Fortunate Encounters (The Sign Series Book 1)

by Caterina Passarelli

  Aunt Edie takes my hands in hers, and the cookie crumbles in my palms, but I don’t say anything as she stares intently at me. “You did it right. That’s exactly how it should be! If something pops into your mind, acknowledge that. Everything has a connection.”

  “Really?” I stare at her as if she’s just told me we won the lottery. I don’t know if she’s lying, but I want to believe her.

  She jumps off the couch and throws her arms in the air to do a happy dance. Her long purple skirt twirls at her feet as she sways her hips.

  “Yes, my dear! Have no fear.”

  Fear is exactly what I do have.

  13

  It’s been three days since I asked for the bunnies. Have I seen any? Not a damn one. But you know what I have seen? A chicken, three stray cats, a guinea pig, an elephant, and butterflies. Why is The Universe showing me everything but a bunny? It’s as if I’m being taunted with the idea of an animal, but not the one I asked for.

  I knew asking “The Universe” for anything was bullshit. It’s all fake. It’s now five days since I’ve heard from Clark. I never replied to his text message from the other day, and he’s taken my silence as an answer.

  But maybe that’s what was meant to happen? A lack of bunnies could be my answer. No bunnies means no Clark—makes perfect sense. Adios Superman.

  How long could I keep the attention of a guy like Clark anyway? I’m sure I was on my way out. He seems like the kind of man who uses them and then loses them.

  “Ms. Roman, can we work with a partner on this?”

  Looking up from the stack of papers I have my head buried in, I stare at my last hour students. I’m lacking focus that I don’t even know which one asked me that. And normally, I’d say no to working with a partner, but at this point I can use the distraction.

  “Go for it,” I say.

  The classroom is a buzz with noise as my students lock eyes with whom they want as their partners and pair up. They’ll talk the whole time and avoid this assignment; I know partner work is a joke.

  “Yo! Ms. Roman! You want to see something cool?” Justin asks, walking toward my desk holding up his cell phone.

  “Mr. Falconi, you aren’t supposed to have your phone on you in class,” I say, giving him a knowing look. But I don’t technically deny his question to see something cool. I always want to know what the kids find “cool” nowadays.

  It’s definitely not using the word “nowadays.”

  “Look!” He shoves his phone in my face and displayed on the screen is a photo of a fluffy white bunny.

  My heart drops into my stomach. I can’t quite catch my breath. I’m in full panic mode as I try to remain as calm as possible.

  “That’s a cute …”—it takes me a minute to get the word I want to say out of my mouth—“… bunny.”

  Justin turns the phone back toward himself as he stares at the rabbit with a smile on his face. “His name is Bugs. I just got him yesterday. He’s my first pet. My sister is allergic to cats and dogs—so a bunny it is.”

  A bunny it is. That’s for sure.

  “That’s a pretty cool first pet.”

  My heart runs wild as the room heats up. I’m sweating through this cardigan while Justin continues to talk. I can’t hear a word he’s saying, but I must be nodding my head because he doesn’t shut up.

  Just when I was going to accept that a lack of a bunny was my answer, meaning my fate would be to keep Clark out of my life, that sign shows up.

  “Yo! Ms. Roman,” Justin waves his hand in front of my face. “You alright? You stoned or something?”

  “I’m sorry, Justin. I’m okay. And never ask your teachers if they do drugs. Great bunny.”

  He gives me a quizzical expression and then returns to his seat. I probably terrified my student with the panic attack I just had in front of him.

  When the bell rings, my students pack up their belongings and head out the door wishing me a good weekend. It’s already Friday. This has been the longest week of my life.

  Staring out at my empty classroom, I’m alone with my thoughts and that freaks me out.

  What am I supposed to do with this bunny? Maybe it was a fluke. Yeah, that’s got to be it. One bunny can’t mean anything. I’m not going to text a guy after giving him radio silence because of one rabbit. Nope.

  After picking up Thai takeout food, a meowing Milo greets me as I walk in the door of my apartment. He purrs as he rubs back and forth against my legs. Bending down, I rub behind his ears as he continues to purr loudly.

  “Let’s get a fork and curl up on the couch.”

  Yes, I’m talking to my cat. No, I don’t care if you’re judging me.

  I do just what I say and together we get under a blanket as I throw on some reality show recordings I’ve been saving all week.

  When I finish my crab rangoon and shrimp pad thai, I pour a glass of white wine and scroll my social networks mindlessly. That’s when yet another photo stops me in my tracks … you guessed it … a bunny. Some girl I went to high school with just shared a photo of a bunny on a beach. I’ve never in my entire life seen a bunny on my social networks before, ever. And who takes a rabbit to the beach? That’s just silly.

  Throwing my phone across the room, I turn the volume up on my television show.

  I can’t handle this right now.

  Bunnies, get lost.

  Clark

  Where did that insane woman go?

  And why do I care what she is doing? Who she is with? Who she could be fucking right this minute?

  The answer to that question better be no one.

  I’ve never cared before with anyone else. Once they were gone—whether that was from me dismissing them or they just got sick of my bullshit—that was it. No turning back. One and done.

