Page 1 of Faking Romance

CHAPTERONE

Roxy

My mind swims with ideas as I twirl around the center of the empty space. I envision shelves full of romance novels and tables with fun T-shirts and stickers. This could work.

I’m not sure if it’s the sweet old man standing next to me, the vibe of this art deco building, the fact that there’s a studio apartment in the back, or the ease of access to downtown from here, but before I can think rationally, I turn to Mr. O’Brien.

“I’ll take it!” I exclaim as I clap my hands together, unable to stop the childish joy from flowing through my extremities.

He gives me a big grin and nods. “Wonderful, Ms. Benedict. I’ll have the lease agreement drawn up this afternoon,” he says as he gives a wistful look around the place. I swear his eyes glaze over for a moment, but he blinks and with a stretch of his back turns toward the door.

This is crazy. I’m acting like a completely irrational adult human. Not only did I just agree to sign a lease on a storefront that I’ve only seen once, but I’m moving in here too. To be fair, I am dying to get out of my parents’ home where I’ve been living since I made the epic mistake of moving in with the king of losers, as my father refers to my ex. And that’s a fair name for him considering he’s a cheating asshole. Prince Charming does not exist and I need to accept that. It’s just a little hard to do when I’m about to open a romance bookstore. I want a happily ever after so badly. But the recent events in my life seem to indicate that I won’t be getting one of those.

“Well, I’ll have our cleaning crew come through once more and I’ll set up a time to meet with our lawyers tomorrow if that works for you?” he says as he opens the door. A bell on the door jingles. I look up at it and he turns and follows my gaze. I see that sadness return for a fraction of a second. “I’ll make sure they take that down,” he adds.

I shake my head with a warm smile. “No, please leave it. I…it makes the space feel…homey,” I try to explain because I do not know why I want the bell there. Maybe I’ve watchedYou’ve Got Mailtoo many times.

He returns my smile. “Will do, Ms. Benedict,” he says as he holds out his hand to me.

I shake it. “Please, Mr. O’Brien, call me Roxy,” I urge.

“Only if you call me Al,” he states as he steps back.

“Well, Al, I’ll see you tomorrow. I guess email me when you’d like to meet and where?” I say, though it comes out as a question.

“We can meet here. Say one p.m.? If that works for everyone,” he offers as I walk over to my car. I managed to snag a street parking spot right in front of the building, although there was plenty of parking on this street since it dead-ends into a park.

“Great. I’ll confirm with my lawyer, but that should work. See you then,” I reply. He nods and walks into a door next to the storefront, but pauses and turns back to me.

Al pulls out an old worn black leather wallet and removes a business card, handing it to me.

“This has my cell number and a QR code that has all my contact information,” he says, adding emphasis on the QR code part as if I should be super impressed by this.

I press my lips together to keep from giggling. Al has to be at least eighty years old. He pats an old flip phone that’s sticking out of his front pocket.

“Good to know,” I say.

“And we can go over everything tomorrow, but I’m up on the sixth floor. And Jessa and Troy are on the fifth floor if there are any plumbing or electrical issues that need addressing,” he reiterates for about the sixth time today.

“Got it,” I answer.

“Well, see you tomorrow,” he adds as he turns back to the door to the apartment building and goes inside.

I look up at the building. One eleven Hearts Lane.

It’s a cute building, brick with a cream-and-green awning over the store’s door and windows. It has six floors including the storefront level. Around the back, there’s even a small courtyard and drive into a below-ground parking area for the residents. Getting a reserved parking spot in the city is an added bonus.

As my gaze looks from the top-floor windows down to the street level, a movement of a curtain on the second floor draws my attention. A chiseled jawline, straight nose, aquamarine eyes, and dark wavy hair peer out at me before the white curtains are drawn closed. Interesting…guess I’ll have to meet my new neighbors this weekend. If I hadn’t just taken a vow to stay away from all men for a while so I can get my shit together, I’d be more intrigued by the man who just looked down at me.

I turn to my right and look down at the end of the street. Something draws me toward a park bench a little ways down a trail that starts beneath a wrought iron trellis arch covered in wisteria. I leave my car and walk toward it. The bench faces away from the trail, by a small stream, the bank of it covered in wildflowers. It’s surprisingly quiet here except for that bubbling stream sound that reminds me of the app I use to fall asleep.

I sit down on the bench next to a beautiful bouquet of roses. Glancing at the card attached to them, I use a single finger to open it.

“If you found these flowers, then the universe wants you to feel loved. Take them home and enjoy them. XOXO, The Guardian of Hearts Lane Park.”

I look around but I’m the only one here. I bite my lip, unsure of whether to accept such an unanticipated gift. I’ve watched enough true crime shows to question if the flowers are laced with some sort of drug. I look at them again, but I see nothing suspicious. It would be nice to bring home flowers to my mom. She’s put up with me for far too long.

Against my better judgment, I pick them up and walk back to my car. I survey the cute little side street once more. Yes, this is it. Out of the dozen commercial spaces I’ve looked at over the past six months, none of them remotely came close to this one. It’s perfect in a quirky-old-building way.

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