“I’ve had better,” she admitted. She laid three different, though practically identical, pairs of jeans on her bed. “Where did you say we’re going tonight?”
“I didn’t.”
Elle heard him chuckle on the other end. Closing her eyes, she let the sound carry her back in time.
She must have lingered in the past too long, because Graham said, “Elle? You still there?”
Shaking the memories from her mind, she tried to focus on the present. “How am I supposed to know what to wear?”
“I’ll text you the wardrobe parameters.”
“Fine, be secretive, James Bond,” she teased.
There was that chuckle again. “Pick you up in an hour.”
A few seconds after they were off the phone, his text came through.
Jeans.
Tennis shoes.
Grungy sweater.
If you still have the Dashboard Confessional hoodie you stole from me in high school, that’d be perfect.
Elle laughed out loud at the last line. If she still had the hoodie? She slept in it almost every night.
She pulled the hoodie from the top drawer of her dresser, and a black-and-white photo strip fluttered to the ground. Picking it up gingerly, she gazed at the youthful faces of her and Graham twisted into every goofy expression imaginable.
Growing up in Sonoma meant they visited the Sonoma County Fair every year. In high school, they were allowed to go without a chaperone and would pool their cash together to buy as many ride tickets as possible. Which they spent exclusively on the scream-inducing Zipper.
Elle smiled, recalling the night they’d crammed themselves into the photo booth. She’d had to sit halfway on his lap to fit inside, and he’d slid his arm around her waist to keep her from tumbling out. At the time—at seventeen going on thirty—she’d thought she’d known what love was. And it was whatever she and Graham had shared. Then, the day she discovered he didn’t share her feelings after all… she didn’t know what she believed anymore.
A notification alert on her phone startled Elle from her reverie.
1 New Message.
That’s odd. It wasn’t a text from Graham, or the email she expected from Jason.
Someone had messaged her via the Puzzle app.
Elle did a double take. In the entire year she’d had a profile on Puzzle, only two or three matches ever made it past her rigorous algorithm. And the fact that none of them were Graham meant they didn’t stand much of a chance.
Curious, she pulled up the message sent from an anonymous profile.
So far, not off to a great start.
“I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way. Greatness will not make me so."
Huh?
Elle squinted at her phone as if adjusting her eyesight would lend clarity to the cryptic message. For some reason, the words sounded familiar. Where had she heard them before?
Copying and pasting the message into Google, Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen immediately popped up in the browser.
Elle groaned as unpleasant memories from her sophomore English class flooded her mind. Their teacher, who spoke with an affected English accent despite never having been to England, made them write a report on Sense and Sensibility as part of their final. Elle hated every second of it. More of a Patterson and Grisham fan, she couldn’t understand what Austen rambled on about. And who was the heroine, anyway? Elinor or Marianne? Was Austen a proponent of sense or sensibility? She never could figure it out. Which probably explained her D in the class.
Thinking back, she recalled Graham getting an A on the report. He’d tried explaining the theme of the book to her, but she’d been too disgruntled with the assignment to listen. Why did English teachers never make them read anything from the current century? Surely as much can be learned from Stephen King as Shakespeare?
Elle sighed and tossed her phone on the bed. Mr. Anonymous wasn’t scoring any points by sending her random quotes from outdated authors. Besides, she didn’t want anything distracting her from her big date with Graham.
She had a feeling it would be a night to remember.
* * *
“I have to admit, this is not what I expected.” After signing a waiver, Elle found herself standing in the middle of a cement room wearing gloves and a shapeless black smock. A bright orange hardhat and protective goggles topped off the unflattering ensemble.
Graham grinned from behind an identical set of headgear. “You’ll thank me in a few minutes.”
“We’re really supposed to break all of this stuff?” Elle glanced around at an old TV, a couple of chairs, and endless stacks of ceramic dishes.
“Yep.”
“With this?” Cautiously, she held up her bat.
“Unless you have fists of steel I don’t know about.”
Elle shot him a look that said, very funny.
“Would it help if I went first?” Graham asked.
Relieved, Elle nodded.
After selecting a Rage Against the Machine song on his iPhone, and securing it in his back pocket, Graham wielded the bat. He took a few steps toward the large boxy TV. Then, winding up, he landed a solid swing right into the center of the screen, sending shards of glass in every direction.
Startled, Elle let out out a piercing scream.
Graham jerked off his goggles. “You okay?”
Her scream transformed into a fit of laughter, and she doubled over, clutching her sides. “And I thought Dean was the athlete in the family,” she teased through gasps for air. “You scared me half to death.”
Graham grinned sheepishly. “Should I admit this isn’t my first time in a Break Room?”
“Should I be concerned?” Elle teased, flushed and bright-eyed.
“Believe it or not, it’s a great way to get in touch with your emotions. When all the adrenaline leaves your body, your mind will never feel more clear.”
Elle cocked her head, studying him a moment. She hadn’t shared much about what had been going on with her company, yet somehow, he seemed to know exactly what she needed.
Stepping over to the table stacked high with plates, she carefully picked one up and turned it over in her hand. “I’ve never cared for this pattern.” She held up the plate to showcase the gaudy floral print. “But it seems a shame to destroy something perfectly functional.”
