Second Chances Boxed Set: 7 Sweet & Sexy Romances in 1 Book

by Tracey Alvarez

  “No. I’m twenty-nine!”

  “You’ll do okay.”

  “I'm not really here to get a date,” Daisy told her as the butterflies let loose once more.

  The woman chuckled and shook her head. “Oh my, that’s what they all say and you know what I say back? No one goes on a show like this, a televised dating show, for any other reason but one. If you’re here, it’s because you want to be here. You want the dream. We all do. There is no woman in her right mind who’d let herself go on a TV dating show if she didn't want to meet Mr. Right."

  Sadly, Daisy realized as she glanced around the one hundred and fifty odd people in the room, it was probably true. There had to be a damned good reason for considering there could be a love-life courtesy of a perennially smiling TV show host with the romantics of the country urging the contestants on from the comfort of their recliner chairs.

  Even if she was the exception.

  She reached for her pink, complimentary Mystery Date pen and began to read through the compatibility form.

  Two days later Daisy was ripping open a carton of books when the phone rang. As she went to answer it, she smiled with satisfaction at the store.

  The craft books had 35 percent off and already 15 percent of the stock had gone. The new stock was arriving and she'd shut the shop Saturday to give them the weekend to re-arrange shelving. She'd borrowed art work from Adam's artist girlfriend and it was coming together to plan.

  She picked up the phone, said, "Poppy's – I mean Dreams by Poppy. Daisy speaking." She glanced over at the bar stools. She'd gotten rid of the comfy old reading couch and now had a bar leaner and three stools which took up less room. Adam had spray painted them black to give them more a contemporary look. Although maybe she could put a nice mauve and yellow cover on-

  No, Daisy. No.

  A deep female voice enthused down the phone, “Daisy, it’s Kelly Brown here. Mystery Date."

  "Hi," she said as she sorted books sent by a local publisher. Why was Kelly calling when she'd only had the audition on Tuesday?

  "Congratulations," she said and Daisy grabbed the counter for support as Kelly's words were lost in a blur.

  "Sorry, Kelly, can you repeat that?"

  "You whizzed through the audition process. You’re going to be a contestant on the inaugural episode of the show next week. Congratulations.”

  “What?”

  “You got through. You’re a contestant on the show.”

  “But–” She couldn’t breathe. There was no oxygen in the room. Her lungs had collapsed. She was dying. She gulped in deep long breaths, not sure if the shock was elation or dread. She wheezed, “But that’s impossible.”

  "Are you all right there? You sound strange.”

  Daisy slumped on the stool. “I was told it’d be a few weeks before we heard back. I only went to the audition Tuesday.”

  “This is the inaugural show on the 23rd. We feel you're a perfect candidate. We like the fact you're a local businesswoman who's determined not to give up when let's face it, your world has fallen apart. And more than that, you haven't given up on love in spite of your divorces." Daisy closed her eyes as Kelly cleared her throat. "And in someone so young, too." She paused. "Anyhow. I'll email you the info but if you've got a pen, here are some details."

  Daisy grabbed a pen, scribbled for dear life, her pulse thundering wildly in her head. She was going to be on TV.

  Dreams by Poppy was going to be on TV.

  Clearly they figured she was desperate. She ended the call. Maybe they figured if you’d stuffed it up twice you needed damn near divine help to get happiness.

  She should call her mother. Let Dahlia know what her youngest daughter was about to do.

  She speed dialed Michelle’s number instead.

  Chapter Four

  On the morning of the twenty second, Daisy left her shop and caught the cross town bus to Newmarket and to the hair salon of Rafael. Or as she knew him, Derek Potter. She’d once found some out-of-print cook books for his mother and she had been so thrilled, Derek had called to tell Daisy if she ever needed advice – actually, the word he used was help – he’d do wonders for her hair.

  As a result he also did her hair at half price. Even half price was a sizeable dent on her visa which was why she hadn't seen him in over a year and why, she acknowledged, she needed a change. A big change.

