Perfectly Played: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love & Alliteration Book 1)

by Holly Kerr

“I did!” I clap my hand over my mouth. “That sounded a little less excited in my head.” I take a step forward, and stop, not wanting to stare at him, but I can’t help it. He’s here, like some fairy tale prince sent to rescue me.

  Although I don’t need rescuing.

  Dean laughs, breaking the spell. His eyes are very blue. So blue and he’s so tall and…“Do you really own this? I run by here almost every day.”

  “Are you kissing—kidding! Are you kidding?” My cheeks flame at the slip. “You live nearby?

  He nods. “Just off Davisville.”

  “I live just off Davisville.”

  Dean’s face breaks into a smile, a real smile that causes such a flutter in my heart that I grab my chest. “Really? It’s a long street.”

  “So this is fascinating,” Imogene interrupts. “As much as I hate to miss anything, I’m going to run out for coffee, and let the two of you catch up, even though I have no idea what you’re catching up on. So I’d like to be caught up on that later if that’s okay for you. Okay?” Her smile is wide and expecting.

  “Sure.” I know I’m in for the third degree from Imogene as soon as Dean steps foot out the door, which is only one reason why I don’t want him to leave. “Don’t tell M.K.,” I say with an apologetic glance at Dean. “Monday’s are really busy for her, and if she knows you’re here, that will kind of…she’ll want to know about Clay. She still talks about him.”

  “Good, because Clay won’t shut up about her. Still. Is she close by?”

  I point to the wall. “She runs the bakery at the end. You drove by it. Pain au Chocolate.”

  “The two of you have really got the French thing going on.”

  “It works,” Imogene replies as she slowly walks to the door. “Can I get you something? You know, he looks like that guy from Game of Thrones.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I say with a sideways glance at Dean, who is staring right back at me. The fireworks in my chest have moved all over my body and I can’t stop smiling.

  He’s here.

  “Hello?” Imogene calls. “Coffee run?”

  Dean rips his gaze away from me. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “I’m sure you are.” The bell over the door tinkles as she leaves, sending Dean across the store to me.

  He cups my face in his hands, hands that have been all over my body. I can’t wait for a repeat performance. I can’t—

  “Hi,” he says huskily.

  I stroke his beard with nervous fingers. “I like your beard.”

  “No maple syrup this time.”

  “That’s—”

  Dean’s lips cut me off.

  He kisses me, once, twice, soft meetings of the mouth that feel like a dream, the scratch of his beard the only way I know this is real.

  Three, and I rise on my tiptoes and wind my arms around his neck, feeling the strength of his shoulders as he pulls me close. He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me off my feet.

  Dean is here, kissing me. Everything else flies out of my mind.

  I don’t know how long we kiss, me dangling, both of us laughing with delight when we come up for air, only to be pulled right back in. It feels like forever. I don’t want it to stop.

  So caught up in the sensations, I don’t hear the tinkle of the bell signaling a customer.

  I do hear the voice. “Flora?” It’s the anger in his tone that pulls me back to reality. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I pull away from Dean’s mouth and peer over his shoulder.

  “Thomas?”

  Thomas and a woman stand in my store, both with matching expressions of disgust. But even worse is the horror in Dean’s voice.

  “Evelyn?”

  Dean

  I gently set Flora down. Her mouth, the mouth I was kissing and would like to kiss again, drops open into a perfect O of surprise. The only sound is the low growl of Flora’s dog now at her side. “What are you doing here?” I ask Evelyn.

  “I should ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m buying flowers,” I say through gritted teeth, turning to the man. Thomas. He’s older with the slimy, self-satisfied expression of a used-car salesman who just conned you into buying a car you didn’t need. “Not that you would know anything about that.”

  Thomas narrows his eyes. “How do you know each other?”

  Evelyn stares at Flora with ice in her gaze. “Who is she?” The disdain in Evelyn’s voice pisses me off. But before I can say anything, Flora turns to me with an angry expression of her own.

  “Is this her? The one who left you?”

