Pleasantly Popped: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love & Alliteration Book 3)

by Holly Kerr

  Ross, Rachel and the rest have their faces plastered over a pinball machine. “Cool.”

  And then I glance around to make sure no one within hearing distance overheard me refer to a pinball machine as ‘cool.’

  Of course we waste time and money playing it.

  Or maybe not waste. Ruthie leans against me after she loses her first ball. I slip my arm around her as she pulls back for a shot.

  “This is fun,” she says with a grin.

  “It is,” I agree.

  She winks. “I’m fun.”

  I manage to drop a kiss on the side of her head before her ball ricochets around the game. “I know.”

  The afternoon is gone by the time we start the drive home, after stopping at the concession stand in the arcade for popcorn.

  “Are you going to share with me this time?” I ask, brushing Ruthie with my shoulder.

  At first she teasingly holds the bag away from me as I reach for it, but finally she concedes and offers me her popcorn. I feel a swell of happiness as I take a handful.

  “Don’t eat it all,” she warns.

  Back in the truck, Ruthie stares out the window. As hard as I try, I can’t see her expression. “What are you thinking about?” I finally ask. “You got quiet.”

  “It happens sometimes.” She turns to me with a wistful expression on her face. “I had fun today.”

  “I did too,” I say, unnerved by her sudden seriousness.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Her voice is cool and accusing and I shake my head at the change that’s come over her.

  “Why would that be a problem?”

  “I don’t know.” She turns back to the window. “I just think it might be.”

  That’s all she says until my phone chimes a few minutes later. “Can you see where it is on the seat?” I ask, trying to keep my eyes on the road.

  “Here.” She holds it up. “Want me to read it?”

  “Uh—sure.” I’m not in the habit of letting women I date read my phone—

  Is this a date?

  That’s a question for another time as Ruthie glances at my phone. “It’s from someone called Mom,” she says with a smile.

  “Who would be my mother? What’s she say?” Ruthie begins to silently read it. “Out loud is good,” I prompt.

  “Well, it sounds like your mother is playing matchmaker. She’s arranged for you to meet a woman.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you want to hear more about her?”

  “Uh…I don’t know…”

  “Well, I do. Apparently, Lola is lovely. A good, church-going girl. A teacher like you. She thinks you’ll really hit it off. In fact, she’s so sure about lovely Lola that she already set up a time for her to meet you tomorrow night. You’re to call your mother to find out the details.”

  “Thanks.” There’s nothing else I think of to say. I remember the mental note I made to tell Mom to lay off the matchmaking but other conversations got in the way.

  “You should thank your mother,” Ruthie says brightly. “Because—” She waves my phone. “Sounds like you’ve got a date!”

  I can’t tell if she really means it. “That’s what my mother does,” I mutter. “She tries to find me a girlfriend.”

  “That’s what happened with that girl in the bar the other night?”

  “Paulina? Yes.”

  “And that went really well, didn’t it?”

  “She tries,” I say defensively. “She means well. She wants to see me happy and settled down with someone nice.”

  “Is that what you want too?” Ruthie asks after a long pause.

  “My mom’s done a lot for me. She has MS,” I add slowly. “She’s doing okay now, but we don’t know…”

  “You mentioned that,” Ruthie says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  “I want to make her happy,” I admit. “If I can find someone…” I trail off, not sure how to explain. “She’s never liked any of the women I’ve gone out with, so I think it’s helpful to take some suggestions from her.”

  Ruthie stares fixedly out the window. “If you can find someone she likes enough, then you’ll marry her? Is that what you’re getting at?”

  “No, but…I don’t know. Maybe. All my mother wants is for me to settle down.”

  “Well, she won’t like you with me.” Her tone is decisive, firm, like she’s made up her mind. Things start spinning out of control.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I’m not the settling down type. You said so yourself.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.” What happened to our good day of fun and laughter? How did we get here, with Ruthie slowly trying to drive me crazy?

  And not in a good way.

  “Your mother cares enough about you to try to make you happy,” Ruthie says with a hint of resentment. “I think that’s great because not all parents will go out of their way for that. I think you should definitely meet this woman. You have to.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” I say angrily.

  “Can you say no to your mother?” she shoots back.

  “Do you want me to meet her?” I glance over to find her still staring out the window at the lights of the cars on the highway. “Do you want me to go out with someone else? Is this what you want? Because I thought…Maybe I’m wrong,” I mutter.

  Maybe I am.

  There is silence in the cab of the truck between us—an ugly, awkward silence that grows and separates us.

  I feel it happening. Any good that came out of today is over now.

  Ruthie takes a deep breath and I have a swell of hope she can somehow make this right. “It’s like on Bachelor in Paradise when Katie told the guy—I can’t remember his name—to go out with the new girl because she wanted to make sure he made the right choice.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They do it on reality shows all the time. A couple have a connection and they want to make sure it’s a good one, so one of them go out with a new person. It’s like a confirmation that both are in the same place.”

  “That’s insane!”

  “It’s not, it helps you know what you want. I see it all the time on reality television.”

  “Yes, but unlike you, I don’t live my life like a reality show.”