  She'd kept her hair long for the past seven or eight years now. Unlike her teens when she'd had short, permed, and multiple attempts at coloring.

  She'd got boring.

  Like her store, she wanted – no, she needed – a make over.

  Rafael was close to salivating as he ran his hands over her head, pausing to massage at strategically timed intervals.

  "Oh sweet heaven, you have the best hands," Daisy moaned.

  She suddenly thought of Joel's hands. All tanned and manly. What would they feel like running through her hair? How would it feel running her hands through his hair–

  "I know about my hands," Rafael said. "Oh, Daisy, honey, I've been waiting so long to do this."

  They both stared at her long, thick, wavy hair which, unless one was adept at blow-drying or possessed a hard core straightener, really was incredibly hard to style, and she said boldly and quickly before she could change her mind, “I think I might have it all off.”

  Rafael gasped. “Are you sure?” His faux Italian accent slipped in shock. “Are you absolutely sure? Because if you regret it, Daisy, my hair extensions don’t come cheap.”

  “No.” She said it without hesitation. “I’m sure. Give me short and sassy, Dere–"

  He shot her a warning glare.

  "I mean, Rafael.” She glanced at the elegantly framed hairdressing certificates on the wall. “And make it good. I’m going to be on TV.”

  Rafael squeaked in delight, rubbed his hands together with glee, and instructed his assistant to usher Miss Miller to the basins.

  He’s one of the top stylists in the city, Daisy reassured herself, as she leant her head back into the basin and felt the warm water glide wondrously over her head. He’s won awards, appeared in magazines with celebrities. According to the gossip column Tuesdays Tidbits, a few years back he’d almost got the job of doing Taylor Swift's hair when her stylist came down with gastro-enteritis on a downunder tour.

  No smoke without fire, Daisy believed. She lay back and closed her eyes.

  Michelle stared as Daisy waltzed through the door of Poppy’s. Daisy walked up to the counter, grinning at Michelle’s uncommonly speechless person.

  “What do you think?” Daisy twirled around.

  Michelle examined Daisy’s cropped locks. “I could never do that. I’ll go blue, orange, and black. But I could never chop off all my hair like that. What colours did he put through it?”

  “A selection of highlights and lowlights. Rafael called the red, Persian Russet. I debated whether to bleach it but it seemed trashy." She ran her hand down her hair, loving the new light feel, wondering why she hadn’t chopped her hair off years ago.

  Michelle said, "Your mother called. She asked if the rumors are true that you're going on a reality TV show?"

  Daisy winced. "I did let it slip to Bridget. Was Mum okay with it?"

  Michelle shook her head slowly.

  "In that case I'll wait until after tomorrow night to call. Is that a horrible thing to do?"

  "Heck, no. Sounds like plain old common sense to me. I mean, the whole of New Zealand is going to know tomorrow that you're looking for a date so why let anyone in on the secret earlier? But on the plus side you'll be semi-famous and I have no doubt the Ticking Clockers will be here in droves."

  "I hope so," Daisy sighed as she wondered, not for the first time, if she was mad. She was no marketer. What was going on a TV dating show going to achieve? What did she really know about rebranding a shop? People paid a fortune to have professionals come in and tell them what to do and here she was, Miss DIY–

  "Daisy." Michelle gr
ipped her shoulders. "Don't have doubts now. You need the promotion and I need the job. I mean it's not as if you'll win."

  "Win?" Daisy shuddered. "Of course I won't win. I'm only going on to promote the store." She felt nausea pool in her stomach as she clutched the edge of the counter and stared wildly at Michelle. "Holy crap. What if I win?"

  On the day of the show Joel sat in a room at the studio with Rob, and knocked back a sugar-loaded, caffeine-riddled drink and wished it was Scotch.

  “The show will be a breeze,” Rob assured him. "You’ll do fine.”

