Miller: Sorry, was this serious? My serious temperature taker said it was most decidedly not serious.
Ally: Like every conversation with you. :)
Miller: That’s why you love me.
Ally: I do love you. You’re the best friend a gal could have.
Miller: Note to self—remember that. Best friend a gal could have.
Miller: New note to self—there is nothing more that’s going to happen with Ally. Ever.
Miller: New new note to self—no matter how much you want to change her mind.
From the texts of Kirby & Macy
Kirby: I wanted you to know I’ve recovered.
Kirby: Well, mostly recovered.
Kirby: Actually, I’m still suffering.
Macy: What happened? Are you okay?
Kirby: From the way you and my sister subjected me to hearts and teddy bears at rehearsal today.
Macy: What sort of recovery has been required? Was it lots of chest-thumping, Tarzan-ing, and other exceedingly masculine pursuits?
Kirby: Mostly it was pizza and beer. That’s often the answer. To all of life’s questions. And to pretty much everything.
Macy: *rolling eyes hard* Also, I refuse to believe you hated it that much.
Kirby: I’m trying to understand how you like it so much. Why? Tell me why.
Macy: Are you seriously asking me?
Kirby: Yeah. I’m trying to understand the obsession that women seem to have with it.
Macy: Are you grouping me in with all women?
Kirby: Not in a bad way, but women seem to dig it.
Macy: I don’t think it’s only women who dig this holiday. There are a lot of guys who do too.
Kirby: Name one.
Macy: From what Ally tells me, Miller likes it.
Kirby: Miller likes everything. He’s the world’s happiest person.
Macy: And what’s so wrong with liking it? Or being happy?
Kirby: It’s a social construct.
Macy: Lots of things are social constructs. And we still like them. The obsession with hockey could be considered a social construct.
Kirby: Whoa. That’s hitting below the belt.
Macy: Did it hurt?
Kirby: Nah. It’s just other things below the belt are more fun.
Macy: From Valentine’s Day to social constructs to naughty jokes . . .
Kirby: I’m down with that direction.
Macy: I bet you are.
Kirby: Bet it all.
Macy: Anyway, I’ll get to the bottom of your disdain. :)
Kirby: How? Will you torture me with teddy bears and candy hearts?
Macy: I have my ways.
Kirby: I’d like to know what these ways are.
Macy: Would you, now?
Kirby: Yes, I very much would like to know your ways . . . especially if they go in certain directions . . .
Macy: I know what direction you mean . . .
4
Kirby
Tugging my jacket tighter, I turn the corner as the wind whips along the city street.
New York City is a cold mistress in winter, and this February she’s punishing all her residents. I’m done with work at the agency for the day—a task complicated by the minefield of secret cupid shenanigans at the office, but I’ve masterfully avoided all the valentine exchanges. It was a short day for me, and we’re recording the videos this evening. Then I’ll be done with this stupid holiday.
And on the day itself? Since Valentine’s Day is a Saturday, I’ll while away the day with sports and successfully avoid the love fiesta.
As I pass a jewelry store, I snap my gaze away from its obnoxious window signs about sweethearts and rings.
Besides, the whole complicated situation with Macy is another slap in the face. Even if I pursued something with her like I want to, it would surely go belly up. Bianca’s curse would prove true.
The woman I want is simply off-limits. She’s my friend, and friendships like this don’t come around often. I don’t want to chance messing it up.
Knowing my luck, I’d lose her as a friend.
I grab the door for Doctor Insomnia’s Coffee and Tea Emporium and head into my regular haunt. Escape at last—I can completely avoid the holiday in this store. The guy who owns the shop doesn’t have a single valentine decoration in the window.
God bless him.
I stride up to the counter and give a fist bump to Tommy, the owner. We catch up on music, and he gives me the names of some cool bands he’s been listening to. As I order a latte, he asks how things have been going at the ad agency.
“Working on a cool new ad campaign for a video game maker, and the client loved it. So I can’t complain about work.” That’s a place where I have good luck. “All’s well with you?”
“Life is always good,” he says as he makes a latte for a woman wearing a raspberry knit hat.
I glance around. “This shop is just what I need. I’m so glad you didn’t give into the madness of the holiday.”
The woman clears her throat, cutting in. “Could I trouble you to do one of those little latte hearts?”
“Absolutely,” Tommy says with a smile as he works his latte art magic.
I roll my eyes.
Tommy hands her the drink, and she grabs a seat. “You need to get over your hatred for Valentine’s Day,” he says, his tone a little stern.
“Why’s that?”
“Because someday you’re going to be with a nice woman, and she’s going to expect you to bring her flowers, roses, chocolate, everything.”
“Hopefully I’ll meet a nice woman who doesn’t expect those things.”
