Page 28 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

I sat up taller. This was where we made a marriage pact, like in the movies or romance novels. Something along the lines where if we weren’t married by thirty-five, we’d marry each other.

I’d hold out for a chance at that.

Even though I was certain he wanted the warm and cozy homebody type. I mean, his parents had beaten the odds and were still together—happily, by the sounds of it—and he was putting out the marriage vibes. He wanted stability and loveable perfection. Everything I wasn’t.

“I don’t go out with someone I know I don’t want,” I explained. “Why lead them on with an awkward first date and get caught up in the hope? I have friends, and I can have fun on my own.” I cast my eyes downward again, as though my milkshake needed my full concentration.

James remained silent, and I peeked up to find him looking amused, his eyebrows waggling.

“James!” I gasped. “Get your mind out of the gutter!”

“Char.” He placed a hand against his chest as if he was deeply wounded by my insinuation.

“But James? Answer me this: how are we going to get you married off and build your cozy little love nest if you don’t go out on more dates?”

“Sorry, my what? And it sounds like I put myself out there more than you do.”

“Yeah, but you’re a nester. You’re looking for a woman who’s calm and steady and loves holding down the fort. Someone hoping to get married and start a family and settle into a routine.”

“Um…” He winced as though I was severely off track. But I’d heard the wistful, confident tone when he talked about his own family growing up. I could tell he expected it for himself. Domestic harmony. Homemade cookies. Meals shared around the family table. Spouses who adored each other every single day. True love. The works. Barf. Hello, reality check? That stuff wasn’t real. There was no evidence other than maybe his parents. And their relationship, by the sounds of it, was a ticking bomb. Men had midlife crises. Women ran off with other men. It was probably just a matter of time.

“No?” I asked. “Where did I assume wrong?”

“I want love and a…nest. Eventually.” He looked so uncomfortable. It was cute.

“A love nest, right.” I wanted to giggle, but held my face neutral.

“But I also want fun and surprises with someone special, travel and adventures,” he said, his tone grumpy. “You make it sound like I want to go back to the 1950s and hunker down there.”

“Fun and adventure?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism from my voice. Probably because my heart was singing that maybe James and I were more alike than I’d realized.

“You’re mocking me.”

“No. Not really. And, to be honest, if I were a dude, I’d want the 1950s. Someone to cook and do my laundry sounds heavenly.”

He sighed heavily. “Not what I said.”

“But admit it. Men had it made for a while. And it would be nice to have someone take care of all that life stuff. You just work and come home and chill.” I put on a deep voice and held out a hand as though cupping an invisible glass. “Honey, beer me!”

James laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkling. He was going to be such a silver fox when he got older. But, even through his mirth, his shoulders were stiff, his gaze not quite meeting mine for very long. It was like he had a secret. Like he was holding something back.

I gasped, slapping the picnic table with the palms of my hands. “You secretly want that!”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then what?”

“I just want a partner who’s happy, self-fulfilled and content,” he said with obvious discomfort. “Someone who surprises me.”

“Nice list. Get it off the internet?”

“You think I can’t want that?”

“I think you can, but if you truly do, it means you’re perfect.”

He slurped his shake and rolled his eyes at me, clearly exasperated. And something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“And,” I continued, “it begs the vital and most important question.”

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