Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Epilogue
More Books!
Sneak Peek
Copyright
Chapter 1
“So this is it?” Jon asked, looking up at the large columns topped with weeping women. “The happiest place on earth?”
Esme smiled as she pulled him into the park. “Well, it’s my happiest place on earth. I’m sure Disney would disagree.”
Jon smiled back, his eyes glinting playfully. “I might have to side with Disney at first glance, but I’ll give you a shot at converting me.”
“Get ready to be converted,” Esme said, slipping her hand into his and leading him to the main loop circling around the pond at the Palace of Fine Arts in San Francisco. Esme couldn’t count the memories she’d made in this place. Her mom, Audra, had gone walking every morning with her best friend, Sarah, back when Esme was a baby. The best friends had their first babies at the same time, and what started as a buddy system to take off baby weight had turned into a morning ritual.
Over the years, the daily walks had grown longer and longer, giving Esme a stroller view of the city as she grew. But the walks—then jogs—always ended at the same place: the Palace of Fine Arts. That’s where the moms stopped to finish the conversations of the day while letting the fish, ducks, turtles, architecture, and tourists distract the two kids strangers frequently confused as twins with their matching blue eyes and blonde hair—her and Hunter.
Esme’s very first memories were of those majestic columns crowned by weeping women atop the pergola surrounding the rotunda. Most of her memories included getting in trouble—she’d always been good at that in her younger years. There was the column where she’d tried to climb as high as Hunter and ended up breaking her arm, and the spot where Hunter had told her girls couldn’t punch as hard as boys and she’d responded by knocking out his tooth. They’d been six, and it was one of the few times in her life she’d seen Hunter cry.
Part of her still smiled every time she thought of it. Maybe that memory, in particular, shouldn’t have brought a spring to her step, but somehow time had turned all of her memories from this place into a giant tapestry of nostalgia and good vibes.
In her childhood, it was where her mom and best friend had come to gossip; but as an adult, it was where Esme inevitably ended up whenever she needed to clear her head or make a big decision. Everything made more sense when she stepped onto the grounds. That was why she probably didn’t come with other people very often anymore…only Hunter. The two of them still met up here if there was some drama that needed to be sorted out, or if they needed to conspire against their mothers for some reason. But these days, it was mostly her spot.
Except today.
Today Jon, her boyfriend of six months, had brought her. She hadn’t asked him to come, but when he’d asked if she had a favorite spot in the city last week, she’d told him.
Now here they were.
Of all the men Esme had dated, Jon definitely topped the Keeper list. He was meticulous. Thoughtful. He paid attention and always did his best to make sure any time they spent together was a cultured and pleasurable experience. It didn’t hurt that Jon was a handsome doctor, too—dark-haired, hazel-eyed, and on the fit side of trim. No, that didn’t hurt at all, but Esme had dated and broken up with her fair share of doctors…and pilots and scientists and investors and lawyers. Pretty faces and fat wallets did little to sway her. They were nice to have around and made things easier, sure, but Esme wasn’t one to settle. And Jon was the first man she’d ever been with who had turned her mind to thoughts of something long term.
Now, after only six months of spending time with him, Esme thought she might know what love felt like.
Love.
She’d been toying with that word lately, regressing back to her middle school days to try it on for size when she was alone.
“I love Jon Bauer…Hi, I’m Esme Bauer.”
Thinking of marriage was presumptuous on her part, of course. She had to keep reminding herself that it had only been a couple dozen dates, all in all. But the good news was that Jon was already wooing her into secretly trying his name on for size in that short a time. That wasn’t nothing. Especially in Esme’s world. Few men lasted six months, period. None had ever had her reverting to her middle school days of testing last names. And she’d certainly never told a boyfriend about her special spot before. Besides Hunter, Jon was the only man she’d come here with and that meant something.
“So tell me,” Jon said, one arm sliding around her shoulder while the other pointed up to the top of the columns. “What’s with all the crying ladies?”
Esme leaned into the crook of his arm and smiled up at him. “They’re crying at the notion of a world without art.”
“Huh,” he said, his eyes surveying the space. “I guess that’s a sad thought.”
“Exactly,” Esme beamed as they took the scenic route to the rotunda. She could literally talk about this place for an hour, but she’d wait for Jon to ask questions first. She didn’t want to overwhelm him on his first visit.
“It’s nice here,” he said after a moment of snuggled walking. “Kind of touristy, but I can see why you like it.”
“Yeah,” Esme said, looking over at the pond. “I guess I have a lot of good memories here. When I visit, it’s like I can feel the echoes of them, you know?”
Jon pressed a kiss to her temple and smiled. “Yeah. I get that. Where would you say your happiest spot is here?”
