One True Pairing: A Geek Girl Rom Com (Fandom Hearts)

by Cathy Yardley

  “Well, thankfully, she’s more scared of me than she is of you,” Hailey said, trying to joke. Trying to shake the chill of fear out of her voice. “Hon, can I open the door?”

  It took a long minute before Cressida finally sighed. “Okay.”

  Hailey opened the door. There, crammed under the clothes that were hanging up and a bunch of books on a shelf, was Cressida. She’d obviously been balled up, scrunched against the corner. Since she was normally about five foot six, that couldn’t be comfortable. Her ivory face, sprinkled with freckles, was covered by her long, red hair. She was buried in bedding, her willowy body obscured by a patchwork quilt.

  The closet was Cressida’s panic room, her retreat. The smaller the space, the more comfortable she felt.

  Hailey didn’t hesitate. She folded her taller five-eight frame in the closet doorway, tucking her boots under her. “What happened, sweetie?”

  Cressida’s already pale skin looked like vellum, showing the tattoo-like blue veins at the corners of her eyes and in the column of her throat. Her hazel eyes looked like moons, round and luminous. She looked like a living ghost.

  “I tried to go outside,” she whispered.

  Hailey did a quick check. She didn’t seem to have frostbite anywhere, from what she could see. Her temperature wasn’t feverish, and though she was pale, Cressida didn’t seem to look too pale. Hailey took her hand. “Jesus, your fingers are like Otter Pops,” she said, quickly taking Cressida’s hands in her own and rubbing them, just like she had so many years ago in the foster home, the first time Cressida had had a panic attack. “What made you want to go outside today? And why didn’t you take a coat, sweetie? I mean, it’s March and all, and it was, what, thirty-seven degrees out, but it’s still not that warm.”

  She was still joking. Trying to joke. But her voice was hoarse.

  “I did the books,” Cressida said. “The accounting. We’re in the red, by like, a lot.”

  Hailey swore under her breath. “Well, that sucks. So you decided, well, I’m having a bad day enough as it is, so I’ll just push my agoraphobia while I’m at it?”

  Cressida’s look was mournful, reproachful. Hailey bit her tongue.

  “If we can’t stay here, Hales, then I’m going to need to figure out how to leave the house,” Cressida said, her voice matter of fact.

  “We’ll stay here.” Hailey’s voice was like a drill sergeant’s. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m tired of forcing you and Rachel to figure it out,” Cressida said, her voice breaking. “I hate feeling like . . . like an invalid. A burden. Something you guys need to ‘take care of.’ It’s killing me.”

  Hailey didn’t know what to say to that, so she squeezed Cressida’s hand harder. “You are not a burden,” she finally answered. “You’re my sister.”

  “Not your blood.”

  “Who gives a shit?” Hailey blurted out. “You were there for me when it was the worst. You took care of me. You were the only one who loved me when literally nobody else cared if I lived or died. You are my sister, and if you say one more word about it, I will fucking pound you.”

  Thankfully, Cressida gave her a watery smile at this one. “Bring it on, bitch,” she murmured, the words sounding so at odds with her ethereal appearance, Hailey couldn’t help but laugh.

  “So, no more pushing yourself to try and get out of the house. We’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it, okay?”

  Cressida’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “We may be coming to it soon,” she said softly. “We’re falling behind on key payments—not just the rent. We’re always a month behind on utilities, and sneaky stuff keeps cropping up. Stupid stuff, like the furnace filter or when that pipe busted and we needed Pinky’s to come out and fix it. We’re just not making enough business. We need a windfall, to dig out from under, and then we need to have a better, more consistent client base.”

  Hailey felt pressure behind her eyes. Rachel was the businessperson, not her. She was just a blackjack dealer and former grifter, who loved her sisters. She knew that a business inside their home gave Cressida something to do as well as a source of income—and something else, like write-offs or credits, or something else official and accountant-sounding. But that was about all she could understand without her head aching. “We will make it work,” Hailey said stubbornly.

  Cressida didn’t look convinced, but let it drop.

  “Have you eaten anything?” Hailey said instead.

  “Not hungry.”