“This particular Break Room grabs all of their stuff from the dump. I bet there’s a chip in it somewhere.” Graham moved beside her, so close she could have sworn she heard his heart beating, even over the blaring music. “See, right there.” He leaned into her, pointing at a minuscule scratch.
As his body brushed against hers, her pulse spiked more than when Graham obliterated the TV. Inhaling deeply, she tried to focus. “That’s barely a scuff mark. And it’s on the bottom. You could still eat off of it.”
“Okay, then…” Graham stepped back and glanced around the room. “How about that chair? It’s missing a leg.”
“I guess I could try it.” As she moved to put the plate back on the table, she stumbled over the bat, flinging the plate high in the air. Stunned, she watched as it seemed to tumble in slow motion toward the ground. Her breath caught in her throat as it made contact with the cement floor and shattered into a million pieces.
Elle waited in expectant silence for the guilt to wash over her. But instead, she felt oddly exhilarated.
“Oops.” Glancing at Graham, she caught him smothering a laugh. “Guess there’s no turning back now,” she said, picking up another plate.
This time, she raised it high above her head before bringing it back to earth with a forceful whoosh.
One plate after the next joined its predecessors, and although she stood in a sea of broken pottery, the pieces of her life were starting to come together.
Graham seemed to restore a sense of wholeness she hadn’t experienced since her parents passed away.
And what she longed to know
was, did he feel it, too?
Chapter Four
As Graham predicted, Elle woke the next morning with an unprecedented clarity of mind. Eager to capitalize on her newfound lucidity, she filled her oversized mug to the brim with freshly brewed French roast and sat down at her desk, still in her flannel pajamas.
After she found a razor-sharp chunk of a dinner plate in the hood of her sweatshirt, she decided it needed a good washing before she slept in it again.
She often worked from home, where she’d sectioned off a corner of her large, airy bedroom to make space for an adjustable sit-stand desk. Her top-of-the-line computer equipment didn’t fit the Victorian vibe of the room, with its bay window and crown-molded ceiling, but the dichotomy suited her. In her own way, she lived at once in the present and the past.
After clearing her inbox of spam, her cursor hovered over an email from Jason Holt.
The subject line read Puzzle: Marketing Strategy.
Her stomach twisted, and she pushed her coffee mug aside.
She hesitated before opening the email. Could she handle any more of his so-called brilliant ideas?
Words like fee, monetize, and in-app purchase filled her screen. As she scanned the attached document, outlining Jason’s strategy for the next several weeks, Elle’s unease increased. She didn’t have anything against money, but she did object to making decisions based solely on the bottom line.
Jason had never asked for their mission statement, or to hear their vision for the company. He knew nothing about why they started Puzzle in the first place. And now they’d given him control of their entire brand. Plus, permission to make changes to the app’s functionality.
What had they been thinking?
Suddenly galvanized, Elle threw on a pair of jeans and a gray knit sweater, eager to see if Lacey was still home. Rob often picked her up on Sundays and whisked her off to some farmers market or yoga in the park. But there wasn’t a single second to waste. Elle needed to find out if they had any hope of revoking their contract with Jason.
Elle’s heart fluttered with relief when she spotted Lacey curled up on the couch, a cup of steaming coffee in hand. It would be much easier to have the onerous conversation in the comfort of their own home.
“Lace, I—“
“Yay! You’re awake!” Lacey cheered. “Have you seen our numbers?”
“No…” Elle slowly stepped toward her with an uneasy churn in the pit of her stomach.
“Eek! I’m so excited!” Lacey yanked her onto the couch, nearly sloshing her black coffee all over the cream brocade. “Usage has gone up twenty percent! Twenty! Can you believe it?” She shoved the phone in Elle’s face and tapped the screen. “Look!”
Sure enough, the changes Jason implemented had actually worked. Usage was up. And so was customer acquisition. Elle’s mouth went dry. “Wow, I can’t believe it.”
“Right?! I wish we’d hired him months ago. And guess what?”
“What?” Elle was afraid to ask.
“He called to tell me he has an even bigger idea.”
“Bigger?” Elle rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly tense.
“He wants to meet at the office tomorrow morning to tell us about it.” Lacey set her mug on the coffee table and gave Elle a tight squeeze. “Things are really turning around for us. I didn’t want to freak you out before, but I was starting to think we wouldn’t make it past a year.” She sniffled, and when Elle pulled back, she could see tears in her friend’s usually bright blue eyes.
“You were that worried?”
Lacey wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “I didn’t tell you, but my parents aren’t doing well. Mom’s dementia is getting worse, and Dad doesn’t want to move her into a home, but his insurance won’t cover the cost of a live-in nurse. I’ve been helping them out.”
“Oh, Lace. I had no idea!” Elle reached for her hand, but Lacey shrugged, sniffling again.
“You’ve been so stressed out lately with the app and everything. I didn’t want to burden you.”
Elle’s heart broke for the weight her friend had been carrying on her own all this time. How could she call things off now?
Lacey smiled through her tears. “But it doesn’t matter now. We’re back on top, and things are only going to get better from here. I can feel it.”
