then I swiveled to look at my beautiful date. “It kinda just flew from my mouth without thinking. I didn’t mean anything by it.” “That’s usually when people tend to speak the truth.” She tapped her fingernails against the copper-top without making eye contact. I didn’t mean to shed my pessimism so freely, but every now and then I allowed my insecurities about Zoe to creep up and get the better of me. Paulina didn’t deserve that, though. She was sweet,

uncomplicated, innocent. She’d been a breath of fresh air since we met. Oftentimes I forgot all about my past when I was with her. Thing was, no matter how often those times were, it had only been a few months since I had my heart torn out and stomped on. I imagined it would take a lot longer to fully forget the hurt and not be such a cynic when it came to love, but all of this was too heavy for the here and now. I needed to recapture our carefree vibe. Quick. “You know when else people tend to speak the truth? When they’re stoned. Wanna go back to Marley and Jasper and see what secrets they spill?” She giggled and glanced over her shoulder toward the couch, but my line of vision stayed put. She was too pretty to look away from. In fact, she was captivating. I wouldn’t be surprised if every sucker in this room was green with envy. She was here with me. In the present. That was all that mattered, and I’d keep reminding myself of that until it stuck. “Do you know anyone else here?” I asked, wondering how many of the men eyeing my date were actual threats. She quickly scanned the space, but then shrugged. “Some familiar faces, but not really. You?” “Not a one. But that’s cool. I like meeting new people; it’s good for business. Wanna mingle?”

“Sure. Gotta get someone to like those oysters.” She winked as the bartender delivered our drinks. We simultaneously sipped our cocktails, swallowing any discomfort and chasing it with the alcohol. The band was jamming out to an acoustic rendition of The Weeknd’s “I Feel It Coming.” I swayed my hips and led Paulina by the hand past a now kissing Marley and Jasper to where people had gathered to dance. Placing our drinks on a nearby table, I took hold of her hands and pulled her into an embrace. It was a perfect fit, her small body pressed against mine, her head resting in the crook of my neck. I breathed her in, the scent of lavender shampoo and sweet sugar cookies. Whether she knew it or not, she brought her work home with her and wore it like a perfume. It was a pleasant aroma I associated with the bakery, which no longer held a feeling of dread, but rather one of possibility. I kissed the top of her head as I spun her around, realizing that was an intimate gesture, but letting the moment take me away. The singer’s voice was sultry and the jazzy melody soothed me into a contented trance. I hummed along, the lyrics speaking for me in ways I wish I could, but knew I shouldn’t. “I’d sing it to you, but I don’t have the best voice.” Or the balls to tell you this is exactly what I feel right now. “That’s okay. I’m enjoying this just the way it

is.” “Yes. Me, too.” I said no more because there wasn’t a need for more. I didn’t want my mind to wander anywhere else. I didn’t want to think about Zoe and the past or Paulina and the future. I wanted to think about Zander and the present, this party, this night. I tried to block out everything else. I let the music guide me, danced to the rhythm, shut off the outside world. That lasted the entire length of the soulful song, but ended abruptly with a tap on my shoulder. I knew who it was before I saw her. I knew because Paulina’s sun-kissed complexion turned pale and her mouth dropped open. I knew because I could sense her presence anywhere—she’d been mine for almost six years and I was only now getting semi-adjusted to her absence. My arms dropped to my sides, as did Paulina’s. I craned my neck and my eyes met hers—the eyes of the woman who’d turned my world upside down with no explanation. “Zoe? What are you doing here?” She appraised me with a smile—a smile that once did witchcraft to my heart, but now made it sink in my chest. “That’s a fancy way to greet your fiancé, don’t you think, love?” Fiancé? Love? Was she kidding? Didn’t matter. I’d deal with that after I dealt with poor, innocent, awe-struck Paulina. “Li—” I turned to her but she

was no longer there. “Where the hell—” I’d only had my eyes off her for a split second. How’d she get away so quickly? I searched the rooftop with roving eyes but came up short. “She’s over there.” Zoe smirked, pointing to the exit that lead to the stairwell. Where Paulina stood dumbstruck, face-to-face with a tall bearded and tattooed man. From across the roof, I could tell I wasn’t the only one who felt he’d just seen a ghost.

“OH, SHIT! I’M sorry.