  Joel gulped down more drink. Last night he'd had a nightmare that he'd signed a contract tutoring first year students until retirement. He'd woken in a hot sweat, then promptly remembered Mystery Date and his body had turned to ice.

  Too bloody late now.

  “Go through what I’m meant to do once I’m out there – one more time?”

  Rob collapsed wearily on to a chair. “It’s exactly like the old TV dating shows but with a hipper edge.”

  “I can’t remember the old dating shows. All I can think of is reality– ”

  “Hey!" Rob jabbed his finger. "That's a dirty world in this network as of the lawsuit last year.” He loosened his tense shoulders. “You’re our last celebrity of the night."

  Joel winced at the word celebrity. The first one had been a drummer in a rock band he'd vaguely heard of, and the second was a former rugby player who'd gained twenty pounds since retirement.

  Most "celebrities," Joel had learnt, were actually in committed relationships even if they gave the impression of being available.

  Rob said, "You'll come out last. You’ll be escorted by Molly. Just do as you’re told. The contestants will be sitting on stools to the other side of the stage. You won’t see them because the pink heart wall will separate you all. They won’t know who you are, and they’ll be wearing headsets and listening to Manilow or whoever. They won’t hear our exchange – only the studio audience will be aware of who you are. You with me so far?”

  “I’m with you.”

  “You will take your three questions– "

  “Sheesh.” Joel slapped his thigh. “I forgot the damned questions.”

  “You never had them. Kelly’s got them. You and I will have a brief chat – just a ‘how are you?’ sort of thing – then you head over to the microphone and ask the questions one at a time to each contestant. They’ll have taken their headsets off so they can hear you. Then you get ten seconds to select which contestant you want to be your Mystery Date.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then the pink heart slides back to reveal your date. You meet in front of the heart, kiss her on the cheek, I’ll introduce you and the audience will go wild.” He suddenly thumped his forehead with his fist. “I almost forgot.” He scrabbled around his desk and came up with a piece of white paper. “You need to sign this. It’s a disclaimer. Just to make sure there’s no cheating during the show.”

  “Haven’t I already signed one of these? I’ve signed enough legal documents to make divorce look like choosing numbers for the lottery.”

  "How would you know when you've never been in a relationship long enough to even contemplate anything close to divorce?" Rob handed Joel a pen. “You’d never believe the letters the network gets from viewers accusing us of rigging the shows. These are the names of the three contestants selected for you. Do you know any of them? We've got backups if they're a problem.”

  Amber MacDonald. Daisy Miller. Flora Simpson. Joel shook his head. His mind was a blank anyway. He signed the form. “What was the selection process?”

  “They went through an interview and we narrowed it down to the final dozen."

  "And then what?"

  "Pulled the names out of a hat.”

  Joel handed the disclaimer back. “Scientific.”

  “We figure it’s impartial. We'll do the same next week. If there is a next week.”

  “So what happens after I say hi.”

  “Molly gives you the remaining envelopes and you choose your date. At the first round there are four envelopes and the first mystery date gets the pick, so that by the time the other guys have been on, there are only two left so you get to choose. In that envelope is the date you’ve won. It’s a very fair system.”

  “Could it just be a box of chocolates to get it over and done with?”

  “It could be dinner for two. It could be a weekend trip away."

  “Can you fix it so she gets the chocolate and I get nothing?”

  Rob glowered. “Are you freaking crazy? It’s the luck of the draw. It’s the mystery, Joel. That is the point of Mystery Date for the love of– Sheesh.”

  “And if I don’t like the mystery date woman and I win this weekend away? What then?”

  Rob looked into the mirror and adjusted his tie. “It’s only a weekend." He grinned at his reflection and checked his teeth. "Two nights. What’s one weekend out of fifty-two in a year?”

  At twenty past five the last three contestants’ names were called. Daisy, Amber and Flora followed Kelly Brown along identical corridors towards the studio. Battling nerves, Daisy spied an EXIT sign off to one side and wondered if that might not be the best course of action.

