Mister Romance

by Amelia Simone

  Sexist. I didn’t want to apply the label to myself, but there it was. Men could write romance. Despite the multitude of breasted-boobily excerpts posted online dedicated to the contrary, they could write women. Chase was proof that some could even do it well. I’d never have guessed. Maybe there was a Mrs. Rothman inspiring his work.

  I shook my hands out and threw myself back down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. My life had been as blank as that ceiling. Interacting with Virginia had helped change that—I’d won the birthday lottery when she started responding. I should have suspected that my lucky streak wouldn’t last.

  So far, all my birthday wishes had turned out better than the year I’d gotten a Barbie DreamHouse. I loved my dance classes. I *may* have practiced my slow walk down the hall at the hospital during my last shift. Luckily, there had been no one up at that hour to see me sashay along the antiseptic corridor, but it gave me a little extra confidence boost. Until I remembered the security monitoring. Some guard in a back office probably laughed their ass off, but I’d still enjoyed myself. However, I wouldn’t be making eye contact with the hospital security personnel anytime soon.

  Virginia’s revelation that her real name was Chase left me feeling like the changes I made were as real as that doll mansion. Made of cardboard and plastic, not bricks and mortar. Sized for play, not capable of supporting the weight of real expectations. Superficial. His email drove home that what I had come to view as a blossoming friendship wasn’t real. Not yet.

  A text message from Vanessa interrupted my contemplation. Okay, okay, moping. Not that either was a stellar use of my time, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Chase.

  Vanessa: Did you find a date for Nick’s wedding yet?

  Ugh. No.

  Tamra: Not yet.

  Vanessa: Get on it, Sis.

  Get on it. That’s what she said. I groaned. Maybe I’d go three for three on my birthday goals and ask the writer formerly known as Virginia if he could set me up with someone for Nick’s wedding.

  Tamra: Working on it.

  Could Chase help? I tried to imagine what he looked like but failed. The illusion of a blossoming friendship was shattered by finding out he was a fake. Virginia wasn’t real. My pen pal was as authentic as my return letters from Santa as a kid.

  I snorted. Santa Claus. Chase was my grown-up Santa disillusionment. An imposter in a cheap costume. Once I associated the mysterious Chase with a white beard and jelly belly, it was hard to stop. The real Santa could use his magic to help me with my dilemma. Finding a date was on my wish list, but I didn’t have time to wait for Christmas. But maybe I could turn Chase’s revelation in my favor. He might have a friend’s son, or even a friend who owed him a solid and might be willing to gift me a wedding date. Helping him with his book had to put me on the ‘nice’ list.

  All I needed was a companion to help me dodge uncomfortable situations. A distraction to forestall any comments about my singlehood. Part of me felt lame for thinking that showing up with arm candy would fix that. But: Showing up with arm candy would absolutely fix that. Or maybe not remedy it entirely, but subdue the thinly veiled comments long enough for me to make it through the wedding with an only partially faked smile and average alcohol intake. Okay, average-to-high. It was still a family wedding.

  If Uncle Ted caught me alone and decided to lecture me (again) on how I had wasted myself in the medical field by not becoming a doctor, he just might find out firsthand how good I am in a medical emergency. For example, I could resuscitate him after choking him into unconsciousness. Harsh? Maybe. But not too high a price for mansplaining the medical field to a registered nurse.

  I was proud of my nursing career. Good at it. For once, I’d found something I excelled at. Nursing felt right. I didn’t envy the doctors one bit. They had too much pressure and focus on their every move, whereas I could move efficiently in the background, managing deliveries and quietly helping my patients with meds and breast feeding. I mattered to my patients, even if I became a hazy memory, lost to the fog of delivery later. A different set of letters after my name wouldn’t tell me I was more important or worthy.

  Still, it didn’t stop me from wanting some sweet man candy to help the medicine go down smoother and deflect some of my relatives’ comments. Hiring an escort was out. I wouldn’t know where or how to find one. Those types of services weren’t exactly advertised in the hospital break room.

