Manhattan Cinderella

by Kate O'Keeffe

  Ash pulls Kosmic Kandi’s heavy velvet curtain open a crack. “Taylor, just do it, will you?”

  I sigh. She’s not going to let up. “Okay. Then we go for burgers.”

  “Deal.” There’s a glint in her eye as she pulls the curtain open further. I pause to ask her what it’s about, but her glare tells me to keep moving.

  I clench my jaw as I unhook my camera from around my neck and hand it to Ash. She takes it and ushers me inside. The curtain falls back into place behind me with a swoosh. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the change in light. I fumble around, trying to work out how to find the badly named, alliterative psychic so I can get this over with and get on with my Sunday.

  “Welcome, please come in.” It’s a heavily-accented (probably fake) voice, located somewhere behind all this material.

  “Ah, sure.” I rummage around, trying to find an edge to the curtain. My fingers come across a long row of little beads, running along an edge. I tug on it, and the curtain opens. The space is instantly filled with a warm, orange glow.

  I take in the scene before me. Ornate tapestries adorn the tent’s walls, and an old-fashioned chandelier hangs from the ceiling. There’s a large opulent mirror resting on the ground and even a daybed on one side of the tent, covered in richly colored satin pillows.

  What does she need that for? A nap between readings? Binge watching Game of Thrones?

  I suppress a laugh. My eyes land on a woman—Kosmic Kandi, I’ve got to assume. She’s sitting calmly at a round table covered in red velvet, a crystal ball placed in the center. So far, so clichéd.

  She beckons toward a chair. “Please, have seat.”

  I take a few tentative steps closer and sit down, running my eyes over her. No turban, no big hoop earrings, no bangles jangling at her wrists. In fact, in her dark blouse and graying hair, tied up in a soft bun, she looks like she could be friends with my mom.

  I rub the back of my neck. The happy family outside and now this woman? I could really do without thinking of my own “mother of the year” again today.

  “First, you pay. Eighty-five dollar.”

  “Eighty-five bucks?” I guffaw, my eyes wide.

  She nods. “Is on sign. Outside. No pay, no reading. Is worth it, you will see.”

  I’d been so busy trying to persuade Ashley not to make me do this, I guess I’d missed the money part.

  “Okaaay.” I shoot out of my chair, my mind set. “Thank you for your time, Ms. . . . Kandi.” Or should that be Ms. Kosmic? It isn’t clear.

  I turn to leave. Humoring my friend to alleviate her wedding stress is one thing but spending eighty-five dollars to do so? No thanks.

  “Your nana was very kind person. She loved you very much.”

  Even though I know it’s a safe bet to go for a grandmother, the mention of her name makes me pause, an unexpected stab of sadness digging in my side. “That’s . . . ah, great. Thanks.” I reach the first of the curtains.

  “She miss you very much. She want me to tell you she loves you and did not want to go when she did. But, she have to. It is the way. You know, she worries about you. She ask if you are happy with the way you live your life?”

  Am I happy with the way I live my life? A lump forms in my throat. Nana was one of my few constants, there for me when my mom was not. She was kind, loving, teaching me right from wrong. Losing her when I was only eleven to the cancer that had plagued her, that she’d fought so hard against, was the toughest thing I’d had to go through in my short life.

  My hand touches the velvet curtain. If it wasn’t for Ashley’s parents, inviting me into their home, their family, I’m not sure what would have become of me.

  “Your nana ask, does your mother brush Fluffy?”

  I whip my head around and look directly at her, my eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

  “Brushing,” she repeats, enacting a brushing movement with her hand in case I missed her point. “Fluffy, he has very long fur. Very old cat, very old. Needs brush every day. Your mother not so good at it, no?”

  My mouth drops open. She knows about the cat’s grooming requirements?

  “Wh-what else does she say?”

  Kosmic Kandi’s middle-aged face creases into a small smile. “I do reading now?”

  I let the curtain drop behind me and return to the seat. The last thing I expected was for her to mention how my mom forgets to brush Nana’s old cat. It’s unsettling and a whole lot more specific than I’d expected.

  I take some cash out of my purse.

  She pockets it with a nod of acknowledgement. She shakes her hands out and places them a couple of inches above the ball in the center of the table. She closes her eyes, her upturned face illuminated by the glowing lights.

  I wait for her prediction. I tell myself it’s so I can get the heck out of here, but I’m thrown. Nana’s question plays on my mind.

  Are you happy with the way you live your life?