I didn’t mean to . . . Paulina, is

that you?” In my haste to rejoin the party without making it obvious that Emmy and I had snuck away to have the best fuck-in-five ever, I rushed back upstairs and collided with a woman in her own hurried state. I wasn’t paying attention. My mind was still hazy, my limbs still slack—that orgasm deserved at least a ten-minute recovery, but that was not an option. Marley would be looking for us and Emmy’s friend Jane texted her that she was here. Emmy was freshening up in the ladies’ room and sent me back up here as tribute. As much as I wanted to go for another round in the bathroom or ditch the party to bury myself inside of Emmy’s pussy for as long as she would allow, our flashbang would have to suffice. For now. Time stood still as I stared into the eyes of a long forgotten memory. Okay, that made me sound like a dick. I hadn’t exactly forgotten about Paulina —she was once my sister’s best friend, a girl I’d known for a good part of our childhood. But our never-spoken-about-again hookup took place years

ago, when we were kids. Really drunk kids. I knew she was crushing hard on me back then. And I knew it was a dick move not to call her afterwards to explain that while I enjoyed our short-lived moment, it would be our last. Back then, I was a cocky, careless clown. I had no idea what I wanted for myself, let alone another human being. But I did know Paulina was the kind of girl who deserved a faithful, doting boyfriend. Two things I was not at that point in time. Two things I was only now learning to be. I did her a favor. She should thank me, but based on the way she was currently eyeing me—she didn’t see it that way. “Oh, isn’t this perfect,” she mumbled. “Yes, Milo, it’s me, Paulina. I’d say it was nice to see you, but it’s not. Now, if you don’t mind, I was just leaving.” Whoa. Grudge much? I almost said it, but thought better of insulting her. I was pretty sure I’d done that already. But I could tell she was steamed about something, or someone, and while it was none of my business, she was my sister’s guest. Marley would be upset if I let her friend leave so suddenly and in such a pissy mood. “Where’s the fire? Party’s just getting started. Did you even see Marley yet?” She momentarily quit trying to barge past me and stared at me as if I had a nerve to even speak to her. “What’s it to you, huh?”

I shrugged, peering down at her. She hadn’t changed much over the years and the tiny but mighty eminence she exuded brought a grin to my lips. Under different circumstances, Paulina and I could’ve been good friends. I fucked that up by leading her on with that kiss. She wasn’t the only woman I’d left with a bad taste in her mouth, but for the sake of my sister, and since she was here, I hoped we could act like adults and leave the high school drama behind. “Listen, I’m sorry for being a douche in the past. I didn’t mean anything by it. We were kids and I was stupid. I can see you’re in a hurry to get out of here and I hope it’s not because of me.” Her cheeks flushed, her eyes blinking in astonishment. “What? Oh, my God, no! I’m going because . . .” She paused to look behind her, but stopped herself midway. “It has nothing to do with you, Milo!” Sensing an eruption on the horizon, I raised my hands in defense. “I was only asking for Marley. She went to a lot of trouble planning this party, and I’m sure she’ll be looking for you once she’s done making her rounds.” “You mean once she’s done mackin’ it with Jasper?” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of where my sister and Jasper were indeed making a public display of canoodling. I closed my eyes in an attempt to unsee the two

lovebirds going at it and brought my attention back to the task at hand. “Okay, so what’s the rush? It’s early. Let me get you a drink. I can keep you company until my—” “Are you serious?” Her hands balled into fists, her eyes fiery and wide. “You think you can schmooze me with a drink and pick up where we left off? It’s doesn’t work that way, Milo. I’m not a crush-sick teenager anymore. I’ve moved on. I have no desire to hook up with you again so take your drink and shove it.” “Um . . . am I interrupting something?” Of course, this would be the exact moment Emmy returned from the bathroom. “Oh, hey, Emmy!” I realized how aloof it sounded as it came out of my mouth, but I quickly wrapped an arm around her and kissed her cheek to prove my loyalty. “Babe, this is Paulina. An old friend.” Paulina’s nostrils flared at the word friend but to my surprise, she didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to, though. The way this picture painted itself, I looked like the manwhore many people believed me to be. I could tell by Emmy’s stiffness that she was skeptical. I had to swoop in to clear things up before her thoughts ran away with her, the way they often did. “Paulina is Marley’s friend. They grew up together, went to the same school; we’re

practically sisters,” I chuckled. Emmy nodded sardonically. “Well, that makes the fact you hooked up with her that much more disturbing.” Shit! She’d heard our conversation. How fucking perfect. I gulped, Paulina snorted, and Emmy sighed. It was clear Paulina was not coming to my rescue—grudge holder—so it was up to me to fix this mess. Turning up the charm that was usually Emmy’s weakness, I took her hands in mine, bit my lower lip, and gazed into her eyes. “Babe, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Yes, we hooked up. Once. Like a million years ago, but this is not what it looks like.” Emmy blinked her eyes shut and when she reopened them they were full of unshed tears. “Is there anyone you haven’t hooked up with? Will we ever attend an event together in this godforsaken neighborhood where we don’t run into someone you’ve screwed?” Fuck! Not this again. Emmy’s insecurities because of her cheating ex-husband were a problem we’d faced before. A problem we’d talked about, resolved, and put behind us. I understood her qualms and did everything I could to set them at ease. I was different than her ex. I wasn’t who I used to be before her, either. I was a one-woman kind of guy these days; she had nothing to worry about. But I couldn’t change my past and I couldn’t