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know they’re the wrong ones. Especially since Ruthie says nothing more on the rest of the drive home.

  Of course, we end the day on a bad note. How can there be any other notes between us?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ruthie

  I tell Trev to go meet his mom’s setup, mainly because I’d rather be the one telling him to go, than him telling me he went. Or just meet her and not tell me.

  I don’t tell him that the thought of him with anyone else is like a swift kick in the stomach that sucks the happiness out of me.

  And I was happy today with him. So happy.

  But I need him to be sure about me. I know I’m a lot to take with my baggage and my backstory. Trev is like no one I’ve met before.

  I’ve met men like him, but never been interested. And I know I’m nothing like the women he’s used to. The ones he brings home to his mother. He needs to be sure about me before we go any further.

  I’m pretty sure about him, not completely, but pretty sure. He needs to feel that way too, and since I don’t know if he does, it’s best to put on the breaks. It’s not like there’s anything between Trev and me. A few kisses, a bit of fun…

  I’ve gotten engaged over less than that.

  But it’s the reality remark that does it for me. It’s not like I don’t enjoy a good argument. I was on the debate team in high school, and I know how to talk my way around someone. But that hurt. Does he really think that little of me? Because that’s what it sounded like.

  He hurt me, and I don’t like that. It’s been a long time since I allowed a man to hurt my feelings.

  After Trev lets me off at M.K.’s with
out a goodbye kiss or a promise to call, I unlock the door to find the cats waiting impatiently. Even Pennywise seems to be looking for Drogo.

  “He’s not here,” I tell them, not sure if I’m referring to Trev or Drogo. “And I don’t know if he’ll be back.”

  I can’t blame him. I probably confused the heck out him.

  Is that better than confusing myself?

  In the morning, back in my fuzzy, frog-covered pajamas, and groggy from a restless night in a strange bed, I make a thorough investigation of M.K.’s kitchen.

  There are enough baking ingredients, pans and gadgets in her neatly organized cupboards to make every challenge on Master Chef. There’d be no verbal assaults from Gordon Ramsay here—everything has a place and there’s a place for everything. I have to smile when I think of a few drawers in Flora’s kitchen that look like they’ve been ransacked by a burglar looking for car keys. That’s more my style.

  M.K. has a drawer just for her spatulas. And they are all black or white; no colourful tools for her.

  Also there’s no morning food, other than the half dozen eggs in the fridge. No fun boxes of sugary cereal, no loaves of freshly baked bread.

  It shouldn’t surprise me, considering she owns a patisserie and probably eats her breakfast there. I debate walking over to Pain for something to eat, but when I can’t find any coffee, other than the decaffeinated kind, my mind is made up.

  How can M.K. not drink coffee in the morning? She has to get up to make her pain au chocolat, so shouldn’t she need a lot of caffeine in the morning?

  I’ve never understood M.K.

  I get bundled up for the long walk to Pain au Chocolat. The icy chill in the air from yesterday has disappeared but it’s still cold enough for me to wish someone I know would drive by and pick me up.

  Someone who has a big black pickup truck, with a big, black dog riding shotgun.

  I don’t even try to push Trev out of my thoughts as I trudge along the sidewalk, careful to avoid the ice patches. I like him. I liked spending time with him yesterday.

  I really liked how he kissed me.

  It’s safe to say that I haven’t liked anyone as much as Trev for a long while.

  So why did I push him away? Because in the cold light of the morning, it’s obvious that’s exactly what I did.

  Spouting the reality show stuff, like I actually live my life like that? What was I thinking?

  Have I just thrown the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time away?

  But who’s saying it would work? We don’t have enough in common. We’re too different. We can’t even spend an hour together without finding something to argue about.

  He’s vanilla and I’m pistachio gelato made with soy milk. He’s red gumdrops and I’m popcorn, the caramel crunch kind. I’m all about eating pasta for breakfast and he’d rather have oatmeal. The plain kind.

  His mother would hate me, like all mothers do.

  As much as it works in movies, opposites don’t always attract and enemies don’t always turn into lovers.

  At least it doesn’t work out that way for me.

  Pain au Chocolat has the usual lineup this morning when I arrive. I rub my hands together as I wait, wishing I’d remembered my gloves.

  “Hey, Ruthie!” M.K.’s greeting is warmer than usual.

  “There she is! I haven’t seen you in forever!” Adam reaches across the counter to give me a hug. “Girl, you’re positively frigid. I’m getting you an extra-large coffee and something hot to eat.”

  “How are my cats?” M.K. demands as Adam heads to make me my coffee.

  “Sleeping soundly when I left. Do you know, Pennywise fell in cat love with Trev’s dog?”

  This morning, M.K. picked a cheery yellow apron to wear over her blue dress, but the bright colour does nothing for the scowl on her face. “That big black monster? You let him in the house?”

  “He’s a sweetheart. They ended up curled up together for a nap.”

  M.K. eyes me with mistrust. “I don’t want him in the house. And I’m not sure I want to know why Trev’s dog was at my place.”

