“Q!” Pan’s glare stopped Cupid cold.
Right. Don’t give the gods any bright ideas. Cupid couldn’t have stomached Mia going all gooey over Pan under any circumstances.
Eli brought his fists down on the table. “Cake! Cake!”
“Eli wants his pancakes,” Jonah chimed in.
“I’m on it,” Cupid answered. “How about cutting up that banana, Pan?”
“Yeah, sure. Why not? That’s just what I came to do,” Pan said.
Leaving Jonah to supervise Pan’s banana-slicing technique, Cupid whirled toward the stove and smacked right into Mia. “Sorry,” he said, bracing the baby in her arms before Mia’s glower forced Cupid to take a step backward.
Plowing right through him, Mia strode to the highchair, strapped Lucas in, and checked the security of Eli’s belt. “Exactly what did you come to do, Pan?”
Pan glanced up from the banana, registered Mia’s agitation, and calmly divided the cut-up fruit between the two boys. “Hey, I’m just the messenger.”
Mia’s scowl moved from Pan to Cupid. “You. Bedroom. Now.”
Pan blinked at Cupid, sympathetic but useless. “Go ahead, Q. We got this, right, Jonah?”
Without waiting for Jonah’s response, Mia hooked her finger through one of Cupid’s belt loops—yet another reason for Cupid to hate the cursed things—and dragged him down the hall. He barely made it inside the room ahead of the door slamming behind him. Mia spun on him, hands balled into fists on her slim hips.
“Who the hell does he think he is, barging in on our morning to deliver his pronouncement of doom, and what’s so wrong with playing house?” The fire in her eyes shifted, replaced by something more vulnerable, which just about broke Cupid’s heart in two. “And since when is he the authority on our relationship?”
Cupid closed the distance between them and pulled her hands into his. “Mia.”
“Darn it, Q. You said you loved me. But we’re all too much responsibility, the four of us, aren’t we? I get it. Run from the scary single mom while you still can,” she said in a voice rising with hysteria. “You’re too young and hot to get trapped. Don’t waste your prime on someone else’s mess. Hell, sometimes I’d run if I could.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat; even Mia’s impeccable posture couldn’t stand up to the desperation of their situation.
“Whoa. Whoa. Slow down.” Cupid pulled Mia into his chest and wrapped his arms tight around her back. “You’ve got it all wrong, Mia. Nobody feels trapped. Those boys are fantastic, and I do love you even though I know it seems impossible in such a short time.”
Her tears slid down Cupid’s bare chest. “You shouldn’t throw that word around like it doesn’t matter.”
“I would never, Mia. I mean that.”
She shook free of his grasp. “Is it because I can’t say it back?”
“No. It’s not about that at all.”
She crossed her arms and tried to round up more fierce indignation, but the hurt and betrayal had sucked the fight right out of her. “I don’t get it. Can you help me understand, please?”
Explaining that Aphrodite had chosen Mia for a Right Love match probably wouldn’t be all that comforting, he guessed, so with no other good options, Cupid tried a different version of the truth. “I’m not right for you.”
Indignation came roaring back. “Were you right for me while we were screwing?”
He shook his head and let out a sad sigh. “Don’t, Mia. It’s not that we’re not great together. That’s why this is so damn painful.”
“You’re breaking up with me because we’re great together? Does this even count as breaking up? Were we even together?” Mia tipped her face toward the sun shining in through the window, as if trying to regain the warmth Cupid was stripping away. “So, what was all that crap about me being the one?”
“You are the one for me; I’m just not the one for you.” Lying would have been so much easier.
“Wow. Somehow, I expected you to be more original than it’s-not-you-it’s-me. I guess I was wrong about that too.” She nailed him with eyes brimming with tears. “God, I am so weak. I should be furious with you, and instead . . .? Ugh, listen to me, trying to talk you out of dumping me. This is so humiliating.”