control who we ran into. Paulina cleared her throat and reached out to pat Emmy on the shoulder. “Oh, we never had sex, hun. It was just a kiss. A one-sided, let’s-just-getthis-over-with-so-the-annoying-kid-will-leave-mealone kiss.” “Lina, it was nothing like that.” “Dude, I’m trying to help you,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Great, so now you have your ex-girlfriends conspiring with you to make me feel better?” Emmy was one step away from a meltdown. “No, Emmy, you’ve misunderstood,” I pled. I was getting whiplash trying to defend myself and appease both women. “I find that hard to believe,” she cried. “Oh, girl, you’ve got the wrong idea. I swear,” Paulina chimed in. “I don’t want your man anymore. That ship has sailed.” “What ship has sailed?” Marley asked, joining the shit show with Jasper gawking at her side. Everyone remained quiet and still, frozen amongst secrets, regrets, and misunderstanding. Emmy’s eyes darted between me and Paulina and then landed on my sister. She took a deep breath, released it on a sigh, and finally broke the silence. “Marley, do I have anything to worry about with your friend, Paulina?” “No!” Paulina and I both shouted.

“No!” Marley burst out laughing but stopped when she realized no one shared the same humor. “Why would Paulina be something to worry about, Milo? What’s going on here? What did I miss?” Marley let go of Jasper’s grip and her hands shot to her waist. “You didn’t know that Milo and Paulina hooked up?” Emmy asked. “Milo and Paulina did what?” Marley’s face distorted with shock and confusion. “Jesus! Is there anyone you haven’t dipped it in?” “That’s what I asked.” Emmy’s mouth formed a thin, straight line. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Hurt was evident in Marley’s eyes when she stared at Paulina for answers. This was getting ridiculous. Either I was in a nightmare or tripping on shrooms. Something had to give. “Would everyone just shut the fuck up for one second?” It must’ve come out louder and harsher than I anticipated because many of the other party guests turned their heads to face our group. Other guests like Emmy’s friend Jane and her beau, Ezra. And . . .”Hey, aren’t you the oyster guy from Smorgasburg?” “Yeah. That’s me. Zander, nice to meet you.” Oyster guy extended his hand and I shook it, baffled by our growing audience of strangers and familiar faces alike.

“I feel like I’m in the Wizard of fucking Oz.” I raked my fingers through my hair and shook my head. “Lina, can I talk to you?” Zander was at Paulina’s side faster than I could click my heels and say, ‘There’s no place like home’. “No, Zander, you can’t talk to her until I talk to her,” Marley butted in, nudging her way between Zander and Paulina. “When did you have sex with my brother?” “You had sex with her brother?” Welp. Might as well add Zander to the list of the uninformed and perplexed. “Holy shit! No! I did not have sex with Milo!” Paulina shouted. “Not that it matters since your bloody ex-fiancé is back for you.” “If you didn’t sleep with him, then why does Emmy think you’re a problem?” Marley was clearly stuck on one issue and one issue only. “She’s not a problem and never will be.” I made sure Emmy heard me loud and clear. She shook her head and stared off at the fading sunset. False accusations and unending questions flew in every direction. It was almost too loud to hear yourself think, and it was definitely too complicated to guess what would happen next. I certainly didn’t see it coming and I could bet my autographed guitar that no one in our dysfunctional group did either, but if it weren’t for the itty-bitty

thing with a notepad and a story to tell, we’d all be walking outta here singing “See You in September” as a death march.

our friends aren’t filming some reality TV show we didn’t know about?” I asked, fighting the urge to either chew on my fingernails or hit the ground running. “Uh, yeah.” Ezra scratched the back of his head with one hand and curled his arm around my waist with the other. He looked around for cameras and a crew—I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do the same—and then chuckled. “Nope. Fat chance. You’ll have to get your fifteen minutes of fame somewhere else.” “Ha! Fame. Like I’d know what to do with it, anyway.” It’d be nice for someone other than my professor or my boyfriend to praise my recently finished screenplay, but I wasn’t holding my breath. His tender grip grew tighter. “Come on. It looks like they could use a distraction.” “No, it looks like they need an intervention. Maybe we should go home before they notice us.” “Jane! I can tell Emmy’s been crying and Marley’s eyes are popping out of her head. We’ve got nothing better to do. This could be fun.” “Fun at the expense of others is not a nice “ARE YOU SURE

thing, Ezra.” He pulled me closer against his side and playfully tickled my ribs. “Says the girl who stalked her barista and wrote three quarters of a story based on assumptions.” “Will I ever live that down?” “Yeah, when Scorsese is directing it and DiCaprio is playing me.” If only I had as much confidence in my work as he did. “In your dreams, buddy.” “In our dreams. Now, let’s go find out what the trouble in Williamsburg is.” Shrugging, I acquiesced—we were already here and the band was really good; why not make the best of it? I followed Ezra’s lead toward the mayhem that was our friends, praying we could avoid any drama and enjoy the last weekend of summer without a hitch. I made sure to locate the nearest exit—a habit this wallflower would never abandon—and put one foot in front of the other. Ezra had helped me out of my shell a lot in these last few months. Since the night of the thunderstorm, we’d become very close. In the beginning, it was strictly a coffee-shop-friendshipin-the-making. I denied every date proposal and fought off the unwavering attraction—like an idiot. But thanks to his adorable resilience, I soon came to the realization that he was good for me, in more ways than he wasn’t. My feelings for him grew

