Page 1 of Falling Madly
Chapter One
Teresa
Iscrolled through the Valentine’s Day menu of my favorite restaurant, slouched at my desk in the broom-closet-sized office I called “work,” telling myself I was fine. Totally fine. It was fine that my boyfriend Richard had been too busy to book us a table, so I’d done it myself. I was a capable, modern woman, and there was no reason to feel weird about this.
We hadn’t seen much of each other lately. I’d been busy with work, and he’d… well, honestly, I didn’t knowwhathe’d been doing. His job was both super confidential and incredibly boring, which made it easy for me not to ask questions. I was a creative, and stock market talk put me to sleep.
So far, I hadn’t felt the butterflies, but Richard was nice enough. Dependable. Considerate. The kind of guy who’d hold the door open for you—a little theatrically, but still. Maybe tonight, with the help of moody lighting and the mouth-watering soufflé currently staring at me from my laptop screen, I’d finally feel the way all those women in romantic movies did.
For the first time ever.
I’d made it to thirty and still hadn’t experienced that paradigm-shifting thing people called falling in love—the one that made you say things like “I can’t live without you” or “you complete me” without a hint of sarcasm. Once, a guy I was seeing told me his heart was so full it might split, and I suggested he see a cardiologist.
Safe to say we weren’t on the same page.
People told me that if you liked someone enough, you could partner for life and make it work. But I wanted more. I wanted the fairytale, damn it. The magic. The madness—even if it sounded a little daunting. Honestly, the idea of going slightly insane because of some hormonal imbalance in my brain scared me stiff, but I was also desperately curious.
My best friend Bess had recently fallen in love, gotten married, and was having a baby. It had all happened so fast it gave the rest of us whiplash, but I was happy for her. I was even happy for Charlie, her new husband and business partner, who I’d used to think of as a spoiled brat. I still thought he was a privileged rich boy, but he was good to my friend. He’d been good to me, too, offering me a job when the last ad agency we all worked at imploded, and he went into business with Bess. And Trevor.
Mustn’t forget Trevor. The guy I once thought I could fall for, for one magical night.
Since our relationship crashed and burned, we’d gradually transitioned into reasonably pleasant colleagues. Sharing a physical space might have been awkward, but our office was so tiny it didn’t make sense for us all to be there at the same time, bumping elbows and running out of oxygen. So, we took turns working from home, which ensured I didn’t see Trevor that regularly. In fact, I made sure I saw as little of him as possible.
I wasn’t trying to freeze him out or anything. We talked. These days, we even had a private chat that pinged multiple times a day, which I took as a sign that we’d both gracefully moved on from what happened that night. We exchanged memes and funny stories, notes on restaurants and movies like you’d do with any colleague. We were civil.
He’d told me about a laser tag game he’d had with Charlie and some other guys, so I didn’t think twice about updating him about my date night and the incredible chocolate dessert I was going to consume. I was at work, after all, and he was a colleague. It was Wednesday—my office day—so Trevor was working from home. Charlie and Bess were on a family trip to New Mexico, which also meant I was there by myself and feeling a little lonely.
Trevor:You sound more excited about the soufflé than the date.
Teresa:If you’ve never tried this soufflé, your opinion is irrelevant.
Trevor:They deliver, you know. You could enjoy it at home without watching Richard dab his mouth like a 19th-century duke.
Why did I tell him things? He despised Richard, for whatever reason. And now the image of Richard dabbing the corners of his mouth, looking like he was sucking on a lemon, played in my mind. Could I get to the restaurant early and confiscate all the napkins? Could I encourage him to order a dish that required no mouth-wiping of any kind? What would that be? Cardboard?
Teresa:You’re a jerk.
Trevor:Obviously.
Teresa:You going out tonight?
Trevor:Nah. I’m ordering soufflé online.
Teresa:Ha ha.
I’d leave it at that.
Another message popped up—a picture of a woman devouring a soufflé larger than her head. I minimized the window.
My stomach growled. It was way past lunchtime, and I’d run out of office snacks I could nibble on to skip lunch. Looking at pictures of food was not helping.
I threw on my jacket and ventured out into the cool winter air. My growling stomach guided me down the road to the only restaurant within a hundred-yard radius that served ready-made food. It was an Indian place with samosas so hot they made your eyes water, but I kind of liked it. They left an impression, which was more than I could say about the stale pretzels and crackers I’d been munching all week.
My mouth watered in anticipation as I hobbled over puddles and patches of dirty snow in my Italian leather boots. Technically, the winter conditions in Denver called for more practical footwear, but I loved my boots. They made my whole outfit feel more expensive than it was. And if a piece of clothing gave you even an ounce of confidence, I firmly believed it was worth it.
As I was about to reach the entrance of Noon ’til Naan, a giant puddle blocked my path. I halted at the edge of it, just before the dainty ends of my shoes hit the water. I could already smell the spices. Chili, cinnamon, cardamom…
The restaurant had large, decal-adorned windows and a battered awning that leaked at the seams, creating the small lake that now stood between me and my spicy food. To get to the door without soaking my feet, I’d have to leap.