“I don’t think you need to meet a nice woman.” His growly, rough voice rumbles through his shop.
I furrow my brow. “Wait. You just said I needed to meet someone. I’m confused. Do I or don’t I?”
He presses his palms on the counter, his eyes intensely serious. “I think you already met her.”
“What are you talking about?”
He laughs and wipes the washcloth along the counter. “You met her a few years ago. Every time you come in here with Macy, you look at her like she’s the one you want to give flowers to, like she’s the one who deserves all the roses in the world, like she’s the one, like she’s the fucking one,” he says, emphasizing the last word.
I blink. I do? But inside, I’m wondering how did he nail it? Is it that obvious? I deny. “You’re crazy. I don’t want to give her flowers. We’re friends. Therefore, it’ll never work.”
Hello? Doesn’t he understand that I was cursed by a wicked witch?
Tommy shakes his head, laughing. “You young kids.”
I’m not that young. “I’m twenty-seven.”
“That’s young.”
“What are you saying I should do, O wise one?”
He drops the cloth, stares at me. “I’m saying that maybe you ought to get over your hatred of this holiday. And maybe you ought to get over all the reasons you’re not pursuing anything with the lovely blonde. Want to know why?”
“Tell me why.”
His eyes pin me with an intensity I rarely see in them. “Because she’s a sweetheart. A fun, great, kind, and caring woman. If you don’t see all that, trust me—another man will.”
I bristle, ten tons of annoyance landing on my shoulders. “How can you be so sure?”
He scoffs. “Some things you just know. Someone will appreciate her.” He reaches across the counter to poke me. “The question is—will it be you?”
I heave a sigh. “But what if it doesn’t work out?”
He answers with an eye roll. “What do you want to drink, kid?”
“Latte, please.”
He softens his tone as he sets to work on the beverage. “I know you think you’re full of bad luck or some such nonsense. But luck is what you make. So make your own luck. Let the woman know you’ve got it bad for her.”
His points are prodding at my skull, making me reflect on my own
reluctance. Still, the obstacles seem too big. “And what about the fact that she’s best friends with my sister? What about the fact that we’re friends?”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Complications, whatever. You can sort it all out. In the old days, you know what the complications used to be? A soldier was going off to war and he wasn’t going to see his woman for four years. That was a motherfucking complication. You’ve got a minor problem.”
“I feel like that’s not really a fair analogy,” I say, deadpan-style.
“No, it’s not a fair analogy, and that’s my point. You don’t have a big problem. You have a little, itty-bitty, teeny problem, and little problems can be solved easily. Man up. Are you man enough to give the woman you want a latte with a heart on it?”
I shudder.
But somewhere inside, I know he’s asking the right questions.
And I need to find answers.
He slides me the latte he made for me, adding a heart.
I rein in my desire to roll my eyes.
I drink it, and as I do, I contemplate. I marinate. I wonder.
Fuck it.
I order two to go.
5
Macy
As I dust eye shadow on Ally’s lids, she hums a few lines from the song they’re recording shortly.
“Oh, I like that one,” I tell her. I take a step back and appraise my handiwork. “You look amazing when you’re made-up, but just the right amount of made-up.”
Ally smiles at me. “You always have to make sure I look like the quintessential good girl for the vids.”
I giggle in an over-the-top way, like her wholesomeness is the best-kept secret. “And we know you’re really not a good girl.”
“I’m good enough.” She trails off with a wink.
Kirby and Ally have been racking up YouTube views since they launched their brother-and-sister act a few years ago, singing sweet and lovely songs like “Amazing Grace” meets “Somewhere Over The Rainbow.” Beautiful, rich, heartfelt songs in the kind of duet style that makes everyone want to go full Glee.
I remove a lip liner from my makeup bag. “I love your good girl persona. And I know it’s mostly true. But then again, I know plenty of other secret details about you.”
“Like what?” She lifts a skeptical brow as I uncap the liner.
“Like how much you’re into Miller.”
Her jaw drops. “I’m not into Miller. We’re just best friends.”
I pretend to be taken aback. “What am I? Chopped liver?”
“Best guy friend,” she clarifies. “And I’m not into him like that.”
I outline her lips. “You were when you first met him. Don’t try to deny it.”
“I’m not denying it, but we made a decision to focus on the friendship. Sort of like you and Kirby.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Your brother and I never made that decision. We fell into it.”
She smacks my free arm playfully. “Well, fall out of it. Go get your man.”
“Are you seriously telling me to go after your brother?”
She nods. “Uh, yeah. Can you please, please, please put him out of his misery?” Ally clasps her hand to her mouth, careful to avoid touching her freshly glossed lips. “Oops. Didn’t mean to be so pushy. But seriously, you guys are destined to be together.”