deeper with each passing day, and it wasn’t long before the sexy barista and the shy girl with the unquenchable caffeine habit fell in love. We were happy together. He was the yin to my yang, and many times he served as the push I needed to step out of my comfort zone. Take this party, for instance—it was my first of this kind. I usually spent Labor Day weekend with my parents at their lake house. Low key and serene was more my style, but between Emmy’s invitation and Ezra’s convincing, here I was. It wouldn’t kill me to actually act my age or to give my boyfriend something he wanted. On our last double date with Emmy and Milo, Ezra looked deflated when I initially shot down Emmy’s invitation to the party. A relationship meant sacrifice, and it wasn’t as if he was asking me to try BDSM—although, from the commotion our friends were making, BDSM seemed far more appealing. “Hi, guys!” Ezra cleared his throat as we approached. No one seemed to hear him over the yelling. Fine by me. I was content to say we tried and slink off to some corner to enjoy the band’s cover of “Love in October” by Teenage Evolution. But somehow through the chaos Emmy spotted me from the corner of her eye, and the look on her tear-stained face screamed, “Save Me!” I swooped in and hugged her, waiting for her to

explain what was going on. Just as she started to whisper something in my ear, everyone took our friendly embrace as a cue to bombard me with hellos. I was overwhelmed by the attention—so many cheek-kisses, introductions, and new names to remember. But we somehow managed to migrate into a huddle and claim a sitting area reminiscent of Central Perk from my favorite Friends reruns. Ezra made a quick trip to the bar and left me to the wolves. Silence and tension permeated the warm air, strangling me with discomfort. I wanted to ask Emmy if she was okay, but not in front of everyone. I wanted to know why Milo’s sister was glaring at the owner of For Heaven’s Cake like she’d killed her puppy. I could swear that tall guy with the trippy shirt sold oysters at Smorgasburg, and . . . and who the hell was the cowboy? I’d never seen him before. He looked almost as out of place as I felt, yet he was creeping on Marley like he’d owned her for years. My brain spun at warp speed. Before me was a plethora of eclectic characters and so much unspoken drama. I would’ve given anything to be a fly on the wall with a pen and notebook handy. This whole scenario was a writer’s haven. Too bad I was too shook to ask anyone a single question. Fortunately, Ezra was not. “Anyone wanna talk about the massive elephant in the room?” He scrutinized each member of the group as he passed

around eight shot glasses. All it took was that one little inquiry and a shared shot of whiskey for the floodgates to open and sweep me away with the loosened gush of emotions.

“So, let me get this straight . . .” I tapped my chin and organized everything as best as I could inside my head. Damn, I need to write this down. Would it be rude to whip out my laptop? I appraised all six of the lovesick crazies before me. Twelve hopeful eyes fixed themselves on me, the people to whom they belonged awaiting some kind of epiphany as if I was a psychotherapist who could solve all their problems. God, this was such a thrill! Research was one of my favorite things about being a writer, and this was research on steroids. All at once and in my face. I didn’t need the joint Marley was passing around, I was high enough doing what I loved best —observing. Funny thing was, I forgot all about how I hated to be the center of attention and sank into the couch, ready to analyze my findings and share them with the class. Pointing first to Marley and Jasper, I recapped what I’d learned. “You had a mini-freak out when he told you he loved you. Not because you don’t love him too, but because he also asked you to go

back to Alabama with him.” “You’re moving to Alabama?” Milo stopped mid-toke and passed the J to his left. “Who said anything about moving, jackass? I’m just taking some time off work to go down there to meet his family,” Marley explained, grasping Jasper’s hand. “My sister’s having her baby in a few days and I thought it would be a good time to visit, so I asked Marley to come with. Mama’s dying to meet the city girl who stole her baby bear’s heart.” Jasper leaned over to kiss his girl on top of her head and everyone, including me, let out an exaggerated aww. “You two are so cute,” Paulina cooed. “Yeah, almost as cute as the secret you and my brother decided to keep from me,” Marley blurted out, causing Emmy to wince. “Oh, not this again! How many times do we have to tell you, we didn’t sleep together!” Milo slapped his hands on his thighs. Paulina grabbed the joint from Ezra and looked in my direction. “Maybe you can help her understand, huh, Jane?” Me? Why I was suddenly the voice of reason, I had no clue, but I felt needed so I rolled with it. Besides, I was making mental notes with each new discovery. “Okay. So, Paulina and Milo, I guess the question is: did you or did you not hook up?” All I

