Page 22 of An Overdue Match
She accidentally takes his suitcase at baggage claim instead of her own.
None of these will work for staging a moment in which Stacey and Dalton—who, let’s face it, in a town the size of Little Creek probably already know each other—can have their first meeting.
Maybe I need some real-life inspiration. I lay my fork down on the side of my plate. “You know, I don’t think you’ve ever told Penelope or me how you two met or fell in love.”
Grampie’s brows jump to his receded hairline. “We haven’t?”
I shake my head. “You used to tell us how Mom and Dad met at a baseball game. They were fan rivals sitting beside each other. She was cheering for the Atlanta Braves while he was a die-hard Mets fan. The kiss cam zoomed in on them. At first, they shook their heads and tried to wave the camera away, but when the crowd started chantingkiss, kiss, kiss, they both sort of laughed, shrugged, and leaned in for a peck. Which turned into a whole lot more.” I grin. I can’t help myself. I love that story so much. I used to ask Granny to tell it to me every night for a whole year. “But I’ve never heard your story.”
“Your grandfather used to write me the sweetest, most romantic notes and then somehow sneak them into my bag or somewhere else he knew I’d find them.” Granny is talking to me, but her focus is fastened to Grampie. “He never signed his name, though. He always ended the notes witheternally yours, a secret admirer.” She laughs. “It nearly drove me insane not knowing who was writing me such lovely things. By the time he finally confessed it was him, I was already head over heels for him from his penned words.”
They lean toward each other for a sound smooch.
“Did you keep the notes?” Penelope asks.
“Of course I did. A girl doesn’t throw away sentiment like that.”
Love letters. My mouth parts in a smile. Completely feasible and the perfect way to get Stacey and Dalton to realize they are a match made in heaven. Roxane fell in love with Cyrano’s words though he signed Christian’s name, didn’t she? I rub my hands together under the table. This is going to work.
10
Writing a love letter to someone you don’t have any romantic feelings for and don’t really know while also pretending the sender is someone other than yourself is harder than I thought it would be. Go figure, right?
I stare down at the empty sheet of paper, the pencil in my hand poised for inspiration to strike. Why is this so hard?
You’re overthinking it. Dalton isn’t a closet Lord Byron. What would a flannel-wearing chainsaw artist write to his secret barista love?
I press the tip of lead to the paper and write.
I like you a latte. Let me espresso my feelings for you.
I move the pencil away and read the sentences again. Then immediately groan. Stacey and Dalton are supposed to fall in love. A few punny pickup lines isn’t likely to set off wedding bells.
I scratch out the sentences and try again.
To the woman I can’t stop thinking about,
Okay, yes, this is already a better start. I glance up and look around the library. It’s raining, and there aren’t many people willing to brave the elements to drop off or pick up a book. Apart from the homeschool mom who always brings her two kids every Tuesday at this time and the man working on hisrésumé at the bank of computers, the walkways between the rows of shelves are deserted.
My chin dips back toward the paper. What would make my heart skip a beat if I was the one to receive an anonymous love letter?
Please don’t consider me a plagiarist, but I must borrow a confession from a classic and say that you have bewitched me, body and soul. Your sweet smile lights up the room and
“Whatcha doing there, Angel?”
“Eeee!” A startled cry launches from the back of my throat, and on reflex I swipe the paper off the desk and watch it float down to the floor while my heart thuds against my ribs.
Tai grins at me from the other side of the counter.
My palm is pressed against my sternum as I will my pulse to return to normal. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that.”
He leans an elbow on the desk, the epitome of casual relaxation, while I’m over here recovering from a mini heart attack.
“Who said anything about sneaking? You were so engrossed in your writing that you didn’t notice me walk in.” He leans forward a bit more and tries to peek over the counter. “What had you so enthralled anyway?”
Uh-uh. No way will Tai Davis be getting a peek at that paper. I take half a step to the right and cover my handwriting with the sole of my high-top. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” I neatly fold my hands in front of me and give him my most serene smile.
Amusement flashes in his dark eyes, reminding me of stars at midnight. “Sure you don’t.”
