by Piper Rayne
But I can’t focus. My mind keeps wandering to this morning with Colton. A man I’ve known almost as long as I knew my father. Colton’s my rock, the one person I depend on, and his upcoming wedding will change that. He’s not going to run over with soup when I’m sick, veg out with me when I’m depressed, call me up when he has something he needs to talk about. We won’t go on our road trips on the first real nice day of spring. Or cheer on his alma mater, the Rams, on opening college football day. He’ll do all those things with her.
The bell on my door dings, pulling me from the funk I’ve found myself in since the announcement of his upcoming nuptials. A tall, handsome man with dimples so deep, most women drool over them stands inside my office. I’ve had beautiful women use my services on occasion because they feel like they keep attracting the same type of man, but drop-dead gorgeous men are unicorns in my office.
“Hi.” I push away from my desk, holding out my hand while breaking the distance. “Juno Bailey, your matchmaker.”
He shakes my hand and I make a mental note: firm handshake, smooth skin, kind smile. “Hello. I’m Jason Graham.”
“Nice to meet you. Please help yourself to a cookie. Sorry about the children’s theme going on. Mix up at the bakery. Would you like a drink?”
He glances at the box and shakes his head. A guy like him probably stays away from refined sugar and has already had a protein shake after his workout this morning. Think, Juno. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“Have a seat.” I motion for him to sit in the chair in front of my desk.
“This place is cute. I don’t come to Lake Starlight very often.”
I eye the tattoo peeking out of his shirt sleeve. He’s dressed casually, in jeans and a nice V-neck T-shirt, but a T-shirt no less. Which means he doesn’t have a demanding white-collar job that takes him out of the state. Many women don’t prefer when a man has to constantly travel for work.
“Thanks. I’m born and bred, so I’m a bit prejudiced. Go Spartans!” I raise my fist.
“No worries, I’m not originally from Greywall.”
That’s good, since Greywall and Lake Starlight are rivals in the high school sports circuit. So much so that sometimes grown adults still have riffs.
“When did you move to Greywall?” I ask.
“About two years ago. I’m originally from Seattle. Followed my fiancée to Alaska.”
I frown. “I’m sorry.”
He looks at me skeptically.
“I figure if you’re coming to a matchmaker, you’re no longer engaged?”
He laughs and nods. “Right. Slow on the uptake. Our engagement ended about six months after I followed her here, but I fell in love with Alaska. Go figure, right? I love the one state with more males than females.”
I smile. “Don’t worry. I can’t imagine you’re a hard person to match. Mind if we start in on the personal questions?”
He straightens in his chair. “Shoot.”
I ask him the series of questions I’ve developed and find out that he’s an optometrist. His office is closed on Mondays, but that means he works Saturdays. He loves the outdoors, which is a given since he fell in love with Alaska. You have to be somewhat of an outdoors person to live here. He’s an avid hiker and adventure enthusiast.
“Have you ever done an excursion with Lifetime Adventures?” I ask.
“No. When I first moved here, I checked them out, they seemed really serious and I felt like I might not be able to keep up, but I see they have some novice survivalist excursions now.”
“My brother owns it.” I pull one of their cards out of my desk. “Tell him I sent you.”
He twirls it in his hand. “Perfect.”
“Now let’s get into what you’re looking for in a woman. Please feel free to be as picky and specific as you’d like. I can’t say I’ll get all the boxes checked—I might find a blonde who’s better suited for you than a brunette—but tell me what you’re attracted to.”
He eyes me and his cheeks turn a slight pink. “Are you really asking me to pick my dream girl?”
“I am.”
He rubs his hands together, and we both laugh. “I’d say she’s five-five or so. A smile that makes you feel like you walked into a house that smells of freshly baked bread. Eyes that show all her feelings.”
My pen stops on the paper. “That’s it?”
He laughs. “She has to want a serious relationship and have a sense of humor. I know a lot of guys probably come in here and tell you that. But for me, it’s a must. To be honest, there’s a reason I came to you.”
I drop the pen on the paper. “Why?”
“I know of your family. I hope that doesn’t sound creepy.” He cringes.
It should, but it doesn’t. The Baileys are pretty well known in the area. Mostly because when your parents die at the same time and leave their nine kids as orphans, a small town bands together and I think, in a sense, a lot of Lake Starlight’s residents think of us as their own.
“I came here for the last Founder’s Day with a friend and he was telling me the story of your family during the parade. The Baileys are fortunate at finding love, so I figured I’d go to the expert.”
I inwardly laugh. He wouldn’t think that if he knew I’m about to watch my best friend marry someone else because after years of friendship, I just realized I love him. I wouldn’t call me an expert in anything other than failure. “Well, my siblings have had success, but I must warn you, I’m still single, along with two other siblings.”
He chuckles. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, Kingston is messed up—that’s a whole other story—and Sedona is still young. She’s pretty serious about this soccer—”
“I meant that you’re single.”
I rear back and heat fills my cheek. Stop blushing. You cannot blush in front of a client. “Oh. Yeah. Well.”
Pull it together, Juno.