  I tap my foot on the ground. Of course I’m happy. I’ve got my friends and my career at Sefton’s Recruitment Agency, which I know is going to take off soon. Sure, my bestie is getting married next month, and I’m barely dating, let alone in that place. But I’m happy. Super happy. And anyway, it’s probably just some standard line the psychic uses when she thinks she may lose her eighty-five bucks.

  Isn’t it?

  Kosmic Kandi opens her eyes and levels me with her gaze. “You come looking for answer. You come looking for love. Your heart is ready, but you do not know it yet.”

  I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. More than anything, I want to meet the right guy, to create my own little family, my own little world.

  “He is out there. His heart is ready for you. He does not have your,” she waves her hand in the air, “blockages.”

  “Blockages? You make me sound like a clogged sink.”

  She waves my joke away with a flick of her wrist. “You cannot hide from your true feelings. You keep everything inside, in here.” She balls her hands into fists and places them against her ribs. “You must open your eyes, see what your heart knows you need.”

  “Sure. Great. Someday I’ll meet the guy I’m going to marry.” It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to see I’m hiding behind my flippant tone.

  “No. You misunderstand,” Kosmic Kandi snaps. “He is ready for you, and he is out there.” She points to the entranceway.

  “Out there?” My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. The man of my dreams, the one who will expertly deal to my “blockages,” is standing outside this tent, just waiting for me to step outside so he can sweep me off my feet?

  Yeah, and there really is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

  “You do not believe here,” she taps the side of her head, then moves her hand to her chest, “but you must believe here. Deep inside, you know what the truth is. He is ‘the one,’ your soulmate, your love.”

  I nod, wanting so much to believe her—all the while reminding myself I don’t go for this kind of gimmicky crap.

  She leans across the table toward me. “Listen carefully. Before the sun progresses into Libra, you will have locked eyes with him, and you will know. Make sure your heart is open.” She closes her eyes. “I can see him now. He will be dressed in blood-red orange, his eyes as green as a tropical ocean. He is waiting.” She opens her eyes and squares me with her gaze. “You go now. It will happen. Much sooner than you think.”

  I blink at her, not quite believing my eighty-five dollars bought me about eighty-five seconds of this woman’s time. “That’s it?”

  She leans back in her seat and nods in reply.

  I collect my purse from the floor and stand up. “Err, thanks.”

  Kosmic Kandi doesn’t reply.

  I find the curtain, pull it open, and step through the dark entranceway and out into the warm, bright sun. I squint, shielding my eyes with my hands. I look around, testing out Kosmic Kandi’s prediction. Fisherman’s Wharf is teeming with people, as it always is on the weekend, but other than
a girl in an orange tank top, there’s not a single guy dressed in the required color.

  So much for “the one” being right outside the tent.

  I spot Ashley a few feet away, reading something on her phone. I make my way through the crowd.

  She looks up at me, her face creasing into a grin. “Oh, there you are! How was it? You have to tell me everything.”

  I search my brain, looking for a way to describe what just happened. I mean, how do I tell my friend I went into that tent as the die-hard Queen of Cynicism and came out as . . . what? A believer?

  No, definitely not. Fluffy the cat was a lucky guess. And meeting the man of my dreams before the sun moves into Libra—whenever that is—well, that’s just the kind of stuff people want to hear.

  I don’t let myself think about Nana.

  “I guess it was surreal. But probably a load of crap.”

  Her eyes widen. “Probably? You mean there’s a possibility you might believe her?”

  I shake my head.

  “You’ve got to tell me everything.”

  “She knew about Nana’s cat.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Fluffy?”

  I nod.

  “That’s amazing! How could someone know about Fluffy? She’s got to be the real deal. Did she say anything about your career, whether you’re going to meet the man of your dreams, anything?”

  “She said some stuff.” I try to pull myself back to reality, my head full of the psychic’s words.

  “Jake? What are you doing here?” Ash exclaims, her eyes focusing past me.

  I glance up as Ash’s big brother collects her in one of those hugs siblings specialize in—friendly but almost a wrestle kind of thing.

  Jake puts his little sister back on the ground. “I’m meeting some of the guys before the game. Your fiancé included. You?”

  “Hanging out, our usual Sunday. Oh, and Taylor’s just been to see a psychic.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me. “You? Tay Tay the Cynic?”

  I throw my eyes to the sky. Jake Harrison always uses my childhood nickname from when I was, like, seven. I’m sure he does it just to annoy me. And it usually works.

  This time, I let it slide. I’m kinda knocked sideways right now. I couldn’t think of one of my usual witty retorts if you promised me a life-supply of chocolate. Instead, I simply shoot him a sarcastic smile as I look up into a pair of teasing green eyes, set in a handsome face with a square jaw, smiling down at me.