needed was a microphone and an Eyewitness news van and I’d be legit. “We didn’t have sex!” They shouted in unison. “Then why does everything seem so . . . weird between you guys?” Emmy interceded. Milo took that as an opportunity to scoot closer to his girl and get intimate—well, as intimate as one can get with an audience of stoned friends chomping at the bit. “Babe, we did not have sex. We kissed. Once. A very long time ago. Neither of us told Marley because there was nothing to tell and we didn’t want her reacting like this.” He gestured toward his sister and looked to Paulina for back up. She came to his defense after releasing a cloud of smoke from her lips. “True story, Emmy. He’s all yours. I never laid claim to your man. The whole thing is a faded memory. A stupid teenage fantasy gone bad.” “Well, I wouldn’t say . . .” He must’ve realized he was about to condemn himself and reworded his response. “You heard her . . . I’m all yours. If you still want me, that is.” “Of course, I still want you, Milo. But . . .” Emmy lowered her head. “But, what, babe? I’m crazy about you. What more do you need to know?” “Oh, that’s easy! It’s a textbook trope,” I interjected. “Emmy’s still feeling scorned by her

douche of an ex and it doesn’t help that she has to compete with all of your old hookups at every turn. Case in point—the poor girl is insecure as fuck and needs to know she can trust you.” “Oh, no she didn’t,” Emmy uttered. I was being awfully free with my words, wasn’t I? “Shit. I’m sorry. It just came out.” I wanted to crawl under this couch and become one with the floor. My hands flew up to cover my eyes, but Emmy was quick to assure me I hadn’t crossed the line. “No, you’re right. I can’t blame Milo for my past. He’s never given me a reason to doubt his feelings. I was triggered and acted like a jealous wench. I feel so foolish.” “It’s hot on you, babe. Don’t worry.” Milo raised his eyebrows and flashed a wicked grin. They shared a private moment of understanding and then he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Whatever he said made her cheeks flush, a contagious giggle spilling from her smiling lips. “Hey, no secrets!” I blurted. “Uh, Jane,” Ezra leaned across the coffee table, trying to contain his own laughter. “I think the ganja got to you, sweetheart.” I waved a sensationless hand and shook my head. “Not possible. I never touched the stuff.” Every time it circled my way, I was sure to pass it to the left.

“I think it’s called a contact high, darlin’. I’m feeling pretty mellow myself.” Jasper snaked his arm around Marley and set his heavy eyes on me. “Noooo! No way.” I tried to convince myself. But could it be? I was relaxed, uninhibited, and mouthier than ever. “Holy crap. I’m totally high, aren’t I?” Everyone broke out in a fit of giggles as if they hadn’t just been whining and crying about their messy love lives. I took a look around the group and smiled. A wave of security and comradery washed over me, and while I was sure the weed had something to do with that—I really didn’t care. We were eight grown, responsible adults—well, most of us were, anyway. While I didn’t usually make a habit of breaking the law, this kind of thing was not uncommon amongst our kind. You know—the artsy millennial. I relished the moment, appreciating that this was exactly the kind of thing I’d been missing from my life. A group of friends who were just as zany as me. Thanks to them, I finally felt as if I belonged. I sat back, believing that, while everyone else talked amongst themselves. Ezra hopped over Milo’s legs and wedged himself next to me on the couch. “Someone’s having fun,” he sang, kissing me openly on the mouth. I buried my fingers in his scruff and kissed him back without an ounce of shame. We couldn’t get too carried away, however,

because my expertise was still in demand. “What about us?” Zander bellowed. “I want to hear what you have to say about me and Paulina.” “Dude, I’m not a fortune teller, you know.” “Shit, she’s fun when she’s snarky,” Milo chuckled. “Yeah, ain’t she cute?” Ezra crinkled his nose and winked. A crystal ball would’ve been clutch right about now because I still wasn’t clear on Paulina and Zander’s deal. I glanced at her and noticed she seemed aloof. She and Zander sat only inches apart, but they didn’t touch and she barely made eye contact with him, though he was subtly vying for her attention. “I’ll save you the worry, Jane,” she finally said. “His ex came back for him. I don’t even know what he’s still doing here.” “Lina,” he pleaded, reaching out to touch her arm. “Why don’t we go somewhere to talk —alone?” She spun to face him, and everyone trained their eyes in the couple’s direction. Nosy as hell and on the edge of their seats. I could totally understand Zander’s request for a time out. “What’s the difference?” She shrugged. “Everyone’s hashing it all out in the open. Just say it and then go find her. You don’t owe me anything. She’s your soul mate; I’m just the chick with the