Cupid brought a hand to his chest and tried in vain to tamp down the fire inside. Standing here discussing this like any of it made sense was the worst kind of agony, but Cupid had no choice but to keep her close. Whatever he was meant to do, he needed Mia to trust him. If she banished Cupid from her life, he would wallow in heartache for the rest of his days. Even worse, Mia might never find her Right Love.
“Your instincts aren’t wrong, Mia. We have a connection, and I don’t want to break it.”
“Now you’re confusing me. Are you dumping me or not?”
Cupid frowned. “I wish you would stop using that word. We need to end the physical part of this, but—”
“Oh, nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-no.” Mia’s hand shot up. “Please, whatever other clichés you inflict on me, don’t insult me with the let’s-stay-friends speech.”
How could he possibly explain? “Not friends exactly.”
“Not friends, not physical. Oh my god. Are you gay?”
“Gay?”
“Are you and Pan . . .?”
Well, there was a surprise. “After that marathon . . . fudging session, do I seem gay to you?”
Her lips twitched with amusement. “Not particularly, but I’m stumped. Where are you going with this?”
“I believe I’m meant to help you find your Right Love.” First toe dipped into murky waters, Cupid happily discovered he was still breathing—and Mia hadn’t punched him.
“Heh, I’ve certainly had no trouble finding my wrong loves without any help.” She was definitely not looking pleased. “And here I thought you actually had some potential. Silly Mia!”
“Please, believe me, Mia. I’d give anything to be your destiny.”
“How are you so sure you’re not? Ugh, did that sound as pathetic as I think it did?”
“You’re anything but pathetic, and unfortunately, I am sure. It’s kind of what I do, this love stuff.”
“You do ‘love stuff.’”
Cupid nodded as earnestly as he knew how.
Mia brought her fingertips to her forehead and rubbed. “I need to think.” Cupid tried to wait patiently while his heart banged around inside his chest. “So, you want me to believe you’re some kind of matchmaking expert, and you’re going to help me find my Mr. Right, and this man will be better for me than you are?”
“Yes.” Now they were getting somewhere.
“If you’re some kind of scam artist, planning to extort large sums of money for this little ‘service,’ you should probably take a harder look around.” A semi–hysterical cackle ended her rant.
“No, Mia, of course not. All I want is for you to be happy. Tragically, that does not involve being with me.”
Taking in Cupid’s defeated expression, Mia shook her head and sighed. “You, sir, are one wild ride.”
Cupid held his breath until she spoke again.
“Okay, let’s say I play along with your bizarre home version of ‘The Dating Game,’ and it turns out you’re wrong. Can I have you back?”
Cupid allowed himself a smile and a little bit of hope. “Deal.”
He probably shouldn’t have, but Cupid drew Mia to him and kissed her mouth one last time.
30
Bistro Du Coeur
“Tell me again where you found this Greg guy, and zip me, please?” Mia tried to ignore Q’s soft, sad sigh and the featherlight touch of his hand one beat too long on her hip as she spun back around to face him.
“It’s called Tinder. I’ve collected the responses over the last forty-eight hours and arranged a date with the man most likely to be your match.”
> “You found my date on Tinder?”
“Pan says it’s the most efficient way to find the best prospects in your vicinity.” Pan. Well, that explained it.
The sane part of her suspected she should have sent Q packing by now, but Mia couldn’t see where she had anything to lose. Safety wasn’t a real concern since Q’s tether only stretched about fifteen feet. Any further, he claimed to not be able to judge the “rightness” of the pairing. Mia had no idea how this would all play out if she did, in fact, click with this guy Greg. The last guy she’d dated—and ended up marrying—would not have appreciated a shadow, especially one with an overprotective streak. Then again, so what, really, if Greg got scared off? Q made a damn fine fallback plan. This seemed to be the ultimate win-win situation.
“Okay, just do me a favor? Let my mother go on believing you’re actually my date. I don’t think I could begin to explain this whole arrangement to her, and frankly, if I did, I’m pretty sure she’d talk me out of it.”
“You look beautiful,” Q replied, skipping right over her request. The tender compliment tugged on Mia’s already fragile heartstrings.