I manage to straighten my back in the chair and stop being awkward as hell just because someone compliments me.
“I can’t date a client.” Best to be upfront if that’s what he’s getting at.
“What if I wasn’t a client?” He raises his eyebrows. “I guess I expected someone more like her when I walked in.” He points at the picture of my Aunt Etta on the wall.
Yeah, he’s right, she sure looked the part. She was in her seventies when that picture was taken, red curled hair and a hat, no skin showing except her face.
“That’s my Aunt Etta. I get my matchmaking skills from her.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, that’s what my mom always said. I’m the only Bailey with red hair, and there’s a long line of redheads on my mom’s side who had the craft of matchmaking at their fingertips.”
He nods and I realize I’m dodging his advance.
“So how about a date, Juno?”
Jason isn’t the first guy to hit on me, but usually, it’s not a potential client—it’s the guys I bring in to set up with my bachelorettes. They don’t get a call back. But Jason’s not doing this in a sleezy way like those guys did.
“I’m not sure.”
Colton comes to my mind. Then Brigette right after.
Her in a white dress and Colton waiting at the end of the aisle. What choice do I have at this point? Move on and maybe put Colton back into the friend box.
“Sure.”
He smiles wide. Those dimples could fit quarters. “Great. How about Saturday?”
I glance at my calendar. “Perfect.”
He stands and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Should we exchange numbers?”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
We exchange our personal numbers and he shoves his phone into his pocket. “I’ll call you with specifics.” He holds out his hand. “See how great you are? You already fixed me up.” He winks, and I smile.
“Don’t give me too much credit.”
He steps back and waves to me one more time before walking out the door.
I snap off a piece of a baby rattle cookie. This can be my lunch. I’m brushing the crumbs off my chest when the door dings again.
“Hey, Miss Juno.” Earl, the mail carrier, comes in. “Mail call.” He drops it on my desk.
“Thank you, Earl. Have a cookie or two,” I say.
Earl is a transplant from Alabama. Moved up here to be with his daughter and her husband so he could be near his grandchildren after his wife died.
“Don’t mind if I do.” He looks at them. “Oh, dinosaur, my favorite.” He laughs and nods his thank you. “Have a great day, Miss Juno. See you tomorrow.”
He leaves and I walk across the room to pick up my mail and there it is—my electricity bill. I see the red through the envelope, their way of saying, “Open this up and pay, or else.” I tear the envelope open and sure enough, there’s a shut-off notice.
Great. I managed to get a date and not a client. How do I expect to pay these bills?
I sit down and let my forehead fall to the desk.
The door opens and I quickly right myself, finding Grandma Dori and Colton standing there. She has her arm through his arm, and knowing her, she’s holding on tight to make sure he can’t escape.
“Juno, you can’t just nap at work,” she says.
“I wasn’t napping.” I quickly straighten my papers, shoving the past due notices into the drawer.
When I look up, Colton’s watching me intently. I’ve always told him he should have been a detective. He can scent out when something’s off like a drug-sniffing dog.
“People can see you through the window,” Grandma continues. “At least lock your door. Maybe we get you one of those separator fan things.”
“A room divider,” Colton says.
Grandma pats his hand. “That’s it. Thank you, Colton.” She unhooks her arm from his and detours to the cookies, grabbing a flower one before sitting down in front of me. “Don’t let those nosey women this morning bring up those feelings from the past, dear.” She bites off part of the cookie and looks at it. “I’m going to snag some of these for Calista, Dion, and Phoebe.”
“Go ahead. I’ll eat them all if you don’t.”
“What do you mean about past feelings?” Colton asks, leaning against the table I have in the front with my promotional materials on top.
“It’s nothing,” I say.
“The fact that she’s the only redhead in the Baileys,” Grandma kindly fills him in.
“Oh, that,” Colton says, crossing his arms, his gaze shifting to the picture of Aunt Etta.
I know exactly what he thinks about matchmaking being passed down to me from my ancestors. It doesn’t match up with his scientific beliefs.
He pushes off the table. “I gotta go.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, figuring lunch since it’s almost noon now.
“Oh, that’s why we came in here. I found Colton right as he was leaving the office. You have to go with him. I’ll watch the office.” She shoos me out of my chair.
I stand, panic like a hot poker in the stomach because of what’s in that drawer. Grandma Dori is a snoop and she’ll find my bills.
“I can close the office, but where are you going?” I ask Colton because I’m more likely to get the answer from him.
His face looks pained as if the last thing he wants to do is tell me. Just like when he told me he was engaged. “I have to pick out a tux.”
“And he needs a woman’s touch.” I move to sit back down in my chair, but I sit in Grandma Dori’s lap. “Oh dear, you’re much too heavy to sit on my lap nowadays.” She laughs.
I cannot go tux shopping with him. “Surely you have better style than I do,” I say to Grandma.
“Well, that’s a given, but I’m sure Colton’s not up for my hand up his crotch to make sure his inseam is right.”
“I think the tailor will be doing that.” Colton tilts his head and gives me a look that says, “You better come, I am not going with your grandma.”