  “That means no. Feel up to going downstairs for dinner?”

  She saw it—the flinch, the curving of Cressida’s spine, and quickly changed tack. “You know what? Why don’t you get comfy pj’s on, I’ll get some grilled cheese sandwiches together, and we’ll camp out on your bed and watch some River Song episodes of Doctor Who.”

  Cressida smiled. “Sure. Thanks. But I’m feeling more like a little Supernatural. Go hunting with the boys.”

  “Then we’ll watch that,” Hailey said. “Watching two sexy guys like Sam and Dean? Not a hardship.”

  “Speaking of sexy guys,” Cressida said, before Hailey could make it out of the room. “You were going to stay over at the casino tonight, weren’t you?”

  Hailey gritted her teeth. A thought of Jake, spread out naked and resplendent on the bed, had her body tightening.

  Cressida nodded. “I figured you had a guy. Tell the truth: we interrupted something, didn’t we?”

  “No.” At Cressida’s piercing gaze, she relented. “Nothing that couldn’t be interrupted.”

  “He wasn’t that good, huh?”

  “He was . . .” She froze for a moment, trying to encapsulate Jake Reese, then shrugged. “Not bad.”

  That is, it was “not bad” in the same way that the Empire State Building was “sort of tall” or the North Pole was “kind of brisk.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cressida said, sounding genuinely disappointed. “I know you’ve been tense lately. You could always go back. Really, I’m fine.”

  Hailey thought of how they’d left things. “No. He started getting a little stupid after that. Got a tad bit pushy.”

  “Not literally, I’m assuming,” Cressida said, with enough concern for Hailey to know it was a real question.

  “He’d still be nursing his balls if it was literally.” Grandma Frost had signed her up for martial arts classes when she’d first gotten to Snoqualmie, and she knew enough street fighting from her scraps in Los Angeles that she protected herself as a matter of course. She also didn’t get herself into situations where she’d need the skills if she could help it. “No. He just wanted to know what was going on, which was none of his business. Then he tried to play hero, and got a little too alpha for my tastes.”

  “Oh.” Cressida frowned. “That sounds . . . ugh.”

  “Not my bag,” Hailey agreed. “Pity, too. He had potential.”

  Understatement, yet again. She sighed.

  Cressida shook her head. “Too bad you can’t just get one guy you can count on.”

  “I’m strictly catch and release, you know that,” Hailey said dryly. She leaned forward, giving Cressida a quick hug. “Go on, get comfy. I’ll bring up the sandwiches.”

  She went downstairs, where Rachel was waiting. “How is she?” Rachel asked softly.

  “She’ll be okay.” She went through the old kitchen, grabbing the loaf of bread, pulling cheese slices and butter out of the fridge, and pulling out a dented pan. “She tried to go outside because she did the books.” She took a deep breath, then looked at Rachel. “Why didn’t you tell me how far behind we’re falling?”

  “She’s worried we’ll have to move, isn’t she?” Rachel said, avoiding the question.

  Hailey pinned her down with an expectant stare. Rachel sighed.

  “We’re staying afloat, but yeah, it’s been a struggle.”

  “I can give you more money . . .”

  “You’re giving us everything but the money you pour in
to Charlotte’s gas tank as it is,” Rachel protested.

  “I’ll . . . damn it. Figure out something.”

  “I’ve been thinking—maybe I should drop out of school. Just for this semester,” Rachel said, holding up her hands protectively from Hailey’s nuclear glare.

  “Damn it.” She started to assemble the sandwiches, then gestured to them in invitation, quirking her eyebrow at her sister. Rachel shook her head. “How much trouble are we in?”

  Rachel fidgeted with the mug in front of her. “If we don’t start getting more customers in, we won’t be able to keep this place. She’s right on that front.”

  “So we get more customers in,” Hailey said. “You’ve been running those online ads and things. You had the interview with the local paper.”

  “All small bumps, nothing that would drive a lot of traffic, especially for just a bookstore. The used bookstore in North Bend just closed because they couldn’t make ends meet, and they didn’t have our living expenses on top of it. Or our landlord’s crappy maintenance,” Rachel said darkly. “What we need is a game changer. A big event or something. I’m working on doing some joint stuff with the local chamber of commerce, but most of the opportunities will be in the summer. We need something now, and something that will drive a more niche clientele.”