She didn’t know whether to kiss him or remind him she was only going out on this date for him. Settling on a sad smile, Mia grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the bedroom. “C’mon. We’re gonna be late for my date.”
The boys were lined up on the floor like three little birds on a wire, eyes glued to the Goodnight, Sprout show they only got to watch when Grams babysat. Mia gave the baby’s bum a little pat through the sling of his bouncy seat. “Be good, Lukie. Night-night, Eli.” Eli barely acknowledged her kiss on his cheek, but Jonah twisted around and linked his arms around Mia’s neck.
“You smell fancy, Mommy.”
“Yep, Q is taking Mommy out on the town,” she answered.
Jonah’s hands slipped away from Mia as he spun around toward Q. “G’night, Q.” Joe waited with his arms in the air while Q stepped inside them and gave him a tight squeeze.
We don’t get to keep him, Mia needed to warn them all, as if it weren’t already too late not to get attached. Instead, she said what she could. “Night-night, Joe. You be good for Grams.”
“He’s always good,” Mia’s mom chimed in. “They’re all angels.”
“Night, Mom,” Mia said. “Don’t wait up.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Franklin.”
“Good night, Quentin, dear.” Her mother flashed a smile at Q and shot Mia an embarrassingly obvious wink. “Have fun, kids. Don’t worry about us.”
Mia suppressed her giggle until the door closed behind them. “Good night, Quentin, dear,” she parroted in a voice sounding scarily like her mother’s. Slipping past Q through the passenger door he was holding open for her, Mia added, “If she only knew you were my pimp.”
Q’s jaw dropped, and he didn’t respond until he climbed in on the driver’s side. “Pimp, am I? A man earning a hefty fee for selling the sexual services of others?”
“Hefty, huh? Abandoned, single mother-of-three has quite the steep street value, I hear.”
“Mia! That’s no way to talk about yourself.”
“Whatever.”
Q started up his car and coasted down the street. Damn these hybrids, it was way too quiet. Mia itched to turn on some music, even a damn talk show, but Q’s knobs weren’t hers to fiddle with—not tonight, anyway. Awkward conversation it was, then.
“So, can we talk about how this is going to work? If you’re planning to sit and watch us all night while we eat, that’s pretty creepy.”
The tiny hammer pulsing against Q’s cheek might have escaped the notice of someone less fluent in energy anatomy. “I’ll be at a nearby table, close enough to feel your beat.”
“You’ll feel my ‘beat’?” Because that’s not creepy at all.
“If there is a beat, I’ll feel it. But remember, we need two.”
“Yes, right. The echoes.” She was trying, honest, but all this talk about “right loves” and “echo beats” made Mia’s head spin. Romance was for girls with time and imagination, not four mouths to feed.
Undeterred by whatever sarcasm might have seeped into her tone, Q nodded. “That’s right. Just one is no good.” His hand left the wheel and rubbed at his chest.
“Okay, say this guy isn’t my perfect match. What if I like him anyway?”
Q shot her an anxious glance. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if I’m attracted to him? What if I want to . . .” Jump into the sack with the guy after one date? Now, there was a thought that never would have crossed her mind before Q dropped into her life. See what happens when you break the seal? “What if I want to spend more time with him?”
Stopped at a red light, Q rounded on her. The reflection off the windshield tinted his heartbroken expression with a garish smear resembling blood. “What would be the point?”
Right. If it were only for the meaningless sex, there would be no reason to choose anyone over Q. Oh wait, Q wouldn’t sleep with her now. This whole situation held no joy for either of them. Mia sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “Never mind.”
She searched for a safe topic but couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t be loaded right now, which really stunk because she’d wanted to tell him all about Eli and Jonah’s bubble bath argument over who liked Q better and why. They drove the rest of the way to the restaurant in a stifling silence.
The car glided to a stop, and Q moved swiftly to open Mia’s door. She took his offered hand and stepped out of the car, painstakingly avoiding his eyes. He retracted his support the moment she was vertical, as if touching her caused him physical pain.