  “Don’t even think about it.” Kelly stopped in front of them but her gaze was pointedly on Daisy. “It’s never as bad as you think it’ll be. And you’ll love the celebrity mystery date. I must say I never heard of him until my co-producer mentioned him but, oh my.” She shivered a little and looked at her watch. “Okay ladies, the commercial break has just begun. We’ve got three minutes until your segment is on. Follow me.”

  They trooped down a short corridor, around a corner and suddenly they were there, out on the Mystery Date set. They were greeted by thunderous applause, blinding bright lights, and a severe case of pink taken to the extreme. It was like being in a giant bowl of candy floss. They were shown to the pale pink stools with Daisy, contestant number three, farthest from the pink heart.

  She glanced up at the monitors but couldn’t see a thing. They were positioned so that the mystery date wouldn't be able to see them either. Separated by a giant pink heart.

  Clever, Daisy thought, as a full-scale onslaught of butterflies did their thing. She coughed. Her throat was dry.

  Kelly attached microphones to their dresses. “Molly will come over during the Q and A time and switch these on. You don’t have to worry about a thing. When the mystery date asks the questions, just give your answer. It’s easy. And before you know it, one of you will be meeting the date. Good luck all of you.”

  “Sixty seconds,” the floor manager called and Daisy pulled down the bronze designer dress that had used up half her Visa limit. It had ridden up her thighs. Next to her, the girls were fiddling with their hair. Daisy reached up to hers; there was hardly anything left to fiddle with.

  “Thirty seconds to go,” the voice said and then the Mystery Date music was playing and the audience was clapping and cheering, their eyes glued to the figures on the other side of the pink heart.

  Kelly materialized next to them with headphones. When they were in place, Daisy sat, staring out at the audience, listening to what she thought sounded awfully like Poppy's favorite band, the Spice Girls. This was taking retro a bit too far.

  I bet the Spice Girls never had to go on a dating show, she thought, as her throat threatened to seize. She'd been insane agreeing to do this.

  She should have just folded the shop and looked for a job at a call center.

  Never follow your instinct again, Daisy. Never. Ever.

  She clenched her fists and prayed. Please don’t let me have a panic attack. Please don’t let me throw up with nerves. Oh, dear father in heaven. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. Please don’t let me win.

  Rob boomed, “Welcome back to Mystery Date and to our final male celebrity. He is the hottest hunk on campus, a man who had the honor to advise on the new Hollywood blockbuster filmed on location in France, The Last Centu
rion."

  The crowd roared.

  Rob yelled, "He's got brains and brawn, so everyone. Let's give it up for the man the kids call – Doc Joel!”

  The audience went wild, deafening Joel with their applause. It was a sea of bright light and noise and he couldn’t wait for it to be over, and just who on earth had written that rubbish? No one had ever called him Doc Joel in his life.

  Rob grinned his game show host grin. “Dr Joel Benjamin, welcome to Mystery Date. How are you feeling?”

  The truth wouldn’t go down well on a family show. He smiled and lied. “Fine, Rob. Though it’s not every day I get set up on a blind date.”

  Blind date. He had a sudden flashback to the one time he had been set up on a blind date then promptly forgot as the audience cheered and applauded. Molly gave the thumbs up and disappeared behind the pink heart to relieve the contestants of their headsets.

  “Step up to the microphone.” Rob handed him a card with his questions. “We’ll begin the final segment of our special charity celebrity Mystery Date. And viewers at home? Remember to text the number on your screen to make an automatic ten dollar donation to our charity.”

  Joel kept a fake smile plastered on his face. He stood in a lecture theatre every day and never felt an iota of nerves but this… This…

  He walked over to the microphone and looked at the card. The floor manager gave him the signal and it was time. He spoke into the microphone. “Good evening ladies. Here’s my first question.”

  Briefly, he wondered if any of them had taken Roman 101 and recognized his voice. Not that it mattered when they’d see him in a couple of minutes anyhow. Boldly he went on. “Contestant number one.”