  I hold up my still chilly hands. “Perfectly innocent reason. He helped me move in yesterday, and I repaid him by introducing him to Friends. We hung out.” I do my best to sound casual, like my heart isn’t hammering just speaking his name. And I really hope M.K. isn’t the mind-reader I think she might be, or else she’s going to get a bird’s- eye view of my kissing Trev.

  “Did you?” M.K. folds her arms, still looking skeptical.

  “I did. Or, we did. Hang out,” I clarify. “No big deal.” I glance around to see where my coffee is, only to discover Adam listening to our conversation.

  “I thought you were going to take it easy on Trev,” M.K. says slowly.

  “It’s not like I’m making it hard for him,” I burst. “I’m the one who has to wait until he goes out with this perfect girl his mother wants him to meet. She’s trying to set him up, and he’s going along with it.”

  Because I told him to. Because I acted like I don’t care.

  But I care more than a little bit. I care a lot. The image of Trev sitting across from a model-perfect woman like Gigi Hadid or Ashley Graham is going to play a starring role in tonight’s insomnia.

  “What are you talking about?” M.K. asks with confusion.

  “His mother is trying to set him up with the perfect woman. Sound familiar?”

  M.K. shakes her head. “Parental setups are never a good thing.”

  “But it’s apparently what Trev wants, so who am I to argue?”

  Adam brings my coffee with a sympathetic expression. “You okay, sweetie?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay? There’s nothing between Trev and me!” Forgetting to ask about Reuben’s popcorn cupcakes, I throw my change on the counter and grabbing my coffee, storm out the door.

  Instead of making the long walk back to her place, I stomp down the sidewalk to Fleur. Flora always makes things better and she’s the best at helping me understand the mess of my life.

  As I push open the door, Flora looks up with a smile which slips when she recognizes me. “Hey.”

  “That’s all the welcome you give for your favourite niece?” I wipe my wet boots on the mat by the door and glance around at the shop. The Christmas decorations are already away, giving space to a garden of green by the window surrounding what appears to be a tiny sand box with a rake. “Did you make a Zen garden?”

  “Everyone always jumps on the self-help bandwagon in January,” Flora explains. “Plants are a great way to soothe and relax, and the chance to play in the sand will get customers in here.”

  I turn to her with surprise. “That makes sense.”

  “I hope so, because I haven’t had anyone in here this morning.”

  “It’s still early.” I pick up the rake and drag it through the white sand. “There. So it doesn’t look so pristine.” Flora smiles distractedly, her attention on the papers before her on the counter. “What’s going on?”

  Flora heaves a sigh that sounds like the weight of the world is heaped on her shoulders. Or at least the family business. “Dean wants me to go to Florida with him next month for a couple of weeks and I don’t have anyone to watch the shop for me. There’s no way that Imogen is going to come back so soon after the baby, and Heather finally quit, which is kind of a good thing.”

  “She’s the one who was hung up on Clay?” I walk over to the counter, fingering the jade plant beside the cash register.

  “Apparently she was hung up on him enough not to be able to work near his new girlfriend.” Flora shakes her head with disgust. “I’m good to be rid of her.”

  “Sounds like it. Have you hired someone to replace her?”

  “No, because I hate interviewing,” she wails, startling Cappie who is asleep on the floor beside the counter. “Imogen always does it, but I can’t ask her to cut back on her maternity leave just to find my someone.”

  “I’ll do it,” I say quick
ly. It’s like things suddenly slot into place, like the giant Plinko board on Price is Right. M.K. told me to get a job, suggested it was better not to go home for a while. And for once I don’t think about how it would drive my mother crazy to know I’m working with Flora.

  It would drive her crazy, but that’s not why I offer.

  “You’ll find me someone to work here?” Flora asks with confusion.

  “No, I’ll work here. For as long as you need me to.”

  Trev

  I have two more days in my vacation and I vow not to waste them thinking about Ruthie.

  But I can’t stop thinking about her.

  I don’t understand her at all. What kind of woman gives a guy permission to go out with someone else?

  The kind that doesn’t like the guy as much as he likes her.

  So—whatever. It was a fun day, but that’s it. Obviously that’s all she thinks it is.

  But the way she opened up to me and got me to tell her my secrets says differently. Plus, the kiss…that’s what is really confusing me. Knowing her, knowing part of her story tells me that kiss was something special.

  All I want to do is beg her to explain, but I need to sort out my own head before I see her. For the last few years—since Annabelle—I can’t figure out what I want, so why should I jump to the conclusion that Ruthie is it?

  Because I really think she is. I think we’d be great together.

  But before I do anything with Ruthie, today it’s my turn to take my mother to her doctor’s appointment. My brothers and I take turns chauffeuring Mom to give Dad a break. Today it’s only a routine check-up at the hospital, but every time there’s a doctor involved with my mother, it seems like bad news follows.

  As I drive her there, I make another mental note to tell my mother to stop with the setups. She’s always anxious before her appointments, so that conversation can wait until later.

  At the hospital, I wheel my mother into the doctor’s office and run up a few floors to Annabelle’s room. It’s only been a week since I’ve been there, but after telling Ruthie about her, there’s a pull telling me I need to go.