cupcakes.” “Maybe we should give them some space,” Marley announced as she took Jasper’s hand and stood from the couch. “No! Stay. I swear, it’s okay. We’re all friends. Everyone’s having a good time. I don’t want to be the buzzkill of the group. I’ll be fine.” Paulina was not convincing; her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her lips turned down at the corners. “Here.” Milo offered her what was now left of the community stash. She accepted, took a puff, and continued ignoring Zander. “What is the deal with the ex?” I asked. I was totally getting a handle on this whole meddling thing. “If Paulina would let me explain,” Zander huffed. Again, all eyes homed in on him, Paulina’s included. “Floor’s all yours,” she grumbled. He scanned the group and threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, fuck it. Why not? If you all must know, Zoe didn’t come back for me. She came back for her cat. She’s not having second thoughts about calling things off, and guess what! Neither am I. She can have the fugly cat. She can go back to Manchester with the entire contents of our apartment if she wants. I’m happy right where I am. I’m happy to have a fresh start. And most of all,

Paulina, I’m happy with you.” His voice cracked and the vulnerability in his tone spoke volumes about his sincerity. And I was definitely not the only one to notice. Marley clutched her heart, Emmy sighed, and Paulina’s expression turned from hopeless to dreamy. “Really?” she asked in disbelief. “Yeah.” Zander nodded. That’s all it took for her to fly into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck. “I wasn’t ready to let you go.” “Good, because I need holding on to.” If this wasn’t a certifiable lovefest, I didn’t know what was. Somehow, each of us had found a match that was right for us, right now. Sure, there were kinks to work out, but what relationship didn’t have them. We were young and there was plenty of time to have fun while we ironed them out. Or worse case, we started over. “You seem pretty pleased with yourself,” Ezra said, nuzzling up against me. “That’s because I am.” “Glad you listened to me and ventured out for this party?” he asked. “Mmm hmm.” I was. This whole night was perfection. Ezra and I were ending the summer on a high note, as were the other three couples I now called friends. I felt partly responsible and I had enough material to write an entire urban romance

series. “You’ve got it all plotted out in that pretty little head of yours, don’t you?” Ezra eyed me over the rim of his glass and finished off the last of his whiskey. Embarrassed to admit he already knew me too well, I blinked and adjusted my glasses. I looked around the rooftop. An infusion of culture and diversity was right outside my door at any given moment. It made me realize I was living the life so many women my age only dreamed of. I could travel the world in search of inspiration, but there was no need; I could find it all in this tiny slice of heaven I called home. Hipsters weren’t the only thing Brooklyn had to offer, but I sure was happy it brought me to mine. THE END . . . FOR NOW Read on for more New York City based fun with a glimpse of Moore to Love, also by Faith Andrews.

all of you who have stood behind me and helped me continue on this amazing journey. Without your love and support, none of this would be possible. It warms my heart and makes me happier than you could ever imagine that you chose this book out of the millions out there. I hope it’ll entice you to check out the rest of them. Thank you again for being part of my book family. First and foremost, to my beautiful children, my husband, and my remarkable family and friends. You’ve let the old me explore the world the new me enjoys so much. Having you along for this adventure is just the icing on the cake. To the list of ladies who master the art of behind the scenes awesomeness. My thank you list belongs to Trish Mint, Ashley Jasper and Saffron A. Kent for beta reading, Marisa-rose Robyn of Cover Me Darling, LLC for creating this perfectly hip cover, Brenda Letendre of Write Girl Editing for editing, Shawna Gavas of Behind the Writer for proofreading, Christine Borgford of Type A Formatting for formatting, Linda Russell and the entire Foreword PR & Marketing team for everything under the sun, and countless Gotta Have THANK YOU TO

Faithers, author friends, readers, bloggers and pimpers alike for spreading the word. You rock my socks off. Thank you, readers, for picking this up and spending time in the pages of my world. I encourage you to leave a review; it’s equivalent to a hug for the author. If you liked the hipsters, let me know! Shout it out in a message or email— feedback is my favorite! I would love to revisit and continue with all four of these couples, so stay tuned for more from this eclectic bunch and in the meantime, continue reading for an excerpt of my rom com, Moore to Love which also takes place in the greatest city in the world.

BIG BONED. PLUS-SIZED. JUNK in the trunk. Muffin top. Thunder thighs. Chubster. Fat. I’ve heard it all over the course of my life because, unfortunately, that’s what I am. There’s no two ways around it or my frumpy, jiggly body. I am not the ideal. While the majority of Americans are tipping the scale these days, I’m still not considered the image of flawless beauty and sleek perfection most men desire. How do I know this, you ask? Well, because I’m single. Alone, unloved, unwanted. Twenty-five and on the road to spinsterhood. Heartbreaking, I know. But don’t dwell on it. I don’t. I mean, I guess that’s what I’m doing right now, but that’s only because the bitch in my chair just rudely pointed out the obvious. “You have such a pretty face.” I force an unenthusiastic smile, assuming she’ll leave it at that, letting the unspoken words “if you only lost