But I know if I see him in a tux, I might blurt out my true feelings, which will only make things worse.
Grandma’s already opening the right desk drawer and searching its contents.
I move to the table and package up the cookies. “You need to go check on Harley. She called again earlier and said she was really suffering from morning sickness.” I cringe.
Her lipsticked mouth turns into an O and she springs up as if she’s twenty years younger and snags the box out of my hands. “See you two later.”
“Well?” Colton asks after she’s left.
“What?” I ask, pretending to straighten my pamphlets on the table.
“Tell me what to buy like you did for senior prom?” He raises his eyebrows.
He’s been there for me my entire life. From the minute my world crashed around me until now. He helped me pick up pieces when I had no desire to do it. How can I say no to him?
I can’t.
“Let me grab my purse.”
Five
Juno
Thirteen years old
* * *
My parents are away on one of my mom’s business trips. It’s a return trip to Juneau to talk about the changes since she’d written about the city back when I was conceived. As gross as it is, each of my siblings are named after the city we were conceived in. Thankfully, my parents decided to spell my name differently.
Brooklyn has been in charge of us—with plenty of drop-ins from Grandma Dori—but she’s dating Trent Gebhart and asked Grandma if she can go out on a date with him to the movies tonight. Since Grandma has card night with her friends, she’s taking Phoenix, Sedona, and Kingston to her place for a sleepover, which means Rome, Denver, and I are on our own.
“Now remember, no parties,” Grandma scolds us with her finger pointed where we all stand on the driveway, saying our goodbyes. “You know I’ll have the sheriff checking every hour.”
She’s talking more to Rome and Denver than me.
“Oh, G’Ma D, you know we won’t do that. We’re just gonna chill at home.” Denver puts his arm around her shoulders.
“I’m gonna make us some pizza.” Rome wraps his arm around my shoulders and winks at me.
That’s not a good sign.
“You’re not too old for me to put you over my knee,” Grandma warns.
Phoenix screams at the top of her lungs, interrupting Grandma’s lecture.
Grandma whips open the back door of her Cadillac. “What on Earth?”
“Kingston is touching me,” Phoenix says.
“So what?”
“So he’s sweaty from playing basketball.”
Grandma Dori sighs. “Get in the front seat, Kingston.”
“What? Why can’t I sit in the front?” Phoenix yells. “Why does he get to?”
“He’s older,” Grandma says and slams the door shut. “This is a test, boys. I’m trusting you.”
The twins smile and wave goodbye like little church usher boys until she’s out of the driveway.
Then Rome turns to me. “You cool if we leave you alone for, like, two hours?”
“What? Why?”
“There’s a fight going down between Liam and Jack Billings.” Denver’s already on his bike.
“Just call Colton or Emily and ask them to come over,” Rome says, hopping on his bike.
They ride off down the driveway. Fifteen minutes later, Colton’s riding his bike up to my house. His parents only live two doors down, which is still a mile away, but to us, it’s close enough.
“Hey,” I say.
“You’re really alone?” he asks, walking up the front steps of my house. He’s wearing jean shorts and his faded Colorado State T-shirt.
“Yep. Emily’s coming over too.”
“Cool.” He walks into my house and I shut the door. “What are we gonna do?”
I shrug. “I guess what we always do. Want to play pool or something?”
“After we raid the fridge,” he says, beelining it to my kitchen.
He’s always hungry now. He emerges from the kitchen with two cans of pop and a bag of Cheetos and heads toward the basement door.
I start to follow, but the bell rings. “I’ll meet you down there.”
I open my front door and Emily is standing on my porch with Xavier.
“Xavier was over at my place.” Emily walks in.
“What’s up, Bailey?” Xavier asks, nodding.
I roll my eyes because I hate Xavier. The fact he calls me by my last name as if it’s an insult annoys me.
“Colton’s already downstairs,” I tell them.
“Xavier, go on down,” Emily says. “I have to talk to Juno for a second.”
Xavier walks down the hallway to my basement stairs, and Emily tugs me by my sweatshirt sleeve into the kitchen.
“What?” I say, pulling my arm back.
“Xavier kissed me,” she says. “We were on my back porch, chilling and listening to music, and then he just kissed me.”
My mouth drops open. “Tongue?”
“A little.”
“A little?” My body shivers because I would never want Xavier’s tongue in my mouth.
“The tip.” I stare at her and she laughs. “It sounds worse than it is.” She twirls her blonde hair around her finger.
“What did you do?”
She laughs. “I kissed him back.”
“But how?”
A lot of kids at school are kissing. Or at least they’re saying they’re kissing. There’re all kinds of games people are playing, like Spin the Bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven. This is a monumental moment for Emily—her first kiss is all she’s been talking about—but the fact that it’s with Xavier—whose name is always mentioned in the kissing stories—makes me think it might not be as special to him as it is to Emily. Then again, I’m not sure she cared who she kissed as long as she can say she did.
She jumps off the counter and grabs an empty olive oil bottle from the counter that’s there to be recycled. “And now it’s your turn. We’re playing Spin the Bottle.”