It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Chick Lit

by S. E. Babin

  “Oh God. What else?”

  I told Zoey about outing Uncle Diego to his wife, snapping at Abuela, and stupid Uncle Herman. She was rolling around on the bed, howling with laughter by the time I finished.

  “God, Reese, how do you get yourself into these situations?” she asked between gasps for breath.

  The corner of my mouth quirked up involuntarily. Reflecting on it from the comfort of my bed, the whole situation seemed straight out of a sitcom.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But I sure wish I did so I could avoid them. I can’t face Javi’s family again…not that he’d even want me to.”

  “Oh, stop it. You’ve done embarrassing stuff before. Remember that time you drunk-dialed Quinn?”

  I dropped my head into my hands. “Don’t remind me!”

  Zoey patted my knee. “But you survived it. It’s going to be okay. What was Javi’s take on everything?”

  I groaned and flopped backward. “I don’t know,” I whined. “I got so overwhelmed that I shut him out and I ran off.”

  Zoey stood up and shook her head maniacally. “Nope, we’re not doing this whole ignore-Javi-for-days-and-let-Zoey-fix-it-thing again. You’re going to call Javi and clear the air.”

  “I just can’t talk to him right now, Zo.” I climbed under my covers and snuggled my plush ALF doll.

  A second later, the covers were pulled off, and I was exposed to the world. Zoey loomed above me.

  “Don’t make me get my whistle,” she threatened. She placed my phone in my hand and started for the door. “Call him, text him, I don’t care what you do. Just communicate.”

  I peeked at my phone, then sat up and glared at her. “Look, he already texted. He wants me to meet him at Cuppa tomorrow morning. God, Zo, he probably wants to break up with me.”

  Zoey rolled her eyes. “You always jump to extremes! I’m sure he just wants to talk things over since you ran out on him. Talk. To. Him.”

  She left my room, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Before I could truly get comfy, she stuck her head back inside. “You better go. At the very least you’ll get a break-up breakfast out of it.”

  I grabbed my brush from my nightstand and launched it, but Zoey slammed the door closed before it reached her.

  * * *

  The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed with a heavy heart. I felt like I was heading to my own execution. Normally just thinking about Javi made me feel all warm and safe, but at the moment I felt sick to my stomach with dread.

  When I went to my bathroom to get ready, I saw a yellow sticky note waiting for me on my mirror.

  You got this! Zoey had scrawled.

  At least one of us thinks so, I thought to myself.

  After I took a quick shower and threw on some clean-looking clothes from the floor, I was ready to go.

  I chewed my lip and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel during the short drive to Cuppa. Was Javi really going to dump me at the place we first met?

  Standing outside the coffee shop’s picture window, I took a deep breath and shifted from foot to foot. Big girl panties, Reese, big girl panties.

  Before I could think about it anymore, I pulled the door open and entered. Since it was Sunday, the line at the counter nearly reached the entrance of the establishment.

  “Reese, over here,” Javi called. He waved his hand from his seat at a small table for two next to the wall. He already had a white bakery box and two sleeved cups in front of him.

  My heart hammered in my chest as I approached him; I really didn’t know what to expect from this meeting, but I knew that I didn’t want to let Javi go. I could only hope that he felt the same way despite my behavior the night before.

  Javi stood up when I got to the table. He hesitated a moment before saying anything.

  I held my breath.

  “Can I give you a hug?” he asked.

  My head whipped back in surprise at the greeting. Was he trying to catch me off-guard so I’d be discombobulated and less likely to react when he dumped me?

  “Of course,” I replied.

  Javi put his arms around me, and I melted against his chest.

  “Please don’t leave me,” I murmured.

  Javi pulled back with a baffled expression on his face. “Where’d that come from?”

  “I totally embarrassed myself—and you—last night in front of all your friends and family. I understand if you want to break up with me, but I really, really like you.”

  “Reese, quit talking crazy.” Javi nodded at the seat across the table. “Sit down and drink your latte.”

