The Funny Thing about Love: Feel Good Sweet Romance stories

by Laura Burton

  The smoky haze of the cab was replaced with the smell of roasting coffee beans from the nearby coffee shop. He breathed deeply, trying to pick out the different flavors. He frequently stopped in for a pound of their hazelnut roast.

  But now wasn't the time to think about coffee. He needed to come up with a plan. Maybe there was a photograph of Lola in his wallet, and he could claim she was his fiancée? But no, that was just too creepy. He couldn’t do it.

  Lance rounded the corner and slammed into a woman. She toppled backwards, arms pinwheeling. Lance managed to grab her before she hit the ground, settling her back on her feet. Unfortunately, he couldn't do anything to stop her cup of coffee from exploding like a geyser onto her cream blouse.

  "Are you okay?" Lance asked.

  "My coffee," the woman wailed, staring in disbelief at her shirt. "I needed that."

  The corner of Lance's mouth kicked up. Clearly, she was fine. "Maybe if you wring out your shirt, you can save a few drops?"

  She laughed. "Don't tempt me." Her eyes moved from her shirt to his face. They were a striking shade of bluish gray, reminding him of blue skies peeking out behind heavy rain clouds. He watched with fascination as they narrowed, darkening to storm clouds.

  "You," she breathed. "I hate you."

  Lance frowned. "Hate's a strong word."

  Her hands clenched around the empty coffee cup, mangling the plastic into a ball. "Are you on a mission to ruin my life?"

  Lance folded his arms over his chest. "Have we met?"

  "I can't believe you don't remember me," she said, looking as furious as a feral cat. "Six days ago? A busy diner? A pitcher of beer?"

  Ah. So, she was the clumsy waitress who had dumped an entire pitcher of beer in his lap. And not even good beer, judging by the smell of it. It was no wonder he didn't recognize her, though. She looked different today, dressed in crisp black slacks and a silky blouse, her dark blonde hair tumbling to her shoulders in loose curls. Last time he'd seen her, she was clad in denim cutoffs and a t-shirt. A ballcap had hidden most of her hair. But the red flush creeping from the collar of her shirt, up her neck, and into her cheeks had been the same.

  "Well," he said, gesturing to her coffee-soaked shirt, "I guess we're even now."

  “Not even close.” She bit out the words.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You're implying that your blouse is worth more than my suit?"

  Her chin lifted an inch. “You got me fired.”

  "Sorry about that," Lance said. "But to be fair, you were a terrible waitress.”

  "Well, if you don't mind, I'll be going now. I need to find another job before the rent is due." She turned to leave, tottering in her heels.

  An epiphany struck Lance like a lightning bolt. He looked at her appraisingly. Aside from the coffee-stained shirt, she looked presentable. And that could be explained away easily enough. Everyone had an occasional mishap. Perhaps he could even pass it off as adorable clumsiness, one of the things that made him fall in love with her. His lips twisted into a grin. He'd found the solution to his fiancée problem.

  “Wait," the arrogant man called. "It just so happens I have an hour's worth of work for you.”

  Lainey spun around so quickly that she almost fell over. Was he suggesting that she sleep with him? "How dare you?" Her voice shook with anger.

  He took a step back, as if sensing the danger he was in. "I'm offering you a job."

  "I am not a prostitute!"

  A flush crept across his cheeks. "No, I…it's nothing like that." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just want you to come to lunch with me."

  She practically cackled. "You're asking me on a date?"

  "No," he said, pulling at his collar. "I have a meeting with a client and he's expecting me to bring a…" His voice trailed off.

  “A waitress? A secretary? What?"

  His eyes met hers. “A fiancée.”

  Lainey stared at him, sure she'd heard him wrong.

  He held up his hands placatingly. "Just for an hour or so," he said. "It's a business lunch, so you shouldn’t even have to talk much. In fact, that would probably be best."

  Lainey shook her head. This guy was out of his mind. "Sorry, can't. I'd never marry you. I couldn't even fake it."

  He ran a hand through his perfect hair, messing it up. Clearly, she'd struck a nerve. "What does that mean?"