The question made Esme pause for a moment as she glanced around. Did she have a favorite spot? Could she choose? Was it the shady side of the lake where the turtles and ducks tended to congregate? Was it the rotunda where she and Hunter had caused so much mischief? Or the ever-perfect foliage that had gotten her so interested in gardening at an early age?
Esme glanced to her left, noting that they were reaching the photo opp part of the loop, where the rotunda and fountain lined up for the perfect vacation picture.
“I’ve always liked it here,” she said absently. “I can’t even tell you how many thousands of pictures I’ve taken for tourists in this spot.
But it never bothers me.” She pointed to the benches right behind the picturesque area. “My mom and her friend usually avoided these benches so they could talk without being interrupted, but as I got older, I sometimes hung out here on purpose. I liked taking the pictures and seeing all the people on vacation.”
Jon regarded her with more intensity than usual. “But is it your favorite spot?”
“I don’t know that I have one,” she said honestly, even as her mind envisioned a spot on the right side of the rotunda. She’d fled there on what had felt like the worst day of her life to hide from the world. It had been junior year. She’d given her heart to a boy who had only wanted her for bragging rights, only to have him drop her the moment he had them. She’d never felt more betrayed or humiliated in her life and she’d wanted to hide from the world to cry it out, but Hunter had found her in no time.
Within thirty minutes, he’d had her laughing. Within an hour, he’d dropped her off at home. Before morning, Hunter had located Esme’s ex-boyfriend and beat the crap out of him, along with the three friends who had fought alongside her ex. Hunter hadn’t walked out of the fight unscathed, but considering it had been four-on-one, a split lip and a black eye probably should have been only the beginning of Hunter’s injuries, not the extent of them.
Esme had never been a fan of violence—still wasn’t—but she would be lying if she didn’t admit that night was one of the most bitter-sweet of her life. The juxtaposition of pure, scathing betrayal in contrast to unflinching loyalty had helped her become more discerning in her choice of men. It was a memory that had led her to date men like Jon—loyal, kind, honest, thoughtful, and genuine. He was a good man who was good to her, and an accomplished man who was comfortable in his own skin. That was the kind of man she wanted to be with.
“This is a pretty spot,” he said, pulling Esme away from her thoughts. “In fact, I think it might be the perfect spot.”
Esme grinned. “Right? Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“It is,” Jon said, turning to face her and tracing the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip.
Esme dropped her eyes down to his lips, anticipating a kiss. She started to push up onto her toes, but was surprised when Jon stepped away and dropped to one knee on the ground.
One knee.
Jon was on one knee.
Her mind immediately jumped to the idea that he was about to propose, but she dismissed the thought quickly. Jon was a cautious guy. He didn’t rush into anything. He couldn’t be proposing. Not this soon.
So what in the world was he doing on one knee?
“Esme Taylor,” he said, pulling a velvet box out of his pocket.
A. Velvet. Box.
Esme’s hands flew over her mouth as she realized what was happening.
“Since our first date, there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t wanted to see your smile,” Jon said, holding the box between them. “I hear your voice, and my day brightens. I kiss your lips, and everything else disappears.”
Esme almost couldn’t hear him over the hammering of her heart against her ribs. Then the box opened, revealing an ideal round cut diamond ring that caught the afternoon sun and left her blinded for the briefest moment with its brilliance.
He was proposing—Jon Bauer, one of the few doctors in San Francisco without a God complex, was proposing. To her.
She couldn’t breathe.
“I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I know enough to know that I want you to be part of the rest of my life. So, Esme Taylor, will you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Esme Bauer?”
He’d asked her to marry him. She wasn’t imaging this. It wasn’t a dream.
Jon had asked her to marry him…and she needed to answer.
Part of her mind was screaming that this was too soon. Too fast. She hadn’t even introduced Jon to her family yet or gotten Hunter’s approval. The rest of her was swooning, arguing that there was still plenty of time to introduce Jon to everyone. And who was she kidding? They’d love him. How could they not?
“Yes,” she said with a smile so big it hurt. “I will marry you, Jon Bauer.”
He stood, plucking the ring out of its nest in the box and raising her left hand up to slide it on as he pressed a kiss to her lips. She leaned in, kissing him back for all she was worth.
When they pulled apart, he was smiling down at her. “We can exchange the ring if you want.”
He sounded nervous, which only made her adore him more in that moment. While his usually steady surgical hands fumbled with getting the ring on, Esme distracted him with another kiss. Behind her, she heard a few tourists clap as Jon blindly made sure he’d gotten the ring all the way on before returning his focus to the kiss.
When they broke apart, their fingers were still tangled.
“Would you like me to take your picture?” a lightly accented voice asked as Esme gazed into Jon’s hazel eyes. “For your scrapbook?”