  There’s never a need to look back, that’ll just fuck up your neck.

  Arrangements—that’s exactly what we all have.

  And that arrangement is … we have sex, but you better not expect anything else out of me, and I won’t expect anything out of you either. If we have dinners, drinks, or casual conversation that’s a bonus, but not expected or required.

  Many women understand the arrangement and don’t push it. But there are always a few who test my boundaries and I have to set them straight. Usually those women go a bit crazy.

  But this one, Juliette, she clearly doesn’t like the set up I’m suggesting with the way she stormed out of here the other night. Normally I’d think ‘fuck that’ and move on. However, here I am sitting at home on a Friday night with no plans. And that’s because I turned down not one, not two, but three beautiful women.

  Should I send her a text?

  Fuck no. I sent the last text message and she never replied.

  I don’t chase.

  Juliette

  Staring at my phone, I will it to ring.

  Come on, ring phone, ring!

  Nothing. The screen is blank and there are no alerts for missed calls or texts. Not one. Not even my sister and Charlotte teasing me with cat memes.

  Maybe it’s broken? I shut the phone off and power it back on. When the screen lights back up, I’m met with the same fate that I saw before—a lonely one.

  Milo jumps down from my lap and sulks away to his kitty bed on the other side of the room.

  Am I too depressing for a cat? That’s bad.

  But I really don’t want to text him. Not after the rude message he sent me. What would that make me if I showed back up? Some kind of whore. This girl is too proud to beg.

  Getting up from the couch, I grab a light jacket, slip on my sneakers, and head out the door. I don’t have a destination in mind. I just walk. I need to burn off all the calories I just consumed. What starts off as laps around my neighborhood ends up with me sitting on a park bench, staring at geese gliding around a pond. It’s calm and quiet.

  When was the last time I sat in a calm and quiet place?

  I honestly can’t remember.

  As I’m st
aring up at the moon, my phone vibrates in my jacket pocket, breaking up my inner peace. Looking down, I spot a text message from Clark.

  What are you doing?

  That’s it? He wants to slip back into my life on a Friday night asking what I’m doing. Why wouldn’t he think I was busy right now? Doing something wild and carefree.

  I stare at my phone, not quite sure what to do next. I can text him back or I can put the phone back into my pocket and hope he fucks off.

  Option B is what I pick. I slip the phone back into my pocket.

  It stays silent.

  When the sky gets a little darker, I decide it’s time to go home. Milo may miss me. Getting up from my park bench, I walk to the entrance gates.

  And that’s when I jump back in fear as something darts across my path. I scare the animal that just scared the crap out of me. We both don’t move a muscle and stare at each other. That’s when I realize I’ve come face to furry face with a brown … bunny.

  Peter Freakin’ Cotton Tail.

  I look from the bunny up toward the sky. Why are you doing this to me? What’s with all the bunnies? Did Aunt Edie set some kind of voodoo magic on me? I never thought this would happen.

  The bunny senses I’m not a threat and scurries away. I take its cue and get myself back home—where I find another message from Clark. He doesn’t seem to be able to take silence as his answer.

  Stop ignoring me. I know you want to say something. Playing hard to get is not a turn on.

  Fine, just fine. My hand shakes in rage at my utter annoyance. Why can’t he ever say anything that’s sweet, kind, or charming? No, he has to be an asshole. I shoot back a reply.

  It’s not called ‘playing hard to get’ when I want you to leave me alone.

  That was easy enough. After hitting send, I search around the apartment for Milo. In my bed, curled in a ball on top of my pillow, that’s where I find the kitten.

  “Milo, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  He lifts his tiny head to look at me for just a brief second and then gets back to his sleep.

  “Excuse me,” I stick my tongue out at the cat. “I knew I should have gotten a dog.”

  My phone vibrates; Clark has returned.

  Why are you fighting this?

  Reading his message for the fifteenth time, I can’t come up with a witty reply. Why am I fighting this? All of the damn bunnies told me that I should talk to him. Are they my fortune-tellers? Maybe I need just one more encounter with him. One more encounter to get all upset and truly know that he’s an idiot. I’ll also know that the bunnies are an absolute joke.

  I send him a reply.

  What do you want?

  I could have said that a little more elegantly but I’m working with the emotions I feel.

  He replies back quicker than I expected. Is he also sitting at home on a Friday night?

  Go to a cocktail party with me tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 9p.

  That was not the reply I was expecting. A cocktail party? That’s an event out in public. We can’t have sex at a cocktail party. So why is he even taking me to this thing? It’s not a traditional friends-with-benefits type of activity. Meeting in a dark alley, sure. A public party, not really.

  But when was the last time I went to a cocktail party?

  That would be … never.

  I guess it could be kind of fun. And knowing the circles Clark must run in, he could have friends that would be nice to network with for Riverside. I send him a reply and toss my phone on the charger for the night.

  Fine. 9 p.m. Don’t be tardy.

  Looking back at Milo, he’s still cuddled on my pillow. Instead of moving him, because he’s just that cute, I slip under the covers on the side of the bed that’s normally empty. It feels weird sleeping in a spot that’s not mine. A spot meant for someone else. Surely, not Clark. I can’t imagine he would ever sleep over. He probably has some kind of rule against that.