  “Evelyn.” The word is heavy in my mouth, like I’ve lost the ability to speak. Flora lifts her chin.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m Flora. I’m your replacement.”

  My eyes flash with surprise. “I met her in Las Vegas.”

  “You met her in Las Vegas,” Evelyn repeats. “Well, then, you can’t say anything about me, or you’re nothing but a hypocrite.”

  “We met after you dumped me,” I correct. “It’s none of your business what I did after you let me know you wouldn’t be joining me at our wedding.”

  “You know, I think texting is always best,” Flora cuts in sarcastically.

  “The two of you met at the same time.” Thomas looks more intrigued than angry. “That’s very interesting. It almost makes me want to go on a double date and talk about this.”

  “No. We’re not double anything. Or dating.” Flora spits out.

  Evelyn won’t meet my gaze. “Is that why you didn’t show up? Because of him?” I can’t help but notice Evelyn is holding Thomas’ hand.

  Flora sees the hand-holding at the same time. “What’s going on with the two of you?”

  “Flora, I was hoping to speak with you,” Thomas says in a formal voice. I bet money he’s a lawyer in some high-end firm.

  “What are you doing with her?” Flora demands in a high-pitched voice.

  “This is Evelyn,” Thomas says unnecessarily. “My wife.”

  I hear the sharp intake of Flora’s breath. Or maybe that was me. “Evelyn?”

  “Your…wife? Wife, as in, you married her?” I hear the quaver in her voice. The dog growls again, sensing her distress. I can’t think of anyone’s distress but mine. Evelyn is married. To someone who isn’t me.

  Married.

  “You got married?” Flora takes a step towards Thomas, her shoulders slumping with resignation.

  “When?” I ask in a quiet voice, the voice everyone who knows me knows to watch out for.

  Thomas ignores Flora’s question and turns to Evelyn with such an arrogant smile that it makes me sick to my stomach. “We met on the plane to Las Vegas. We sat next to each other and…talked,” Thomas says.

  “You talked?” Flora says scornfully. “As in talked. Like that night you talked to me in the hotel? And I’m supposed to believe you’re married? Where did this conversation happen, in the bathroom while you were joining the Mile-High Club?”

  For the first time, Thomas’ face tightens with anger. “Nothing happened until after you called off the wedding. You did that, Flora, not me.”

  “What would have happened if I didn’t?” Flora’s voice rises with each word.

  “Calm down, Flora. You’re acting like a child.”

  Flora bunches her fists on her hips, anger flushing her cheeks. “I’m not a child, old man!”

  “Is this true?” I ask Evelyn when Flora pauses for breath.

  “You and Clay insisted on flying down early,” Evelyn accuses.

  “So this is my fault?”

  “It’s no one’s fault,” Thomas soothes. “Evelyn and I met and had no intention of ever seeing each other again. When you stopped the wedding—”

  “I didn’t stop any wedding.” I turn to Flora, seeing her stricken expression as her responsibility for this mess sinks in.

  “Dean, I—”

  “If you had married him like you were supposed to then she wouldn’t have
dumped me. I’d have a wife right now!”

  Flora draws back like I’ve slapped her. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  I’m too angry to care about her apologies, or how hurt she looks. I only care that her decision ruined my life.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t walk away from you when I had the chance.” I head to the door, disgust and despair circling me like a storm cloud but Evelyn blocks my path. “Get out of my way, Evelyn.”

  “Dean, wait. We need to talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you. Maybe I did, but not now. You’re married now, to somebody else. You’re someone else’s wife.”

  Wife.

  “There are things we have to discuss,” she insists in her forceful, I-need-to-control-everything voice. “About the house.”

  “I left dishes everywhere, crumbs, dirty clothes all over the floor. I spilled beer on the rug.”

  Evelyn winces. I knew the mention of chaos in her perfect life would mess her up. “You can tidy a bit before I stop by.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “We’re going to live there,” Thomas announces. “Evelyn found the place and did all the work. She said you didn’t even like the house.”

