Page 1 of Off the Wall

Chapter One

Nori

My tombstoneat Serendipity Gardens will probably read something like the following:

Here Lies Eleanor Sinclair.

Beloved friend. Sister. Barista.

Tried filling her love tank. Got stuck on empty.

No more dating for her.

Okay, just kidding. I’m notthatmuch of a pessimist. But I’m not an optimist, either. I prefer to think of myself as a realist. I examine the evidence presented and respond accordingly. Which is why I refuse to wave the white flag on finding Mr. Right. I can’t give up now. Not when so many precedents for happily-ever-after are thriving around me.

Like my older brother, who’s been blissfully married to his high school sweetheart since the dawn of time. And my best friend, who’s planning a wedding with a man she met only five months ago. Even the seventy-year-old owner of the coffee and tea shop I manage has found the love of her life.

Twice.

Hayden—she’s the friend who’s engaged—keeps pushing me to get a profile on MatchYou because the whole dating app thing worked for her. And also for her cousin. Plus her neighbor’s uncle’s … niece?

Wait. No. That’s not quite right.

Either way, she’s got a list of once-upon-a-time singles who found their happily-ever-afters on an app. “The proof is in the pudding,” she’s fond of saying. And let’s be real. Idolove pudding.

Especially chocolate. But Idon’ttrust some virtual matchmaker to find my one, true soulmate.

For the record, I’m aware plenty of people live full and happy lives without a so-called better half. I’ve just always seen myself with a partner. Like my brother, Easton, found with his wife, Rebecca. Like my parents and their legendary love story. Both couples got married at twenty years old. That’s a two and a zero. Seriously young.

As for me, I turned twenty-seven three days ago. Which means I’ve got approximately one year to find a man who’s legitimate husband material so we can spend approximately twelve months falling in love, then approximately fifty-two weeks engaged, and boom.

Wedding bells before thirty.

I mean, is the idea so ridiculous? Finding love by a milestone age is the premise behind an overwhelming number of romcom movies and novels. And this is why I’m currently suffering through the very last setup I’m ever going to accept.

Why?

Because tonight’s dinner has been an absolute nightmare. Worst. Date. Ever.

My score? 0 out of 10. Donotrecommend.

All we’ve done is order drinks, but if you google the word “miserable” right now, the first image will be of me at Vincenzo’s Ristorante with Warren Snuze.

“It’s pronounced SNOOZE,” he explains. “Like the button.” Then he actually tucks his napkin into the V-neck of his T-shirt. The fabric is thin, white cotton. Closer to an undershirt than anything else. And there are tufts of chest hair peeking out. I offer him an awkward smile as our server returns with our drinks. She’s got a sleek blonde ponytail, and she’snoton a date with Warren Snuze.

I’ve never been more jealous of anyone in my life.

“Can I interest you two in a couple of starters?” she chirps.

Couple.Ugh.

Warren glances up from his menu and flashes her a smarmy grin. “We’ll split the escargot. With extra garlic. And an order of marinated octopus.”

Wait. He’s ordering for me?

I feel like this could be romanticifit weren’t for all the chest hair.

And yes, I want to be the adventurous type, but I can’t help picturing the early-morning snails oozing across the courtyard of my apartment building. Even with extra garlic, I don’t think I can eat escargot.

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