  Hailey got the butter frothing in the pan, then slid the sandwiches in. “Let me know what I can do, and I’ll do it.”

  “If I did know, I’d tell you,” Rachel answered, her expression thoughtful. “I think turning it into more of a fandom place might help. It’s not like you can’t get books on Amazon—we’re in Seattle, for God’s sake, in their backyard. So it’s difficult to just be a bookstore without a niche. I’m thinking we can cater to . . . well, girl geeks, for lack of a better term.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Hailey said. “What does that mean?”

  “We order fan stuff, not just books,” she said. “We can still have the used books, but we can get more female-centric comics, and fandom-related stuff . . . maybe signed stuff, or items from Think Geek, or something. Even Etsy-styled stuff. Remember that Hobbit necklace Ren . . .” Rachel paused. “That I got in high school?”

  Hailey blinked. Rachel never brought up her high school flame, the one true love of her life. She must be really rattled to let that slip. “Okay. So we make Frost Bookstore a fandom store. What do we need?”

  “We’d need some items to really make that work. And we’d need a big draw, to get the right crowd in, to convince them to drive all the way out to Snoqualmie instead of the city.” Rachel rubbed her temples. “Let me make some calls. I’ll see what I can do to work fast. We need to get some more sales, and soon.”

  Hailey flipped the golden-brown sandwiches, then slid them onto plates. “Rachel, I know how hard you’re working,” she said, feeling a bit impotent. “I’m sorry you’re hit with all of this.”

  “She’s my sister, too,” Rachel said quietly. “Ever since she came home with you, she’s been part of the family.”

  “I know.” But it was different. All three of them knew that. Rachel, the half sister Hailey hadn’t even known existed until she was twelve, didn’t have the same formative experiences Hailey and Cressida had. The two of them had been through the trenches, apart and together. But since Grandma Frost had brought Hailey and Cressida home from Los Angeles, Rachel genuinely loved and valued them both as sisters.

  “If we’d only been able to win that fan contest, the one Tessa tried to help us with, we could’ve had one of the Mystics stars come,” Rachel said.

  Hailey felt a pang.

  Funny you should mention . . .

  She thought about Jake, how she’d left him at the hotel. How he’d acted.

  No. Wasn’t worth it.

  “Especially if we could’ve done something for this week, or next weekend, what with the convention they’re running,” Rachel continued, oblivious to Hailey’s line of thought.

  “We could’ve gotten some of that crowd over here, maybe, and you know some of those people would be local. We could build up our mailing list . . .”

  As Rachel continued thinking out loud, Hailey felt guilt prick away at her.

  Yes, Jake was overbearing about her leaving tonight. But she’d been sharp, too, out of fear and defensiveness. Maybe, just maybe, he was trying to be gallant. Maybe he’d seen the urgency, and he wanted to make sure she accepted his help.

  Yeah. When in the history of ever had someone simply tried to help her out?

  Well, maybe this was the first time, she thought, and wondered if it was hope or desperation that prompted the thought.

  Hailey cleared her throat, interrupting Rachel’s monologue. “If one of the actors did an appearance here, you really think that would help?”

  “Are you kidding? It’d give me something to spin for PR,” Rachel said. “It’d be a big draw. We’ve got some good fandom-related stock. I could organize the displays to show the paranormal romance that’s like Mystics. And we could send out stuff, get people’s contact info, start building off that client base.” Rachel’s slow smile was self-mocking. “But let’s be real. They aren’t going to be open to an eleventh-hour pitch from a tiny indie bookstore. And unless you have contacts I’m not aware of, I think it’s a hopeless cause.”

  She winced. It would mean humbling herself. Possibly even groveling.

  It’s for your sisters.

  How much worse had she endured, to keep Cressida safe?

  How much worse would she put up with?

  “Give me a day,” Hailey said. “Let me see what I can do.”