weight” dangle awkwardly between us. But nope. Not this time . . . The Barbie doll-looking wench actually takes the liberty to continue. “I bet you could be a model. You know, like for Lane Bryant or, oh!!! What about Hips and Curves? With your cheek bones and trendy style you could . . .” She rambles on and on about my finest qualities, all while sticking it to me about my unavoidable plumpness. Nodding and yessing her to death, I go on with my work. Painting her face is effortless. I have a great canvas. Smooth ivory skin, neatly groomed brows, and lips that collagen freaks would pay insane amounts of money for. This chick is everything I wish I was. Blonde, blue-eyed, spunky, beautiful, and most importantly, thin. As I brush her lids with a shimmery pink shadow, I allow my insecurities to get the best of me. Thousands of recurring promises to restart a diet, rejoin the gym, and revamp my life jog through my discouraged mind. I’ve been here before. A beautiful girl sits in my chair to be dolled up for a date or a wedding or whatever and I swear to myself I’ll do everything in my power to look more like her. But it never works. I don’t have solid motivation. My parents love me as I am—they’re great parents. Great, overweight parents. I’m perfect to them even if I can’t squeeze my ass into

a pencil skirt the way I long to. My best friend, Tatum, is the most non-judgmental person in the entire world. She has friends of all races, creeds, and sizes. Her last birthday get-together looked like a meeting between the United Nations and Ringling Brothers. No joke. And then there’s me. Don’t get me wrong, I love so many things about my life. My job, my apartment, my family, my friends. Oh, and I have great hair—even if it’s not the color of Goldilocks’ here in my chair. Yes, thank you God for gracing me with a long flowing mane of hazelnut locks, but did you have to give me Mom’s ass and Dad’s sausage fingers? I mean, what do you have against me? It’s not God’s fault I’m five foot six and over two hundred and twenty pounds. And I should love myself no matter what. Be proud of my accomplishments and happy for what I do have. Unfortunately, I’m my own worst enemy. Positivity has never been my strong point. And goddamn it, sue me for loving food. I’m Italian. We eat. A lot. It’s a lifestyle. And no amount of burpees or crunches can burn away the nine hundred course meal Mom makes every Sunday without fail. Meatballs, pasta, prosciutto bread. Yum! “Hello?” The girl interrupts my drooling. “I think you’re putting on a little too much liner.” I have a heavy hand but I know what I’m

doing. Her eyes look sick. She should thank me for making the turquoise hue pop even brighter. I step back to appraise what looks like a makeup masterpiece. I’m usually all for what the client wants, but she looks gorgeous and I’d hate to erase what I’ve already done. “Would you mind letting me finish first? I think you’ll really wind up li—” “No! I said it’s too much. Tristan hates too much. It’s his birthday and I want to make sure he likes how I look.” She fingers her hair and purses her lips. I stop myself from rolling my eyes but try to convince her one more time. “I promise it won’t be too much. In fact, I think your boyfriend will—” Miss Prissy Pants releases a haughty laugh, snort and all. “Oh yeah? How would you know? You’re a pretty girl but I don’t see how someone like you would care about impressing anyone else.” Whoa. Did she just—? Yeah, she totally went there. I’d love to smack the MAC right off her face, but instead I take a cleansing breath and let it roll off my too-wide shoulders. Kill her with kindness, Leni. The customer’s always right. “Of course. I’m sorry. Let me just grab some remover.” I ignore the vein throbbing at my temple, telling me to get the tweezers and pluck this girl’s brows to smithereens. When I return to bitchface she’s staring at herself in the vanity mirror, admiring my work. She likes it. I can tell. Usually when a client is unhappy

they avoid the mirror after the first glance. She’s turning her head to see her makeup at every angle. I might not look like her but that doesn’t mean I’m not good at what I do. “Um, you sure you don’t want to keep it? If you like it, that’s what matters. Don’t settle for less just to impress your man.” I don’t know what’s come over me or why I’m being so persistent but it has to have something to do with the irony of the situation. She’s drop dead gorgeous, with or without makeup, and yet here she is worried about looking the way her boyfriend prefers. If she’s not secure in her own skin, how can someone like me ever be? She takes one more look, focusing her attention on the beautiful mixture of colors I’ve applied to her eyes. I expect her to storm out of my chair and demand a refund or another makeup artist, but to my surprise, she smiles and says, “You know what? You’re right. It does look pretty awesome, if you ask me. Continue. I’m sorry I was such a bitch.” And with that, my faith in humanity is restored. It’s not every day someone who looks like her is as nice on the inside as they are on the eyes. I smile back and keep on with my bad self and my mad cosmetology skills. “Mom, Dad, Leni? You guys here?” My brother, Reynold, bursts through my parents’ house, bellowing like, well, like Reynold. He’s always