  Sadly, I was too old to hire myself a male babysitter. Also, it would be creepy. I tried to envision myself on the arm of an acne-studded teen at the wedding. Then I pictured myself abandoned at the cake table while he swanned off with one of my cute teenage nieces. The babysitting idea was a no-go for so many reasons.

  I sighed with all the angst of my teenage nieces and leaned back on my couch to compose my response to Chase.

  To: VirginaRothman@gmail.com

  From: TamraRN@email.com

  Re: Labor & Delivery Questions

  Hi,

  I’m still game to meet on Wednesday, 2:00 pm?

  Tamra

  I marked our coffee date on my calendar once Chase replied to confirm he was available that afternoon and gave the address of a coffee shop not far from the hospital. It was nice to make plans with someone whose schedule was flexible to match mine. Working evenings usually made coordinating times to meet up a challenge.

  It was going to be hard to wait. I tried to imagine what Chase looked like in person. Hipster Santa was leading in my mental images. I could picture a well-trimmed goatee and a head of white hair over twinkling eyes, giving happily-ever-afters to all the good boys and girls. Until we met, I was holding on to my delusions—a girl’s gotta believe in something. With luck, he wouldn’t be a total jerk. Based on the available facts, I knew he was a human who ate food and wrote books. I too, was a human who ate food and read his books, so we were already starting from some common ground. I crossed my fingers that he’d be trustworthy enough to ask my favor. If I could believe in Santa until I was eight years old, could I believe in myself for long enough to ask him to set me up?

  THE DAY OF OUR MEETUP dawned cloudy and threatened rain. I could smell the metallic hint of the incoming storm on the wind as I walked to my car. The damp and jittery weather matched my mood perfectly. I had paired my best jeans with a floral top and ankle boots. My curls were mostly in order thanks to a liberal application of hair oil. I didn’t often have the opportunity to meet someone for the first time in something other than scrubs, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

  Traffic into Tacoma was light for mid-day, and I took finding street parking without too much trouble as a positive omen. Both allowed me to arrive a few minutes early for our meeting. The coffee shop fit the vibe of the neighborhood, with fun and funky local art on the walls and chairs in comfortable groupings. The scent of roasted coffee hung in the air and was imbued with the subtle scent of cinnamon from the pastries for sale in a display up front.

  There were only a handful of other people there. I assumed Chase wasn’t one of the mothers having coffee together with their tots in tow. An older woman wearing readers sipped at a cup and flipped through a stack of papers with a red pen in one hand. She’d have been a shoo-in for Virginia if Chase hadn’t revealed his ruse. The heavy sheaf of papers in front of her could easily have been a manuscript.

  With a sigh, I kept scanning the coffeehouse, lingering on a man focused on his laptop in the corner. He’d obviously been working hard at something for a while, judging by the sheer number of empty coffee cups surrounding him. Dirty blond hair stuck up in tufts around his head, like he’d been tugging on it in frustration. He didn’t look up from his work, so I figured he probably wasn’t Chase. He’d make a good wedding date though; he was dressed casually in jeans and a fitted T-shirt. The gray fabric hugged his torso. A stubbly beard contrasted strongly against a full mouth. Heavy brows drawn down on his forehead over a sharp nose telegraphed his focus on the laptop in front of him. A braver woman would chat him up. Luc
kily, I didn’t have to pretend to be that woman if Chase came through with an alternative.

  I loitered around the entrance for a few minutes, peering outside into the gloom. I should probably be playing it cool, grabbing a coffee and a table to wait. Instead, I looked like I was waiting for my prom date, pacing and alert to any movement near the door. I was so focused on what was outside, which was a big, fat nothing, that I didn’t realize someone had stepped behind me.

  “Tamra?” a deep voice asked.

  I turned around to see the rumpled man from the corner table. Up close, his blue eyes and strong features exuded an intensity that had me wishing for a personality transplant that would make me brave enough to ask a perfect stranger to accompany me to Nick’s wedding. There’d be no pity from my female relatives after they caught sight of my arm candy. Realizing he’d called me by name, I struggled to place him. Surely I wouldn’t have forgotten a man so handsome.