  Obediently, I sat and picked up the cup. Javi sat too and ran a hand through his hair.

  “I do want to talk to you about last night—”

  I put a palm out to stop him. “I’m so sorry. I really tried to make a good impression.”

  Javi chuckled. “You certainly made an impression, all right.”

  My shoulders drooped. “Was I that awful? Did you all talk about me after I left? I’m so mortified.”

  “Life happens, Reese. It’s how you bounce back that shows what you’re made of.”

  “How the hell am I going to bounce back from bringing your mom tequila, or mistaking your uncle’s wife for his mistress?”

  Javi scrubbed a hand over his stubble. “Yeah…the Diego and Soledad thing didn’t go so well. They’ve decided to separate.”

  I gasped. This was worse than I thought. “Oh my God, I broke up their marriage.”

  Javi shook his head. “No, no, no. Diego and Soledad have been having problems for years. In case you didn’t realize it, he’s kind of a playboy.” Javi paused. “They should have separated a long time ago.”

  “Huh,” I said. I took a sip of my drink.

  “And as for my mom, well, she actually said that you remind her of herself in her twenties.” Javi smiled.

  “What? You’re pulling my leg,” I said.

  “I’m not! She said you’ve got spunk.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “She did not. Really?”

  “She wants to get to know you. She mentioned having us over for dinner…and said you’re in charge of making the margaritas.” The corner of Javi’s mouth quirked up. “It probably would have been a smarter idea in the first place for you to meet my parents in a more intimate setting.”

  Suddenly hopeful, I looked at him. He was making future plans for us. “Wait a minute—we’re not breaking up?”

  Javi frowned and reached across the table for my hand. “One crazy evening doesn’t negate a whole relationship. And none of it was even that serious.”

  “I was mean to your grandmother,” I whispered. “That’s pretty serious. But I heard Elena’s name—”

  Javi pursed his lips. “Reese, my abuela was saying that you have a nice face and seemed kinder than Elena. I told you, Elena is my past, and you are my future.”

  I felt a familiar spark in my chest—the same spark I’d felt when I realized I was falling for Javier.

  “So we’re good?” I asked again, just to make sure we were on the same page.

  Javi gave me a huge smile. “We’ve always been good.” He pushed the bakery box toward me. “Have an éclair.”

  After the emotional cyclone that’d taken its toll, I seriously needed some sustenance. I returned his smile, opened the box, and gasped.

  A silver chain stretched between two chocolate-raspberry éclairs. At the end of it lay two stars melded together, with a tiny gemstone in the center. When I picked up the necklace and made a closer inspection of it, I saw that the stars were slightly misshapen, and it wasn’t a gemstone in the middle, but a rock.

  I looked at Javi. “What is this?”

  “It’s a handcrafted necklace,” he said. “And this—” he pointed to the rock, “—is a piece of a Campo del Cielo meteorite from Argentina.”

  “Oh my God. This is from Space,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It is,” Javi said. “And it’s one-of-a-kind. Just li
ke you.”

  I let the chain drape over my hand and gazed at the piece of meteorite. “Why are you giving me this?”

  “Well, it was your Christmas present, but I figured I’d give it to you early to show you how much you mean to me. It’s not a ring, but…”

  I smiled at Javi and went around to his side of the table where I put my arms around him and squeezed as tight as I could. I leaned back and looked up into his warm brown eyes.

  “It’s perfect,” I whispered. “Put it on me.”

  I handed over the necklace and turned around. Javi’s hands were steady as he clasped it around my neck and placed the pendant just so. He rested his hands on my shoulders and leaned close to my ear.

  “You want to go back to my place?” he purred. “We can bring the éclairs.”

  I spun around and squeezed him again. “I love it when you talk dirty to me. Let’s go.”