making an entrance, no matter what the event. Today just happens to be any other ordinary Sunday dinner, but in true Reynold style he stumbles in like Cosmo Kramer and steals the attention of everyone around him. “My baby boy!” Mom runs over to him and squeezes his cheeks. They’re covered in dark, prickly scruff. He’s been growing out his beard and taking the whole men-with-hair-do-it-better movement by the balls. I can’t blame him; it totally suits him. He’s really good looking and, geez, does he know it. “Smells good, Ma. What time’s dinner?” He beelines it to the stove and lifts the lid off the big pot to take a peek. Mom scurries over and slaps his hand. “Leave it! And don’t touch the bread. Your sister already ate half a loaf. Save some for dinner.” “Leni, I thought you were doing the no carb thing. What happened, babe?” Reynold sits next to me at the kitchen table, kissing my round cheek and punching me in the arm. “I tried but carbs make me happy. Sorry not sorry.” “No, Leni! Carbs are the enemy. I gave you the list of the good ones. Come on! We’ve been over this a million times. Cut them out and you’ll see a huge difference.” Leave it to my younger, in shape, muscular

brother, to try to school me in the weight loss department. I know he means well and he has a point, but I’m not in the mood. “Can we not today? Please? For once? I just want to enjoy my pasta and my loaf of bread and be left alone.” I had a rough morning—as in I ripped a pair of my favorite leggings pulling them up over my bubble butt—and I’m in desperate need of food therapy. Believe me, I know how ridiculous that sounds, but fuck off. “Suit yourself, but you’ll want to up your game soon,” he sings, wiggling in his chair like he used to when he was a kid with an entertaining story to tell. “And why’s that?” I prod, wondering what the hell he’s up to. “Where’s Dad? I wanted to wait for dinner to tell you guys, but I’m too excited.” “In the living room watching the game. Dad! Come in here, the Golden Child has news!” I holler in the direction of the den, envisioning Dad’s huff as he hauls himself off the couch. My father enters the kitchen, rubbing his beer belly. “This better be good. The Jets are finally coming back. Josie, can you grab me another cold one?” My mom does as asked—good Italian wife that she is—and then joins us at the table to pet and adore her wonderful son. “So, what’s up, Rey?” “Yeah, what does any of your news have to do with me abandoning my beloved carbs?” I ask,

curiosity eating away at me. I wish it would eat away ten pounds while it’s at it. “This!” Reynold pulls a black, velvet box from his pocket and slams it down on the table. He opens the square with a tiny squeak and a two-carat, princess cut diamond ring glistens under the light of Mom’s Tiffany chandelier like a Baby-Jesus-in-themanger miracle. Mom gasps. “Oh, my baby boy! How wonderful! When? How? What can I cook?” I shake my head. Now do you see why my life revolves around food? My mother’s had a menu set in her head for everything from our baptisms to the day I got my first period. “Calm your buns, Ma. I haven’t figured out how I’m going to ask her yet, but I’ll probably do it tonight. I can’t hold on to this thing knowing it’s not on her finger.” My brother’s face beams with happiness. Reynold’s been dating his girlfriend, Ashley, for three years now. I’m certain she was designed with my brother in mind. Not only are they perfect for each other, but she fits in with our family, too. We all love her. She’s a doll—like a real, live, blow up doll. Not the slutty kind, the flawless from head to toe kind. No, Ashley’s gorgeous, sexy, smart, refined. I want to hate her for it, but I can’t because she’s the sister I never had. Besides Tatum, of course. I jump up and throw my arms around my

brother. “Wow, Rey! This is amazing! I’m so happy for you!” I truly am. I don’t have one jealous bone in my body. I mean, it’s completely normal for your younger brother to tie the knot before you do. It’s absolutely acceptable for your parents to dote on him and his soon-to-be fiancé as if the sun rises and sets in their beauty. It’s positively okay that I’ll be forced to jam my ass into a couture bridesmaid gown. Reality sets in. That jealousy I swore I didn’t feel creeps up on me, too. “Hey, Ma. No pasta for me today, okay?” Reynold nudges me with his burly shoulder and chuckles. “That’s my girl! I’m proud of you!” And just like that, I start my one millionth crash diet, praying that this time something will keep me going and magically melt the pounds away. Available Now

living out her dream right outside the greatest city in the world, New York City. Happily married to her high school sweetheart, she is the mother of two beautiful and wild daughters, and a furry Yorkie son named Rocco Giovanni. When she’s not tapping her toes to a Mumford & Sons tune or busy being a dance mom, her nose is stuck in a book or she’s sitting behind the laptop, creating her next colorful daydream. Coffee addict, lover of wine and cheese, and sucker for concerts and Netflix, Faith believes in love at first sight and happily ever after. FAITH ANDREWS IS

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STANDALONES: Garden of Goodbyes Moore to Love A Taste of Love, a St. Helena Vineyards Kindle World novella THE DREAMS SERIES: Man of my Dreams Back to You After the Storm THE GRAYSON SIBLING SERIES: Keep Me Keep Her Keep Us THE FATE SERIES: First Came You Feel Again Freeing Destiny