  “You’re not taking my house!”

  “We all need to calm down.” If that’s his soothing voice, it’s about as effective as fingernails running down a chalkboard.

  “I don’t need to do anything but get the hell out of here.” I shoulder past Evelyn.

  “Dean, wait!”

  “Why would you come here, Thomas?” Flora cries.

  I pause and over my shoulder see Thomas glance sheepishly at Evelyn. “When we move into Evelyn’s house, I was hoping you could do the garden,” he admits.

  A dreadful silence fills the store, broken only by the dog farting. Flora laughs loudly, hysterically.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  I’m not sure if it’s me or Flora who says it, but I’ve heard enough. There’s no question of why Evelyn had broken up with me, and now there’s no question that she’s ever coming back. I pull open the door, the bell a cheery sound in the ugliness of this mess.

  “Dean, wait,” Flora urges.

  “For what? For my life to fall apart even more? You want the house?” I ask Evelyn. “You can have it. You’re right, I never liked it and I sure as hell don’t want to live there now. Whatever we paid for it, just give me half and I’ll get out.”

  “Dean, you can’t—” Flora falls silent as I turn on her.

  “What do you know about what I can or can’t do? This is your fault.”

  Her face drains of colour and those green eyes fill with tears. I harden my heart at the sight.

  “I’ll have my lawyer call you,” Evelyn says in a stiff voice.

  “You do that.”

  “You wouldn’t have been happy with her,” Flora calls.

  “You’re probably right,” I say as I walk out.

  Two steps towards my car and I crash into Imogene. It’s a moment before I feel the hot liquid burning through my shirt. “Jesus!” I jump away from her, and pluck at the wet fabric.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Imogene cries. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” Shaking my head, I head for my Jeep to get as far away from there as I can. “No, I’m really not.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Flora

  “You need to leave now,” I say to Thomas as the door shuts behind Dean. I steel myself not to run after him. “I’m not helping you with anything.”

  “You know you can use the money, Flora,” Thomas argues. “I want to help.”

  “I wouldn’t take your help even if I did need it.”

  “Thomas told me things aren’t going well for the business,” Evelyn adds.

  My mouth drops open, one more thing to add to my Why I hate Thomas List. “Get out.”

  “Flora, for once can you try and be an adult about this?”

  My perfect walk-away line is interrupted by Imogene’s return. “Flora, what happened?” she demands as she walks in. “The guy, Dean just ran into me—literally ran into me and I spilled the coffee—” Her voice falls as she takes in the scene. “Oh. Oh, no.”

  “Get out.”

  Imogene steps back to the door. “Okay.”

  “Not you, him. Them. Thomas, get out of my store.”

  “Flora, I don’t know what you’re so upset about—”

  “You don’t know why?” I shake my head with disgust, disgust at myself for wasting so much time with a man who is so insensitive and…

  I stop my internal rant. Why am I mad at him? I had been the one to end things with Thomas. This is my fault.

  “No, you probably don’t understand why I’m upset. But I think you should go. It’s been nice knowing you, Thomas.”

  “If that’s how you want it.” With stiff shoulders, Thomas waits for Imogene to move away from the door before he holds it open for Evelyn.

  “Wait!”

  Thomas turns with a hopeful expression on his face. I have no idea what he has to feel hopeful about with me.

  “Where did Dean go?”

  Evelyn turns in bewilderment. “How would I know?”

  I don’t know what good it will do me, but I need to know. I can’t let Dean walk away again. “You were with him for two years and you have no idea where he’d go if he’s upset? Even I know he’s not going home.”

  Her expression turns to disgust. “Baseball.” Then she sweeps out the door, Thomas on her tail.

  “That was Thomas,” Imogene whispers as the door shuts behind them.

  “It was.”

  I want to sink into the floor, like butter melting in the sun. Now that the loud voices have stopped, Cappie pokes his nose from behind the counter, and seeing it’s safe, presses his wet nose into my hand. “Oh my god.”