  About the Author

  A Durham, North Carolina native, and graduate of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Jax Abbey bleeds Carolina blue. By day she molds the young, bright minds of the future, but at night you can find her furiously pounding the keys as she funnels zany ideas and quirky characters from her brain to the computer. When Jax isn’t tutoring her students, or convincing her characters to simmer down, she loves to spend time with her significant other, Tyler, and her TinyDog.

  @jaxabbey

  jaxabbeyauthor

  jaxabbey.com

  Also by Jax Abbey

  Hot Mess

  Highways & Hostages

  I’m Scheming of a White Christmas

  Kate O’Keeffe

  1

  When was it going to snow? It was almost Christmas time, I was in New York City, it was freaking freezing—a winter the likes of which this New Zealand girl has never known—and still there was no snow? I mean, come on!

  I’d been living here in this fabulous city, in an apartment the size of a child’s low- budget dolls’ house, for a grand total of two weeks and four days. Don’t get me wrong, I totally loved it. New York City was everything I remembered it to be and so, so much more. The last time I was here I was an exchange student living in Westchester, a senior at the local high school there. I came to New York City only a handful of times but it was enough for my heart to become totally enraptured. I’d spent the last ten years working out how to get myself back here. Permanently.

  And here I was.

  I wanted a white Christmas. It was one of the huge selling cards for moving here at this time of year. Coming from New Zealand, I had never experienced an actual, bona fide white Christmas before. Where I’m from, Christmas happens in summer and Santa is more likely to arrive on a surfboard than a sleigh, those nimble reindeer hanging ten behind (actually, I think it may be more like hanging one or two, but you get the idea).

  I read an article once about positive visualisation, the idea you can make something happen if you think about it long and hard enough. It had never worked for me in high school, no matter how many times I’d visualised Brady McKinnon kissing me, but I was desperate enough for snow to give it a shot now.

  I closed my eyes, envisioning snow in all its white, winter wonderland glory: snowing in Central Park, sprinkling the iconic Rockefeller Center with a light dusting. I’d never seen driven snow but I was more than willing to give it try.

  I opened my eyes. Still nothing, not even a sad and lonely flake.

  Just as I was considering what a snow dance might look like, I heard someone beside me clear his throat.

  I snapped my head up, embarrassed, noticing a figure standing in front of me. I slid my dark hair behind my ear, hoping he hadn’t noticed me daydreaming about snow—suspecting I’d just been totally busted.

  “Happy Holidays! Can I help you, sir?” I asked brightly, remembering my Marlowe Department Store’s obligation to be cheerleader-at-a-pep-rally perky at all times.

  “Yes. That would be great,” the man in front of me replied.

  I quickly sized him up. He was the total cliché: tall, dark, and handsome, a smile spread across his Hollywood star face.

  I looked into his eyes. The hamsters in my brain began to whir on their wheel as a flood of memories washed over me.

  Oh. My. God.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have an appointment. I think I’m meant to have one of those to use your personal shopping services, right?” He looked at me questioningly.

  In an instant I was back at my Westchester high school, seven years ago, with braces, zits, and a frankly ill-advised hairstyle, lusting after Brady McKinnon: football god and all ’round Mr Popularity.

  I blinked at him. “Hi, ah... B-Brady,” I stammered, flushing as red as the synthetic Santa suit Randy Rodney was currently sporting on Level Two.

  The man standing in front of me shot me a questioning look, his smile slipping a fraction. “Do I know you?”

  “I, ah, yes. Sort of. We went to high school together. Senior year? I was an exchange student from New Zealand. We were in history class together, I think.” Ha! Like I would have ever forgotten. “So yes, we knew each other, but only a little.”

  I cringed. So not smooth, Tilly.

  Brady McKinnon had the grace to smile, his eyes sparkling. “Of course. How are you—” he glanced down at my chest, “Tilly?”

  He remembered me? Brady McKinnon remembered me? And not only that, he’d checked me out? The hamsters shot down en masse to my belly.

  When I didn’t respond he asked, “That is your name, right? Tilly?”