Esme looked over to the source of the question and saw a petite Asian lady standing in front of a cookie cart.
“If you have a phone or camera I can take your picture,” the little lady said again. “You two make such a pretty picture right now.”
“Sure,” Esme said, releasing one of Jon’s hands and reaching into her purse. She opened the camera app and handed it to the cookie cart lady. “Just point and shoot.”
The woman nodded dismissively as if she’d done this countless times before.
“Now hold his hand again like before,” the little lady instructed, suddenly acting like an actual photographer. “Look into each other’s eyes. Trust me, it’s a beautiful picture.”
Jon looked a bit amused at the woman’s bossiness and he and Esme ended up smirking in shared amusement as the woman took several shots of multiple poses before handing Esme’s phone back.
“There,” the lady said. “Now you can always remember this day.”
“Thank you,” Esme said, her eyes drifting to the cart for a hint of who this woman was. The sign on it read, Miss Pearl’s Kissing Cookies. “Thank you for the pictures, Miss Pearl.”
“You’re very welcome,” she said, almost dismissively as she walked back to her cart. “Now please come try a cookie.”
Ah, the woman knew how to make a sale, that was for sure. The least they could do was buy a few of her cookies as a thank you for the pictures she’d taken.
Esme shared a look with Jon and he shrugged as if to say, Why not? before pulling out his wallet.
“How much are they?” he asked.
The little old lady held up a finger. “One kiss.”
Esme blinked in surprised and Jon’s hands stilled on his wallet. “A kiss?”
Miss Pearl nodded and picked up two napkins. “Love is the final ingredient.”
“But we need to pay you,” Jon said, pulling out a five-dollar bill.
The little lady shook her head and scooped a cookie up in each napkin. “No money. A kiss for a cookie. That’s the price.”
Jon was about to argue again when Esme decided to move things along. She linked her arm through his and gave him a light squeeze. “Sounds like a fair trade to me.”
When he looked her way, his brow furrowed in confusion, Esme used a finger to angle his face for a kiss. Once he saw her moving in, Jon more than met her half way.
Man, Jon had great lips. It was one of the many things she loved about him. Yes, he was educated and successful, but all that paled next to the mouth genetics had blessed him with. And they were framed by the smoothest shave she’d ever felt on a man. It wasn’t that he had a baby face; he was just one of those rare guys who used an actual razor when he shaved and didn’t shy from shaving twice a day if he knew he was heading out that night. Running her fingers along Jon’s jaw line was as gratifying as running her hand over a freshly shaven leg.
“Mmm,” she said when he pulled away from the kiss. “Who needs a cookie after that?”
He grinned down at her, his thumb tracing her lip. “I think we earned
it.”
“Definitely,” Esme agreed a moment before a tiny hand forced a cookie under her nose.
“Now taste!” Miss Pearl demanded.
Esme bit back a laugh as the vendor invaded their personal space, but managed a “Thank you,” before accepting the cookie and taking a bite.
She felt her eyebrows pull together as her mind sought out any of the flavors she expected to taste in a cookie. The cookie looked like it should taste good. It even had chocolate in it, but apparently not in the bite she’d taken. Rather than decadent, it tasted more like a fortune cookie you got in a Chinese restaurant…only a little more bland. Esme glanced Jon’s direction to see if he was having the same reaction.
Miss Pearl’s eyes narrowed as she watched them. “What do you think of my kissing cookie? Do you like it?”
Jon hesitated. “Honestly?”
“Of course!” the woman said as if there were no other alternative.
Jon hesitated as he chose his words. “It’s a bit bland for American taste buds…a bit like a wafer.”
A wafer! That’s what it tasted like. A vanilla wafer. Esme took another bite and nodded her agreement despite seeing the little woman frown with concern as she shifted her focus from Jon and back to her. “And you? You like it?”
“It’s subtle,” Esme said diplomatically. “Pleasant without being overpowering.”
The vendor nodded as if that meant something. “So you think something is missing?”
Esme sent a searching look to Jon who signaled that she was on her own. “It depends on how you eat it, I guess. It would be perfect to dip in coffee.”
“But not on its own?”
She hated to say it, but something about the little woman demanded Esme speak the truth. “On its own? No. I’m sorry to say this, but it’s not a very memorable cookie. If you want to charge for them someday, you’re going to have to change up the recipe a bit.”
“Hmph,” the little woman said, looking between them. “But you like the kiss?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jon said before she could reply. “This kiss was first-rate.”
“Definitely,” Esme agreed, and would have pressed up onto her toes to kiss him again if a pint-sized Asian woman hadn’t been acting as a human buffer.
King of the Friend Zone (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 1