  “Hi, sorry. Have we met at the hospital?” I asked. The man’s eyebrows crept up his forehead in confusion. “Umm, no?” he responded tentatively.

  It was my turn to experience bewilderment. “How do you know my name?” I asked.

  He was silent a moment and looked prepared to bail, like he was going to turn back around and return to his table without answering. A beat later, he took a deep breath and said, “I’m Chase. And Virginia. It’s nice to meet you.”

  He stuck out a hand to shake mine. His large hand with hung in the air between us. Disappointment flashed across his features when I didn’t immediately reach my own out, and it jarred me into action. As fantasy men went, I’d leaned too hard into the Santa Claus image, when I should have been picturing a rumpled professor. I clasped his hand in mine, heat radiating from the contact.

  “Hi, I’m Tamra, obviously. But you already knew that,” I rushed.

  My face flushed. Did he realize he’d surprised me with his appearance?

  He nodded and looked down at his feet, but eventually brought his blue gaze back to mine. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed by my real identity. I wasn’t sure how to reveal that Virginia Rothman is my pen name. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me anyway.”

  His uncertain demeanor soothed some of my discomfort from our awkward introduction. If he’d been brazen or demanding, it would be easy to write him off as a jerk.

  I mumbled, “of course,” and sank into my default mode anywhere outside the hospital. Silence. He was a surprise. Younger than I anticipated. Handsome in a distracted genius sort of way. I wasn’t sure how to react or what to say after his apology, so I said nothing. I didn’t think it was cool that he wasn’t authentic with his fans, but I didn’t want to jump to judgement. Chase ran his hands through his hair, and I understood why it looked like he’d styled it with a leaf blower.

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee and a snack?” he offered. “I was hoping to treat you as a thank-you for sharing some of your nursing experience with me. What would you like?”

  I held back a smile. Sugar and caffeine. He knew the way into a woman’s good graces.

  “Chai sounds good to me. Are the cinnamon rolls as good as they smell?”

  He nodded and a small smile cracked his serious expression. “They’re incredible. Cassie heats them up, and they’re warm and gooey like a hug.”

  I smiled tentatively. “Okay, then. One of those too please. Shall I join you at your table? I think I saw you in the corner over there?”

  “Sure, if my clutter won’t bother you. I’ve been working here all day.”

  I wove through the tables toward his laptop while he went to the counter to place our order. I only bounced off two chairs on my way to my destination, mumbling apologies as I went. That was going to bruise later. Apparently, I left all of my grace on the dance floor. Thinking about the man behind me was distracting me from the obstacles in front of me. I sank into the chair opposite the one Chase had occupied and tried to decide what to do with my hands. I didn’t have a cup of my own yet, and my hands were restless. I glanced up to the front counter. He’d finished paying for our treats and was waiting to bring them back to the table.

  I had struggled to produce a mental image for Chase since learning that Virginia Rothman was male. Other than a little online dating, it was my first time meeting an online friend in person. Chase kept scrambling my expectations. Sisterly friendship vibes to benevolent wish granter hadn’t been that big a leap, but I wasn’t ready to move him from maybe-a-friend, to someone who was also no-questions-hot.

  Attraction had no place here. None. I wasn’t sure who I was giving the stern talking-to, probably my hormones, most definitely my breasts. Unconsciously, I had sat straighter, and by consequence the girls were announcing themselves proudly to the world. I slouched into my chair and watched as Chase made his way back to our table. Seducing him into helping me with my favor hadn’t been part of the plan. While I could blame him for hiding his identity, my kindly Santa expectations were my own fault.

  He accomplished the distance to our table balancing two cups and a plate with no chair nudges. Already I resented his grace in person. It was pure jealousy. If I had tried that maneuver, something would have crashed to the floor.

  Chase’s muscular forearm entered my field of vision as he set a cinnamon roll and large mug of creamy chai in front of me with a fork balanced on the plate. The smell was heavenly. Each roll probably contained a stick of butter judging from the rich aroma. I took a quick sip of my drink that nearly burned the roof of my mouth off as he sat down.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  It was like I hadn’t been drinking hot liquids for decades. I couldn’t hold the curse back; the pain fired down my nerve endings. Chase visibly jolted in his chair and must have thought I was swearing at him. He looked like he was going to bolt before he remembered all his stuff was still here.