  My hand darted to the nametag on my lapel. Of course. My heart sank. “That’s what the nametag says!” My tone was bright, belying the disappointment rushing through my body, lancing vital organs with its progress. “Yes, it’s Tilly. Tilly Grayson.”

  He gave me a sideways glance. “History class. Yeah, I remember you. How are you?”

  “Good. Great. Amazing, actually.” I suspected my eyes had taken on a maniacal glint.

  He nodded at me. “Great to hear. It’s good to see you again. So, Tilly. I need some new clothes and this is the personal shopping area, right?”

  My mouth was so dry it was like it was filled with sand. “Yes, yes it is,” I managed.

  I had to snap out of this.

  He smiled, looking relieved. “I could really do with some help. I’m useless at dressing myself.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly, his smile broadening into a grin.

  My eyes skipped over his body, my heart rate kicking up a notch or two. He was dressed the way most guys our age are in a sweatshirt, jacket and jeans, but somehow his broad shoulders, athletic build and long legs did stuff to his clothes. He looked so good he could have stepped out of Men’s Health magazine. I sighed. He’d barely changed since high school. In fact, I’d say he’d even got better.

  Damn him! After what he did to me back then he could still make my legs turn to jelly.

  “Ah, Tilly?”

  I shook my head, coming back from my unpleasant walk down memory lane. I caught my boss out of the corner of my eye, shooting me a disapproving look.

  Snap to it, Tilly.

  “Sorry.” My blush threatened to spark internal combustion. It’s probably not the best look, spontaneously bursting into flames in the middle of the menswear department. “You were saying?”

  “Do you think you could help me?”

  Pulling myself together with super-human strength I replied, “Of course I can.” My tone was purposefully light and breezy, like Brady McKinnon didn’t make me want to crawl under a rock and die—after I’d kissed the lips off him for several hours, that is. It was complicated.

  “Awesome.”

  I detected a rather sizeable note of relief in his smooth-as-silk voice.

  “Why don’t you tell me what sort of thing you’re after and I’ll get some choices for you?”

  “Well, I need a suit for my sister’s wedding. My sis said to use you guys as I have no clue about fashion. I’m under strict instructions to look good.”


  “Sure, of course,” I trilled, my voice unnaturally high. I couldn’t imagine Brady McKinnon not looking good. “Let’s get your size worked out and I can see what we can do.”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Good. Great.” I grinned at him like some sort of love-struck loon for a moment. Thankfully I managed to remember to do my job. “Right then. Come with me. You can sit down and relax and we can talk about what you need. Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait?”

  “Sure, thanks. White, no sugar.” He took a seat in one of the comfortable chairs in the waiting area.

  With shaking hands I poured coffee into a cup, spilling it over the sides. “Dammit,” I muttered under my breath. I grabbed a cloth and mopped it up, shooting Brady a furtive glance. He smiled back at me. Busted. Again.

  I poured in the milk, gave it a quick stir then placed the cup and saucer on the table next to his seat. Trying not to shake with nerves, I sat down opposite him.

  “Tell me, what sort of suit did you have in mind?”

  He bit his lip. “Umm, one with a jacket and pants?” He grinned at me. His teeth were so perfectly straight and white they were almost blinding.

  I laughed, my body relaxing about seven point three per cent—don’t ask me how I measured it. “All right. That’s a start. Maybe you could tell me a little about the wedding? Is it a traditional church wedding? A registry office affair? On the beach?”

  “Probably not on the beach in New York in December.”

  “Ah, no. Got it.”

  “It’s a traditional church, white wedding kind of thing. My sis wants me to be in a regular suit.”

  He gave me his colour preferences, sizing and budget. I took notes, trying to look as though Brady McKinnon’s sudden appearance in my life hadn’t knocked the wind right out of me, my confidence deflating like a punctured balloon.

  All the relevant information gathered, I left him to his second cup of coffee and blueberry mini muffin as I headed out on my mission.