  Wait. Green eyes . . . as green as a tropical ocean? I take another furtive glance. Yup, definitely. How had I never noticed those? My breath catches. Quickly, I look down at his shirt. Kosmic Kandi said blood-red orange. Jake’s is navy and white checks. I let out a puff of air.

  Huh. It’s not Jake Harrison. Which is a good thing. His family is my family, after all. Messing that up for a playboy like Jake would be, well, it wouldn’t be worth even thinking about.

  So why do I feel a sudden stab of disappointment?

  I chance another glance at his face. He’s still looking at me with those green eyes, his features serious, questioning. Something stirs inside me. It feels . . . new. Nice.

  Nice and wrong wrong wrong.

  “You okay there, Tay Tay?” he asks.

  I blink, breaking the spell, pushing stupid, inappropriate thoughts away. Stupid, inappropriate thoughts that would wreak havoc in my world. I force a smile. “Of course.”

  “Oh, she has a lot to tell me. Don’t you, Taylor?”

  I nod.

  “We’re going to get some burgers.” She hooks her arm through mine. “Catch you later?” Ash says to her brother.

  Jake returns his attention to his sister. “Sure. Enjoy your last single girl girl-date.”

  I try not to watch as he walks away. Fail. I bite my lip. What has gotten into me? Not only have I started believing Kosmic Kandi about the green eyes and orange shirt, but I’m sizing up Jake Harrison as a contender? Jake Harrison—my almost-brother, the guy who’s seen my prepubescent self in all its dorky glory, the guy who only thinks of me as his kid sister’s friend?

  I push my hair behind my ears. No way. Not going there. This psychic stuff is all a big fat hoax, and I’m a fool to even think of entertaining the idea of some guy with green eyes in an orange shirt sweeping me off my feet.

  I just need to keep reminding myself that.

  ∞∞∞

  You can download your copy of The Right Guy here. You can also read it for free in Kindle Unlimited.

  Acknowledgments

  I’m so proud of this book! It has truly been a labor of love and, as always, there are lots of people to thank for helping me get it done. First of all, thank you to my fantastic developmental editor, Celia Kennedy. I hadn’t worked with a “dev editor” before this book and had no idea what to expect, but Celia made it all seem easy. Her feedback was direct and honest, and I so appreciated it! It helped mold this story into something I think is pretty darn special, and a I learned a lot along the way. Thank you.

  I’d also like to thank my ever-reliable and positive copy editor, Karan at Karan & Co. Author Services. No matter how well I think I’ve written something, so always finds my errors. It’s a gift!

  Thanks also to pixelstudio for the cute and fresh cover. You take my (very precise and OCD) vision and make it better.

  Diane Michaels, thank you so much for all your musical knowledge, and thank you to Jeanne McAvoy for coming up with the name “Thaddeus Kensington III.” I hope he lived up to your expectations, Jeanne!

  I’m lucky to be a part of some incredibly supportive writers’ groups, specifically Chick Lit Chat HQ, the Chick Lit Think Tank, and the Hawke’s Bay chapter of the Romance Writers of New Zealand. Writing is such a solo pursuit, so having teams of people to support me is beyond wonderful. A special shout out goes to Jackie Rutherford for her unstinting support, enthusiasm, and ideas.

  To my family, thank you for continuing to support me and my writing. You’re the best!

  And finally, thank you to my readers. I’m lucky enough to get so many reviews and messages from readers who love my work, and I appreciate them all. Please keep reading, and I’ll keep writing.

  About the Author

  I am a bestselling author of fun, feel-good romantic comedies and chick lit. I live and love in beautiful New Zealand with my family, two scruffy dogs, and a cat who thinks he's a scruffy dog, too. He's not: he's a cat.

  When I’m not penning my latest story, I can be found hiking up hills (slowly), traveling to different countries around the globe, and eating chocolate. A lot of it.

  My titles:

  Fairy Tales in New York Series:

  Manhattan Cinderella

  Wellywood Romantic Comedy Series:

  Wedding Bubbles

  Styling Wellywood

  Miss Perfect Meets Her Match

  Falling for Grace

  Cozy Cottage Café Series:

  One Last First Date

  Two Last First Dates

  Three Last First Dates

  Four Last First Dates

  Standalone titles

  The Right Guy

  One Way Ticket

  I'm Scheming of a White Christmas.

  All my books are available from Amazon to buy or to read for free on Kindle Unlimited.

  I would love it if you would sign up to my newsletter! I only send emails when I’ve got news (approximately once a month or so), so you won’t be bombarded with communications by me, I promise!

 

 

 

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