Page 1 of Playing With Matches
prologue: isla
Six Months Ago
“Good Morning, Isla,”Emily Romano’s beautiful smiling face pops up on the Zoom screen. Her hazel eyes are twinkling, and her curls are hanging loose around her face. It’s nighttime in Washington State, and her living room is bathed in warm lamplight. She turns the laptop around so that I can get a peek at the other people in the room. I’m a special guest for this week’s episode of theLit Loverspodcast, which Emily co-hosts. She’s been trying to get me on the show to talk about my romance novels since we met in Rome a few months ago.
“What time is it there again?” I ask, too lazy to do the backward math. It’s a little before 7am in Rome. My apartment feels chilly and damp, and I clutch my cup of tea against my chest to warm myself. The weather forecast was good for today. I’ll probably take a long walk past the Pantheon if it pans out.
“It’s a little before 10 pm here,” Emily says. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with us so early. Next time we’ll meet in person, right?”
Emily’s been after me to come visit her this summer, which seems like a good plan. If I sublet my apartment to tourists in August, it will cover much of my rent for the year.
“Ten’s a bit late; aren’t you all tired?” I ask, trying to get a better look at the assembled podcast crew that Emily’s told me so much about. They don’t seem sleepy though. They seem like they’ve just stepped away from a fun night out. There’s a couple of bottles of beer sitting open on the side table and a bowl of chips.
“It’s a great time to record - there’s not a lot of noise outside, and we’re all still wide awake,” Emily says. “Love that wrap, by the way!” she comments on my electric blue, embroidered silk kimono visible at the bottom of the screen.
“It’s actually my bathrobe,” I admit. “But it’s a fancy vintage one, so I thought it would do!”
“Hi, Isla!” a curvy brunette in a close-fitting pink and orange-striped sweater waves from the couch. I recognize her from posts on Emily’s Instagram account. “I’m Alexis. I’m the one who dragged Emily onto theLit Loverspodcast. I’m so excited to meet you! I can’t wait to hear more about your books.”
“This is Chelsea,” Emily turns the screen to face a willowy blonde woman who is writing in a notebook. She looks up and waves. Chelsea is the younger sister of theLit Loverspodcast founder, Jackson Porter.
The podcast started as a bit of a joke - the two siblings and their friends love to dish about romantic films and books. Chelsea likes her romance sweet, and Jackson, who prefers logic to emotion, thinks it’s all ridiculous. Alexis is unabashed about her penchant for smut, and Emily serves as the referee.
“Hi, Isla!” Chelsea says. “I’m such a big fan of your series! We’re still chatting about matchmaking, right?” Chelsea asks.
“Fine with me,” I stifle a yawn and sip my favorite imported smoked Earl Grey tea. You wouldn’t think that bergamot and fire mix, but sometimes things surprise you.
“We’re just waiting a moment for my brother, Jackson,” Chelsea explains. “We were all out at a bar earlier, and one of his students had a bit too much to drink. Jackson gave him a lift home. He should be here any–”
“I’m here, I’m here! Calm down.” I see the heavy wooden door at the far end of the room swing open. A tall, slim man comes in, brushing snowflakes off his coat. He carefully places what appears to be an axe on the coffee table and pulls a set of earbuds out of his pocket. “Is that her?” he asks, gesturing at the screen as he approaches. He’s squinting suspiciously at me, as if I’m a screensaver and not a real live person waiting on the other side of the camera, albeit halfway around the world. “She’s so young. And a redhead. I was expecting a little old lady.”
Ummmmm…..
“Nice to meet you, Jackson,” I say.
“Jesus,” he says, startling like I just jumped out from behind a wardrobe shoutingboo! “I didn’t think you wereonyet. You must have frozen. I thought I was looking at a photo.”
“Sorry to scare you. Was that an axe you just put on the coffee table?” I ask, fascinated. “I’ve heard about lumberjacks living in the Pacific Northwest, but I didn’t think people actually walked around with axes.”
“Jackson, a lumberjack?” Alexis snorts and doubles over laughing, hugging herself. “Isla’sfunny. I like her. Cute British accent, too.”
“It’s a throwing axe,” Emily lifts the computer and walks across the room with it, ostensibly looking for a good place to set it while we record the episode. The room behind her, along with the people in it, sways for a few seconds. I look away and stir some organic local honey into my tea while she gets everything settled. “Sorry, Isla. Just give me a sec. I told you about that place we like to go. The Grumpy Stump?They sponsor the podcast, and we generally like to go there on Wednesdays.”
“That’s Jackson’s lucky axe,” Chelsea says. “He calls it the Cupid Special. Uses it to con people into signing up for his dating app. If they lose a round, they have to become his guinea pigs.”
“I am not conning people. My app provides a legitimate service,” Jackson protests. “There’s a waitlist to get on the beta.”
“I still don’t get the whole concept of you being an axe-throwing Cupid.” Chelsea’s brow is furrowed. “It seems a little bloody and violent. And isn’t the whole point of your app to avoid the drama?”
“Yes, that’s the whole point, Chels. My app hits the target every time so nobody has to get hurt.” Jackson sounds exasperated.
Emily places the laptop on some sort of raised shelf or ledge, so I am looking down at everyone and steps back. “You’re on the mantel, Isla. I think you can see everyone now, right?” Emily places her earbud in her ear. “And speaking of Cupid, happy Valentine’s Day!”
I can see the whole crew now. Emily twists her long locks into a makeshift bun and takes a seat in a leather wingback chair towards the center of the room, facing the mantel where I’ve been stuck. I can see that Emily is wearing a chunky woolen knit jumper, which I suspect is her handiwork. She reaches for a colorfully crocheted afghan that was draped on the back of the chair, wrapping it around her shoulders. I can just barely make out the firelight reflected in the vase on the coffee table in front of her. The axe, covered with a leather sheath, is laying beside the vase.
Chelsea and Alexis are both sprawled out on deep brown leather sofas on either side of Emily, each draped in yet more afghans. The sofas are facing each other, but both women are turned sideways so they can face me. The room looks so Western and cozy that I kind of wish I were there in person for this.
“Nice roses,” I say, admiring the giant deep red blooms.