Elle wanted to share in her enthusiasm, but couldn’t muster the proper response. She managed a thin smile.
Lacey leaped from the couch with renewed exuberance. “We need to go dress shopping! I have no idea what I’m wearing to our anniversary party. And you have a hot new boyfriend to impress.”
The knot in Elle’s stomach cinched tighter. She hadn’t given much thought to their anniversary party. Graham was all set to be her date. Which meant they’d finally get the Valentine’s Day do-over she had longed for all these years. But Jason’s marketing strategy was the only reason Graham had agreed to be her faux boyfriend in the first place. If she threw the plan out the window, what would happen with Graham?
Besides, Lacey was ecstatic over the improvements that directly stemmed from Jason’s ideas. And knowing how much depended on their success, could they afford to walk away?
* * *
“I don’t know, man. It sounds like a bad idea.” With his arms and legs spread-eagle while a ninety-something-year-old Portuguese man measured his inseam, Dean didn’t exactly resemble a guy who should be doling out advice.
“That’s what I thought at first. But hasn’t Jess ever made you watch a chick flick? This sort of thing always ends with the guy getting the girl.” Graham flipped absentmindedly through a bridal magazine while he waited for his turn to be a pincushion.
“Actually, Jess hates chick flicks. Cooking shows are more her jam. But it doesn’t matter. Movies aren’t real life. And this whole fake boyfriend thing is going to blow up in your face, and I’ll have to say I told you so.”
“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Graham teased.
Dean made a move toward his brother and got stabbed in the thigh with a pin. “Ouch!”
“Karma.” Graham chuckled. “You should be wishing me luck.”
“Look, dude. I hope it works out. But you need to be careful. You start blurring the lines between what’s real and what’s not…” He shrugged. “You might screw up your last opportunity.”
Like you screwed up your first one… Graham knew what Dean was thinking. But, for once, his older brother had the decency not to say it out loud.
Graham’s biggest regret was not giving Elle the note himself. Instead, he’d sent it with Dean, assuming the gesture would be more romantic with an air of mystery.
He’d labored over the letter, pouring out his heart and soul before asking Elle to be his valentine. At the end of the note, he’d left specific instructions. If her answer was yes, she was to meet him at eight o’clock on Valentine’s Day, at their favorite spot in his parents’ vineyard, where they’d spent practically every night gazing at the sky while listening to their favorite bands on his boom box.
Graham had waited until past midnight. But Elle never came. At first, he’d thought something had happened to her. He’d been confident she returned his feelings. But when he saw her at school the next day, he’d gotten his answer. A little too clearly.
Frankly, her callousness had surprised him. She’d never even mentioned the letter. After that, they’d drifted apart, and went from spending every waking second together to avoiding each other in the halls. Eventually, they stopped talking all together. Then, after graduation, they never saw each other again.
Until now.
“I don’t know. I feel pretty good about it,” Graham said, leaving out the part about his Grand Plan.
“That’s great,” Dean said, while impersonating a statue. “But don’t leave it to chance, okay? Tell her you’re moving back. Tell her you love her. It’s as simple as that.”
“Maybe for you,” Graham mumbled, low enough for Dean not to hear him.
&n
bsp; What did Dean know about taking risks? Or having his heart broken? Heck, Jess was the one who asked him out. Yeah, Dean was not the guy to be giving Graham advice in this department.
“I have a plan,” Graham told him, hoping to finally silence him on the subject.
“A plan?” Dean raised both eyebrows. “You’re not knocking off a casino, Danny Ocean. You’re asking out a girl. What’s your so-called plan?”
Graham snorted. “Like I’d tell you. The last thing I need is to be ridiculed by a man in a pink tuxedo.”
“It’s fuchsia,” Dean snapped. “And wait until it’s your turn.”
“Actually, my tux is going to be black.”
“What?!” Dean jerked his head around, getting stabbed in the leg again. “Ow!”
“Hold still,” the old man growled in a brusque Portuguese accent.
Graham continued to flip through the magazine, maintaining a nonchalant air, which he knew infuriated Dean. “Yeah, I told her having me wear black would make you stand out. Like the special groom that you are.” He looked up from the magazine and flashed a devilish grin. It was too much fun teasing his brother when he was at the mercy of a pin-wielding tailor who was losing his patience with Mr. Fidgety.
Dean’s neck and face grew red. “You’re going to pay for this,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
At the furious look on his brother’s face, Graham could no longer contain his amusement, and it burst out of him in a deep belly laugh. “Careful, man. You’re not here for acupuncture.”
He expected Dean to lunge for him again, earning another pin in his thigh. But eerily, Dean didn’t move an iota. In fact, he didn’t even glare in Graham’s direction. Instead, a slow, conniving smile spread across his face.
For the first time since they were kids, Graham experienced genuine dread. Whatever plan his brother was concocting in his crackpot brain, it couldn’t be good. And it would probably be much worse than the time Dean gave him an atomic wedgie.
Whatever it was, Graham hoped it had nothing to do with Elle.
Puzzle Pieces (Second Chance Romance) Page 3