Hope flutters through me. I’m so damn lucky she’s behind me on this count. But just to be sure, I ask, “Are you absolutely positive you don’t hate the idea of me being with your brother?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m positive.”
“And you think we’re meant to be?”
“Like peanut butter and chocolate. I don’t care about the whole opposites attract thing. There’s enough in your core and his core that’s the same.”
I reflect on her words, thinking back to our texts last night, to all our texts, all our conversations, our easy way of talking. Even when we don’t see eye to eye, Kirby and I seem to enjoy not seeing eye to eye.
“You might be right,” I muse.
“Maybe give him the kick in the pants he needs, then?”
A huge smile crosses my lips. “I’d like to. I’m ready to try.” I tap her shoulder with a makeup brush. “Also, I still think you should go for it with Miller.”
She whips her head back and forth. “No, we’re only going to be friends. I don’t want to lose him.”
I grab a tube of mascara. “Are you saying friends can’t be lovers?”
She taps her chest. “For me. I’m saying it for me.”
“Ah, so you admit you have a thing for him?” I say like I’ve caught her red-handed as I finish a quick touch-up on her lashes.
She growls. “Nope. Did not.”
“That’s okay. I know you did.”
“But none of that matters, Macy. The night we met we agreed to be only friends.”
I stare at the ceiling as if I’m deep in thought, then back at my friend. “Did you actually agree, or did you decide in your head you wanted him to be your friend so you would never be tempted to pursue anything more and get hurt?”
She hisses. “She-devil. You’re always trying to trip me up on semantics.”
I flash a smile. “It’s easy to do because you keep holding yourself to this arbitrary, silly, ridiculous rule. The very same one you want me to break.”
“It’s a rule that makes sense.”
After I put the finishing touches on her cheeks, I tuck my brushes away and zip up my makeup bag. “I think you should break your rule.”
Kirby strolls into the rehearsal space. “What rule should she break?”
I flash him a smile. “I think she and Miller should go for it. Do you agree?”
“And risk the friendship?” Kirby arches a brow.
“Yes.”
“Is that worth the risk?”
Confidently, I raise my chin, even though nerves flitter everywhere inside me. “Some things are worth the risk.”
“Like what?”
“Like telling someone how you feel,” I say, and I want to say more. To tell him everything. That I want him to be mine.
Every year since I’ve known him, I’ve hoped he’d be mine.
I want him to tell me he’s been crazy about me too, then pin me against the wall and kiss the breath out of me. He could take my wrists in his hands, slide them up the wall, and plant kisses all over my neck. He could bring his lips to mine and devour me. And I’d let him. I would let him devour me because that’s what I want more than anything. I want red-hot kisses and dirty, naughty sex with my friend. I want my friend to become my lover.
But right now, I want the latte he hands me. One for me, and one for his sister.
“Best brother ever,” Ally declares as she takes off the lid.
When I remove the lid from my cup, mine has a heart drawn in foam. Mine’s the only one with a heart on it.
And the presence of it makes the organ in my chest somersault.
We spend the next few hours recording their video series. Every now and then when they’re at the keyboard, when he’s singing, I swear he looks at me.
Like maybe he’s seeing me in a different way.
Like maybe that heart means something more.
6
Kirby
Are you man enough to give the woman you love a latte with a heart on it?
Hell yeah. I manned all the way up.
But that’s not enough.
Once we’re done with the videos and Ally leaves, the night is still young.
“That latte was fantastic,” Macy says, and there’s a hint of something more in her voice.
I seize the chance. “Want another? We can go to Doctor Insomnia’s and—”
“Have a piece of cake instead?”
“Cake is definitely a good idea. Is cake one of your ways of making me talk?”
She smiles at me, a coquettish look in her eyes, like we have a secret. “I suppose we’ll see.”
“I think I’ll like th
is way. I think I’ll like it very much.”
We order two teas and a slice of chocolate cake to share, and as Tommy hands the plate to me, he gives me a sly nod. “Go for it,” he hisses as Macy walks to the table.
“All in due time,” I hiss back. I return for the mugs then join Macy in the corner of the shop. We trade bites of cake, along with praise for this dessert. Midway through, she sets down her fork. “Why do you hate Valentine’s Day?”
I exhale and tell her the truth. “I was cursed when I was eleven.”
She laughs, but when I don’t laugh back, she schools her expression.
But then I chuckle too. “Look, it’s silly, but I was truly cursed.”
“You really believe that?”
“Yes, no, maybe?”
I give her the details—the broken nose, Lily Van Tassel, and the hex that started it all.
“Fine. So you had a spate of bad luck. I get that. I had the opposite—lots of good luck on this day.”
Dating Mr. Right: A Collection: Four Standalone Romantic Comedies Page 11