  And then I do sink down to the floor, gathering my dog into my arms. Thomas is gone, out of my life forever. Eight years of my life just walked out the door.

  “Flora? Honey, are you okay?”

  Imogene stares anxiously down at me. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “To start, maybe you should get up off the floor.” Imogene holds out her hands and I climb to my feet. “Tell me what happened.”

  “That was Thomas,” I say heavily. “And Evelyn. She was supposed to marry Dean.”

  “Wait—what?”

  “And now they’re married. Thomas and Evelyn. They met in Las Vegas after I left Thomas.”

  “How is that possible?” Imogene shakes her head. “You know, I don’t really care. What about Dean?”

  “He thinks it’s all my fault.” My shoulders sag at the memory of the anger in Dean’s face, after so much sweetness. “He hates me.”

  “He can’t hate you. He might hate me because I spilled coffee all over him. I need to find out if he’s okay.”

  “I don’t know where to find him. Evelyn said baseball, but where would he go to play? And now, in the middle of the day?”

  “I have no idea how Dean found you, but something’s at work here, so go get him. Drive around—I bet you’ll find him. He’s probably pulled over, pretty upset. He drives a black Jeep.”

  “Maybe.”

  Imogene makes little shooing motions. “Go. I’ve got your dog. Cappie and I will hold the fort. You need your keys,” she calls.

  I collect my keys and phone, moving zombielike. “What am I doing?” I ask. “I don’t know what just happened!”

  “I don’t know either, but you have to go find out.”

  Once outside, I stare into the tiny parking lot almost like I expect Dean to appear. Again. He was here, after weeks of wondering if I imagined him. Now I know he’s real, and he’s not an ass, and he kisses even better than I remembered.

  I cover my face with my hands. “Oh, my god.”

  Paulo’s perfect timing has him stopping right before me. “You called, my mulher flor?”

  I squint at him, his toothpaste-whi
te smile only reminding me of Dean. “I need M.K.,” I mutter, rushing away. As always, the smell of Pain au Chocolate is seductive, the warm yeasty smell of fresh bread sending my stomach into spasms of hunger. Today it confuses my insides because I also feel like I’m about to throw up.

  “Hi, Flora!” Adam waves with delight from behind the counter.

  Where is M.K? I can’t handle Adam’s enthusiasm right now.

  Luckily, the door to the kitchen bumps open and M.K. comes in with a tray of lemon Danishes in her hand. “Hey,” she says. “I just sent Imogene with your coffee.”

  “I’m sorry,” I cry. “Dean was here but now he hates me but I’m going to find him and fix it so you can fall in love with Clay.”

  M.K.’s expression changes from confusion to one of delight. “Clay? In Toronto? Here?”

  “It’ll be okay.” I feel my face scrunch with the effort not to cry. I don’t know why I feel the need to cry since I’m not one who enjoys turning on the waterworks. I’m the worst kind of crier; loud and ugly, with lots of snot and a red nose that lasts for hours.

  M.K. hands the tray to Adam and rushes around the counter. “Flora, what’s going on? You look like you’re ready to burst into tears.”

  And then I do start to cry, standing in the middle of the café, oblivious to the stares of those sitting at the tables or waiting in the line.

  M.K. hustles me into the kitchen. “Tell me what happened.”

  I give M.K. a recap through the unrelenting sobs. Even to me, it sounds so farfetched and unreal. The man I left at the altar had broken up Dean’s own wedding. And now Thomas is married.

  Thomas is married.

  “I don’t know what to say,” M.K. says with a stunned expression.

  “I don’t know what to do!” I wail, fat tears still rolling down my cheeks.

  Adam pushes the door open a crack. “Is everything okay back here?” he asks in a theatrical whisper.

  “Everything’s fine,” M.K. assures him. Adam gives me a sympathetic glance and lets the door swing shut after him.

  “I should go.” I sniffle. “I’m scaring your customers.”

  “Maybe just keep your voice down?” M.K. suggests, grabbing a wad of napkins from a dispenser and handing them to me.