“Good luck, Mia.”
She gave his slumped body one final glimpse and immediately wished she hadn’t. Forcing the defeat from her thoughts, Mia pulled in a deep, cleansing breath and stepped inside the vestibule. This all better be worth it.
A bud vase with a single red rose greeted Mia at the hostess stand as Frank Sinatra crooned at the perfectly staged volume. LED votives flickered on two-tops and cozy half-circle booths. Good ol’ Bistro du Coeur, Tarra’s obligatory “romantic restaurant” and, unbeknownst to Q, the site of Asshole’s cheesy proposal. Great, now she had a second man to push out of her head before her date showed up. Mia hadn’t had the heart to tell Q, not after the countless hours of research he had already invested in this date.
“Please tell me you’re Mia.”
She started toward the honey-glazed voice to her right and happily noted the sleek chassis matched the purr of his engine. At least Q had good taste in men. Fit and tan, sharply dressed in dark jeans and a houndstooth check blazer, the blondish man in front of her waited with a hopeful lift of his eyebrows until she answered. “Greg?”
Their mouths widened into matching maybe-this-blind-date-won’t-suck smiles, and Mia could’ve checked her lipstick in his perfectly straight, gleaming teeth. He offered his hand, and when Mia placed hers inside it, Greg set his other hand on top to seal the deal.
“It’s really nice to meet you. Shall we?”
Greg nodded to the hostess, who seemed to have been awaiting Mia’s arrival as well. Before falling into line between the hostess and her date, Mia peered back to check the entrance. No sign of Q.
How about paying attention to the hot guy pulling out your chair? Her date had actual manners, a definite plus and not necessarily something she would have expected of a Tinder hookup. Unlike Q, who somehow never seemed quite at home, Greg moved fluidly to his place across the table, swept his napkin into his lap, and studied the wine list as if he’d just stepped off the plane from Bordeaux. Then again, for all his suavity and Esquire–worthy clothing, Mia couldn’t help noting her date lacked a certain je-ne-sais-Q.
Greg busied himself with the selection, but Mia caught him peeking over the thick leather binder more than once. “Would y
ou prefer red or white?” he asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. You’re a champagne girl.”
Mia flicked her white linen napkin open and draped it across her thighs. She hardly fit the label of “champagne girl” but couldn’t find any reason to shatter her date’s grandiose ideas. “I do love the feel of the tiny bubbles popping on my nose.”
“Perfect,” he said, setting the menu to the side and folding his hands on the table. “Mia. That’s a beautiful name. Is it short for—”
Mia followed Greg’s gaze to the figure who had materialized at their table. An awful grimace spoiled Q’s face.
“Sorry,” Q said simply. Mia had never seen him so twitchy and out of his element.
“Yes, we’ll take a bottle of the Veuve Clicquot yellow label.”
Q’s head snapped up. “What?”
A prickle of heat crept up Mia’s neck as the two men squinted at each other in confusion.
“Are you the sommelier?” Greg asked.
Things were about to get ugly. Mia could feel the gathering storm in her bones, but she didn’t have the first clue what to do about it. What could possibly be the etiquette here?
Ignoring Greg, Q delivered his verdict. “He’s not the one.”
Mia narrowed her eyes at Q and gave him a tight shake of her head. Watching the whole exchange with a dropped jaw, Greg went from bewildered to furious before Mia could explain, not that she had a clue how she would have accounted for Q’s presence. Greg, I’d like you to meet my lover-slash-pimp.
“What the hell is this?” Greg jumped up, shoving his chair away with a harsh screech against the wood floor. “You know this guy? Are you two trying to pull some kinky shit on me?” With each question, his voice notched louder and angrier. “Fucking Tinder!”
Mia couldn’t bear to watch as her date stormed off, the trailing breeze stinging like a slap across the face. The room tilted, and Mia clutched the sides of the table until she could find her center.
“Excuse me, miss.” Another man appeared. “Is there a problem here? Is this man bothering you?”
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