Page 68 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

I wait for him to say more—that this is a romantic place in Lucky he wants to check out for his article, or that I might find something bucket-list-worthy there. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t offer up any excuse or explanation.

“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “May’s Place. Their cinnamon rolls are amazing.”

“Let’s do that, then. I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”

“Perfect. See you then, Felicia.” And then, even though it’s rude and apparently a bad habit of mine, I force myself to hang up without saying goodbye or asking if he’s done speaking.

I refuse to let a crush on this man turn me into a silly little girl.

And you know what? I also refuse to let an accident deprive me of something I love.

I couldreallyuse a motorcycle ride today. It’s what I would do on any other day if I needed to clear my head of all the Felix thoughts bouncing around in there.

Maybe I’m not ready, and if that’s the case, so be it. But I think it’s time to try.

FELIX

When I talkto my mom on the phone as I’m driving to work, she can tell I’m distracted.

“It’s nothing,” I say when she asks. “I just have a lot on my mind. With work and—and everything.”

It’s not a complete lie, but I still don’t love the half-truth. I’m not ready to tell my mom about India yet, though, and?—

But my thoughts screech to a halt when I realize what’s just crossed my mind.

I’m not ready to tell my mom about India? What is that supposed to mean? She’s just a friend. Why would I tell my momanythingabout India Marigold?

“I’ve got a busy schedule today,” I finally settle on. “Work and then I’m hanging out with a friend afterward. I didn’t sleep great last night either.”

“Why didn’t you sleep well? What’s your mattress like?” my mom says, her voice full of concern. “Is it one of those box spring contraptions? I think some sort of dense foam might be better for your back, honey. Do you have mattress stores in Lucky?”

“No,” I say, suppressing a smile. “There are some in Boulder, I’m sure. But I don’t need a new mattress. I usually sleep fine.”

“Well,” she says, still worried. “If you say so.”

“I need to let you go, Mom,” I say, because she could easily stretch this conversation out for ten more minutes, and I only have so much mental bandwidth I can devote to mattresses and my sleep schedule. “I’m almost at work. I’ll talk to you later.”

“I love you, honey, and think about the mattress, all right?”

I sigh. “I will consider it. Love you.”

For all her quiet timidity, my mom is a problem fixer. I’ve heard jokes about the differences between men and women, one being that men jump in with solutions when women simply want someone to sympathize with them. I can confirm, however, that there is at least one woman out there who doesn’t waste time with sympathy but instead goes straight into problem-solving mode. If she gets even the tiniest whiff of something that’s wrong in my life, my mom is already halfway through finding a solution. That’s just how she is, and I love her for it.

She would make a big deal out of anything I told her about India, though. She always does when it comes to women in my life. And I’m not sure she would understand the idea of hanging out with a woman I have no plans to date. The only reason she doesn’t bug me to ask Poppy out is that I’ve told her Poppy and Cyrus will end up together. Somehow, some way, it will happen. They’re too close to allow room for romance with anyone else.

I sigh as I pull into a parking spot and then get out, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Work is going to be busy today; there’s been a buzz in the office ever since Herb announced the television spot we have coming up. People are excited, and that excitement is palpable.

I’m excited, I guess, but I don’t think I’ve been at the Gazette long enough to fully grasp the opportunity this presents for a paper this tiny.

I just have to make it through today, and then I can go check out that bakery with India. They might have carrot cake—that’s part of why I asked her. Although to be honest, my invitation was out of my mouth before I had time to think it through. It jumped out without my permission. We agreed to meet up on Saturday, and then I realized how far Saturday was, and I remembered how much she loved that carrot cake yesterday, and next thing I knew, I was asking if she wanted to go to the bakery with me.

Like I was possessed by the Spirit of Carrot Cake Past.

Maybe I could tell her it’s for the article? But no. I don’t want to lie.

I shrug as I make my way to my cubicle to drop off my bag; our staff meeting will start soon in the closet-sized room that passes for our conference room. Gradually the rest of us trickle in, and then Herb gets started. We go over the usual stuff, and he reminds us to submit proposals for the program by no later than Wednesday end of day.

Submitting a proposal isn’t mandatory, thankfully. I have no ideas. I’m still trying to get this article done. I’ve got most of it written; I just need to check out our third location as well as take some pictures, after which I’ll need to finalize the layout.

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