  Rules … everything I seem to be breaking for him.

  14

  With less than a twenty-four-hour notice about the cocktail party, I hightail myself over to a boutique to find a dress for tonight. I’m flying through these racks looking for anything that would fit me right off the hanger.

  No, no, no. All of these dresses are wrong. Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m looking for, but it’s not here.

  “Hello, I’m Patricia. Can I help you?” A short woman with dark hair with gray streaks greets me.

  “I have to go to a cocktail party tonight and I have nothing to wear.” If that doesn’t scream “first world problems,” then I don’t know what does.

  She looks me up and down a few times then says, “I know just the thing. Head into dressing room three and I’ll be right with you.”

  Walking over to the dressing room area, I slip inside door three. I put my purse down and then stand around impatiently looking at the door.

  What if I can’t find anything? I don’t have much time. I need to shave, curl my hair, put on my makeup, have a mini panic attack, and then give myself a pep talk, all in the matter of a few hours. I don’t have any spare minutes to go to another dress shop. My mom would be so disappointed to find out I don’t have a gown on standby in my closet; she has dozens of them.

  “Here you are,” Patricia says sweetly as she opens the door and hangs up a garment bag on a hook. As she slides the zipper down, I hold my breath in anticipation. It’s a floor-length gold gown with halter straps, an open back, and a slit down one side to reveal a little leg. My jaw drops.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say in shock. It’s really that stunning. I’ve never reacted this way over a piece of clothing before. “I don’t think I can afford something like this.”

  Instantly my jaw returns to its rightful place and my heart breaks a little as I look away from the dress. I can’t even imagine what’s on the price tag for something like this.

  “Put it on before you go ahead and decide something like that,” Patricia instructs on her way out of the dressing room. She shuts the door behind herself and leaves me to stare at this masterpiece of a gown.

  What could it hurt if I just tried it on?

  In a hurry, I take my clothes off then slip the gold dress on. Turning around to face the mirror, I can’t help but smile. This dress is a dream, and it fits like a glove.

  “Do you need any help? Can I take a peek?” Patricia asks from the other side of the door. I open it and allow her to get a look for herself. “Oh, my dear, you look absolutely magnificent.”

  And you know what? I’d have to agree with her—and it’s all because of this dress that she brought to me. This is a dress I wouldn’t have picked up for myself.

  “Okay. Lay it on me. How much is this?”

  I brace myself for her answer that will likely terrify my bank account.

  “Well, I believe we have a few sales going on plus I’d be happy to give my niece a discount.” She says the last part loudly and gives me a sly wink. “It shouldn’t be too much dear. You’ll be fine. Hand it over the door when you’re ready and I’ll go ring it up.”

  I just met my fairy godmother on the night of the ball.

  Clark looks devastatingly handsome in his black tuxedo and bowtie when I greet him at my apartment door. His face lights up when he sees me. “Juliette, you look hot as fuck.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. Why would I think he’d say something sweet to sweep me off my feet? That’s not him, and he’s not trying to put on a show. At least I know he won’t surprise me down the road when he reveals his true personality.

  Down the road? You aren’t going down any streets together.

  The thought pulls me out of this moment, and I stumble slightly as I walk out the door.

  “You okay?” Clark asks, holding my elbow as he leads me to the elevator. “You didn’t start drinking already did you?” He laughs.

  I toss him what I hope is an easygoing smile. “No, just clumsy, I guess.”

  No fur
ther questions.

  You could cut the tension with a knife during the elevator ride. Neither of us says a word as the floors drop down from three to ground level. Clark left his Tesla parked right outside the door, which I’m grateful for. Under this gorgeous gown are a pair of tall stilettos—any extra steps I don’t have to take, I’m happy about.

  If the parking lot were not packed with luxury cars and limos, I would think we are in the wrong place. We pull into a spot in the middle aisle of our indoor Farmers Market. Women in gowns and men in tuxedos walk inside. Normally, you’d find hippies and yogis loading up their burlap bags full of fresh produce. I’m not judging—usually I’m here with them.

  As we walk inside, I’m stunned. The huge open shed space has been transformed into an elegant affair. Twinkle lights are draped through the ceiling rafters, and hot pink and white decorations are everywhere—flowers, tablecloths, drapes, and much more. It appears tonight’s theme is “Indulgence” with a focus on cocktails and candy.

  Clark and I walk up to a table near the door where he hands the girl working a check. Her mouth falls open, looking at what must be a large number, and then she hands us a stack of green tickets, like the kind you get at a carnival.

  She points at the different tables surrounding the outer edge of the market. “Your tickets are how you’ll get drinks. One is a single, two a double. Different companies with their own signature drinks sponsor every table. At the end of the night, we’ll vote on our favorites,” she explains.

  “Thank you,” Clark and I say in unison.

  Glancing down at the tickets in Clark’s hands, I’m instantly nervous. I am a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, and there are entirely too many tickets for just two people.

  We walk into the center of the room when I notice a couple gliding over to us.