  “Sorry about that,” I wheezed. “I burned my mouth. I didn’t mean to cuss at you, though I’m not thrilled about the pen name smokescreen. How do I know you’re really Virginia?”

  Chase was quiet. The moment lingered, and I tried to curb my instinct to fill the silence when he finally scratched his chin and looked at me.

  “Well, I guess you don’t. I could show you an earlier draft for one of my books though. I think I’ve got an earlier copy of Temporary Love on my laptop. Or you could quiz me.”

  “Quiz you? You mean ask you questions about your own books?” I paused, thinking back to my latest comfort re-read. “Okay, then, Mister Romance. Tell me then, from your very first book, where did Matt and Cassie get it on the first time?”

  He smirked at me. “Get it on? What are we? Twelve?”

  It was the most unique detail from Virginia Rothman’s books I could think of on short notice. I shook my head. “Not an answer. You’re going to lose this round in five ... four ... three ...”

  “Wait, wait. Okay. Cassie and Matt were intimate for the first time”—he gave me a pointed look—“in a closet at an open house.”

  I nodded. “Correct. Now, in Temporary Love, what unique item made an appearance, and how did the Claire and Rafe use it?”

  I could see color filtering up from Chase’s neckline. I had a pang of regret for making him uncomfortable before suppressing it ruthlessly. He’d lied to me and his fans about who he was. Answering questions about his writing was proof that he wasn’t trying to trick me yet again, it shouldn’t be torture.

  “And here I thought I would be the one most likely to make this meeting awkward by asking personal questions. You’ve got me beat.” Chase ran his hands through his hair, avoiding my eyes. He shifted his empty coffee cups around before looking back at me.

  “Man, this is embarrassing. I barely like to admit I’m a writer, let alone acknowledge that people actually read what I write. I mean, conceptually I know it happens. It has to happen to pay my rent, but it’s still difficult to confront face-to-face.”

  I remained silent. Conversational pause for the win. I’d intentionally kept my q
uestions PG. If I’d wanted to turn the knife, I could have been much more explicit. He was getting off easy, even if he didn’t feel like it.

  “Hooo. Okay, in Temporary Love the couple use a kiwano or horned melon during a massage.” He gave a gusty sigh and met my eyes.

  I didn’t have the heart to grill him any further. Unless he was an amazing actor or another die-hard fan, he truly struggled to talk about his writing. I couldn’t hold a grudge; he had written some of my favorite books. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

  “For you,” he grumbled. “I had to prove I’m me.”

  “Well, that’s what you get for leading innocent nurses astray with misleading female pen names. You’re getting off easy, buster.”

  I tried to adjust my expectations of Chase. Wanting privacy wasn’t a crime. He still wrote my favorite stories. He still ate food and, at least based on appearances, cooked it well. If he faked the cooking, that might be a deal breaker. I took a bite of my cinnamon roll. Heaven. Heaven in my mouth. Yeah, it was that good. A few bites later I was feeling distinctly more magnanimous. Sugar bliss calmed my beast.

  He sipped at his own coffee and took a moment to organize some of the papers sprawled across the table before breaking the silence. Maybe he sensed my impending sugar coma.

  “I’m glad you came today. Are you still open to helping me? Even though, I’m ... well, me?”

  I nodded slowly. “Sure. I love your work. It’s just a bit of an adjustment. Can I ask, do you cook the meals you put on Twitter? Or are those fake too?”

  “Ah, those are real. I’ve been cooking for ages, but only manage it a few times a week now. Maybe I could make you dinner sometime?”

  Had I just wrangled myself a dinner date? Maybe I didn’t need that personality transplant after all. I hadn’t managed to work up to my wedding setup request, but maybe dinner was an opportunity to get to know him better first. Ease into it. My mouth watered at the prospect of a meal that had actually been well prepared, instead of blackened in all of the wrong places. But I didn’t want to appear too eager. I shrugged.