Page 1 of Forgetting Rafe Thomas
Chapter One
Luna
“For the third time,the Victorian Era and the Edwardian Era were not the same time period. You can’t go around shoving pottery from both time periods into the display and hope no one will notice. They will notice. They’ll complain and leave terrible reviews for the museum, and then I’ll get an earful about it from the board.” I groan and drag my hand over my face, but no amount of frustration will solve the problem. What is the problem? Chatswain City Fine Arts Museum has sent me the worst interns in the history of internship. More correctly, they sent me interns whose specialties are everythingbutpottery. Truthfully, it isn’t their fault, but would it kill them to pay attention when I speak?
“Sorry, Miss Parsons.” One of the interns, Preston, sheepishly opens the display case and removes the offending piece as carefully as possible. I’m sure he’s great when it comes to Scandinavian ships—a fact he has reiterated to me a dozen timestoday—but alas, we have no such display at CCFAM. So he’s stuck with me…in pottery.
“To be fair, they are similar,” Natasha says. “Victorian and Edwardian are consecutive eras with overlapping styles that—”
“I think I know,” I snap at my friend. “I did graduate with honors, and I’m the regional expert on…” I fade, realizing I’ve been a little, shall we say,witchylately. With a heave, I try again. “I’m sorry, Natasha. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that this deadline is coming fast and look at this paltry display.” I wave my hand over the half-empty shelves. “Half of it hasn’t arrived, and it was promised three weeks ago.”
“Ah, well, it isn’t the first time you’ve gotten your knickers in a twist this past month…or two.” She gives me side-eye that says it all. But in case I missed her intention, she’s sure to follow it up verbally. “I think it started, oh, around the time you saw Rafe at his brother’s wedding, made out with him in a broom closet, then decided to ignore his calls. Is that accurate?”
“I did notmake outwith him. You make it sound like we’re kids.” My mind drifts back to that night, and I realize she’s not too far off. Not about the kissing, but about my poor attitude.
“Why won’t you take his calls? It isn’t like he kissed and ditched you. I could understand being angry if nothing changed, but—”
“Nothing did change. He’s still the same. I’m still the same. It’s all…thesame.”I turn on my heel and head back to my office to review the transfer paperwork for the pottery my intern incorrectly placed. I am positive it doesn’t even belong at this museum, which means my pottery is probably in some random museum who knows where.
“You sure about that? It’s been months since you broke up. There is every possibility he has been working on improving that situation. Did you even ask or talk about it with him?”
“Look, nothingeverchanges with him. He still lives in a town house with his brothers, still works on that game all day long, and he has no interest in moving to Chatswain City despite the fact that he can work from home.”
“Ask him all of that between kisses, did you?” Natasha raises an eyebrow and grins, forcing a twinkle in those blue eyes of hers.
I grumble again and wave her off. “No, but he hasn’t changed in years. I find it difficult to believe he would suddenly do so after a few months apart.”
“You never know. Maybe you leaving forced him to evaluate his life and make big changes. Did you ask him? Do you even know how he’s doing?”
She’s followed me all the way to the office hall, which means I’m not getting out of this conversation anytime soon. I do have work to do, but since Natasha has become my best friend, I don’t want to rudely shoo her off, either. Inside my office, I position myself so she doesn’t enter behind me. I adore Natasha, but I’m not interested in letting her filet my love life open with her sharp tongue, which is on its way if I know anything about her.
“I didn’t ask him, no, but it doesn’t matter. He’s always been tight-lipped, even with me, and getting anything out of him that has even a subtle whiff offeelingsis impossible. A grumbledI love youjust doesn’t cut it anymore. Besides, I have a date tonight, and I need to head home and get ready as soon as I check that transfer paperwork.”
Natasha squeezes the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger and fakes a wince. “Please,pleasetell me you did not accept an invitation from Joe in Medieval Swords.”
“Of course not. He microwaves fish in the break room, walks around the museum with no socks and shoes, and talks to the swords as if they’re human. Why would I go on a date with him?” I roll my eyes. “A guy in my apartment building asked me out afew weeks ago, and tonight is the first night we were both free. He’s a police officer, not that any of this is really your business, Nat.”
She leans on my doorframe. “Oh, sweet friend, but it is, because when you came back here after that wedding bawling like a baby, who did you turn to for a shoulder to cry on? And who do you complain about all your horrible dates to? I’m the one stuck with a wet shoulder and an empty tissue box every time myfrienddoes something dumb. Which is often, frankly. I should buy stock in tissues.”
“All right, fine. Fair enough, but I do need to get this paperwork done and head out or else it’ll be another two weeks before I can go out with him to see if he’s a dud too. I think he’s a good guy, worth testing the waters, anyway.”
Her features soften and fall, and all her hopes that I’ll reunite with my ex deflate like slow-leaking balloons. She doesn’t evenknowRafe, but she’s been on his team ever since I told her about him and how we got together in high school. Undoubtedly, she’s obsessed with the idea of watching her favorite romance novels play out in real life, but thissecond chance, it’s always been youromance isnotgoing to happen.
She sighs, long and frustrated. “Okay, but call me if you need me to break it up early. I haven’t even begun to dig into the treasure trove of pranks I can pull to get you out of lousy dates.” She flicks her auburn hair and spins toward her office, waving over her shoulder. Her emerald dress swishes around her ankles as if taunting me to follow her and ask her advice about Rafe. I can’t. Been there, done that, and it ended with me kissing him.
I sigh and she glances over her shoulder.
“Good luck. I think you’ll need it.” Her grin almost makes me worry she might pull something drastic to ensure my date is a catastrophe, but the reality is that she’s probably right. There is every reason to believe it’s going to bomb no matter what. I’mnever going to find a love like I had with Rafe, which can only mean one thing: I’ll die alone and cranky. Maybe with some cats. No, I’m not really a fan of cats, but a goldfish or two might be nice.
Focusing on the transfer paperwork shouldn’t be this hard, but I find myself rereading the same line ten times before I realize why I have the wrong pieces. And whymypieces are probably on their way to a random museum in Nevada that doesn’t even have a pottery collection.
It’s me. It’s my fault because I let my mind practically break down over Rafe and spent weeks distracted. I signed off on the paperwork and didn’t so much as read it. Granted, I’m not the one who filled it out, but I did approve it with the wrong address. Chadsbury Museum of Agriculture probably has no interest in my pieces, but they’re getting them.
I grumble and grab the phone, hoping to sort this out before the display is supposed to open. With any luck, my boss won’t fire me for a stupid mistake.
After the butt-chewing of my life, my boss made arrangements to have someone at Chadsbury properly pack and ship my pieces to Chatswain City, but there is no guarantee it will arrive on time. This will make the donors and board members angry, but there’s nothing left for me to do about it. I can grovel, but something tells me it won’t be satisfying enough for them.
I managed to get out of work only fifteen minutes late and hurry to get ready, but all that rushing and preparation was all for naught. Ten minutes into this date, I knew it was going to bomb. Though I had hoped I could at least make it to dessert without wanting to gouge out my eardrums with a dull butter knife just for the sweet relief of no longer hearing Parker drone on about his latest arrest.