  * * *

  The next day, Jake sat in the “green room” of the hotel—which was neither green nor a room, from the looks of it. It was a partitioned section of the ballroom where they were doing the majority of the panels, and the sales floor where they were selling Mystics memorabilia and other fan items. It was close to where he needed to be, but it was still separate, with its own door, guarded by a security guy—a bouncer, basically. His co-stars, Simon and Miles, were lounging at a table, joking about their own kerfuffle with the hotel the previous night.

  “They finally dug us up a room at an Airbnb in Sammamish,” Simon said, his eyes alight with mischief. Simon was like a grown-up Tom Sawyer, mischievous and boyish. He tossed a football to Miles, who was more like a young monk, with a wiry physique and silent, pensive expression. Miles caught the ball easily while only barely paying attention, a testament to how often the two pitched it back and forth. “I have no idea how they thought that place ‘slept four,’ since it just had a queen bed. Barely fit me.”

  “You sleep like a break-dancer, dude,” Miles pointed out. “I had to camp out on the floor in self-defense. You throw more elbows than Karl Malone.”

  “You love it,” Simon said, blowing Miles an air kiss. Miles rolled his eyes.

  “You know, they’re going to joke about you two sleeping together,” Jake said.

  “Not the first time,” Simon agreed easily.

  “We’ll talk about it during the panel,” Miles added, with a gentle grin of his own. “The slash fan-fic will be posted within the hour.”

  The two had been best friends for years, meeting as starving actors in Los Angeles. Simon had helped Miles get the gig on Mystics, as a matter of fact. Jake admired their easy camaraderie.

  To be honest, he envied it.

  “How about you?” Simon pressed, turning a chair around and straddling it, surveying Jake curiously. “No offense, but you look like hammered shit. Did they stick you in a tent or something?”

  “Nah. I got a room in a little town about fifteen minutes from here.” Jake shrugged.

  “Oh?” Simon glanced at Miles. “Was it a rat hole or something?”

  “It was nice,” Jake protested, then realized the trap as Simon waited eagerly. “I just had some trouble sleeping.”

  “The fun kind of not sleeping?” Simon pressed, wiggling his eyebrows.

  Miles chuckled, shaking
his head. “Leave the poor guy alone, Si.”

  Jake cleared his throat. The truth was, he’d had a hell of a time getting to sleep after Hailey left. Not because he’d been left at the brink of satisfaction—okay, not just because of that, he privately amended—but because of the way they’d left things.

  He felt like a total ass.

  Hailey was different from other women he’d met. She wasn’t intimidated by his fame or his father or his lifestyle. She took shit from no one. She was a problem solver, a force of nature.

  Hotter than a Carolina Reaper. Probably just as lethal as the ghost pepper, he ruminated. They didn’t have a Scoville scale to cover her level of hotness.

  He hadn’t ever reacted to a woman he’d just met the way he’d responded to Hailey. Her smile, her quick wit, her badass attitude and unbelievable responsiveness.

  Then she’d gotten that call, acted weird and panicked. Wouldn’t talk to him about why. He probably shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, but damn it, in his experience, if someone was too good to be true, it was because they were lying through their teeth.

  I’m a terrible actress, but I’m a hell of a liar.

  He sighed. Was she?

  “You seem preoccupied,” Miles said, smiling softly. “I heard what happened at the VIP.”

  “What happened?” Simon asked. Miles ignored him.

  “They should’ve had a more experienced handler for you,” Miles said. “You could sue that woman for assault.”

  “Whoa. What?”

  Jake told Simon the story: the boob-signing, the pocket rip, making a break for it.

  “Jesus,” Simon said, shuddering. “I love our fans, don’t get me wrong. But that’s fucked up.”

  “Seriously. That doesn’t sound like Supernatural’s fan stuff at all,” Miles agreed.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll protect you this weekend,” Simon added. “Hey, on an unrelated note: did your contract get renewed yet?”

  “We just heard back yesterday,” Miles said. “You’ll probably hear back soon.”

  Jake had actually managed to put that out of his mind, in the wake of the VIP kerfuffle and the subsequent Hailey fallout. Now, he felt a knot in his stomach.