  "Simple," Lainey said. "I'd never marry a liar."

  "I am not a liar."

  Lainey raised her eyebrows.

  "It's a white lie," he amended. "It's not hurting anyone."

  "I'm out." She turned to walk away.

  He reached out for her arm. "I'll pay you." His voice was pleading.

  Lainey mulled it over. She could hardly turn down money right now. “How much?”

  “$100."

  “$300."

  “$125.”

  “$300."

  He threw his arms in the air. “That's not how negotiating works!”

  “Who's negotiating?" Lainey shrugged. "That's my hourly rate. Take it or leave it.”

  “Your hourly rate?" he scoffed. "You're a waitress!"

  “No," Lainey said slowly, "Last week I was a waitress. Now, I'm an actress."

  Shaking his head, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and counted the cash. “I have $185. You can have it all, plus the change in my pocket. Okay? ”

  Lainey smiled sweetly. “$300.”

  “Good grief," he said, waving the cash. "This is all I have.”

  “I'll accept money via PayPal or Venmo.”

  His jaw clenched. "Fine," he said. "Is it a deal?"

  "First, you'll need to replace my coffee." She could no longer suppress a grin. "It was an iced latte."

  She nearly laughed at the sight of Mr. Perfect's bulging eyes. Maybe this day wasn't shaping up to be so bad, after all.

  Chapter 3

  Lance watched his rosy-cheeked, make-believe, bride-to-be dip a hunk of bread in oil like she hadn't just bled him dry. She looked innocent enough, with her big eyes and soft hair, but he wouldn't be surprised if she'd cut her teeth with the mob. In the end, she'd swindled him for $300, an iced latte, the cost of lunch, and a pair of flipflops from a street vendor. All he'd gotten in return was her name—Lainey Fredrickson—and a promise that she'd pretend to be madly in love with him for the next hour.

  His eyes drifted to the purse slung across her chair. A pair of sexy high heels peeked out the top of the bag. He wished she hadn't traded them for the flipflops. Between the stained shirt and the cheap, plastic shoes, she was a bit of a mess. And the heels had looked good on her. Really good.

  But he knew better than to ask her to put them back on. She had all the bargaining power, and she knew it. And judging by the hostile way she'd shoved them into the bag, it seemed safer not to mention them.

  "So," Lainey said, taking a sip of water. "If we're going to pull this off, you should probably tell me what you do for a living."

  Noticing her glass was empty, Lance grabbed for the pitcher the hostess had left on their table. Refilling her glass, he said, "I'm a literary agent."

  Lainey tilted her head to the side as if mulling this over. "What types of books do you represent?"

  "Mostly gritty thrillers and horror novels."

  Lainey made a face. Apparently, she wasn't a horror fan. "And what do I need to know about the client?"

  "It's Paul Arken."

  “What?" she screeched, her voice reaching an octave that could break glass. "You didn't tell me we were meeting Paul Arken."

  Lance frowned. "Does it matter?"

  "Yes!" Her eyes had grown comically large. She leaned across the table and leveled her gaze on him. "He's terrifying."

  Lance barked a laugh. "No, he's not. He's just a regular guy who happens to write books for a living."

  "Scary books!" She wrapped her hands protectively around her neck. "I saw that movie last summer, Rats Invade Queens, about the serial killer who kept hundreds of h
eads in a walk-in freezer but fed the bodies to the sewer rats. But then the rats started craving human flesh. They wouldn't eat anything else. They turned on the killer, invaded the city, and started devouring people in the streets." She shuddered. "I still have nightmares."

  Lance grinned. "Excellent movie, but the book is better."

  "I'm glad someone thinks so.” Paul Arken smiled down at them.

  Lance had been so distracted by Lainey that he hadn't seen Paul walk up. Like most authors, Paul was an unassuming man. Dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, he blended in seamlessly with the crowd. Lance should have been more careful. What if he or Lainey had said something that would blow their cover?

  Struggling to regain his composure, he stood to shake the other man's hand. "It's good to see you, Paul." He introduced Paul to Lainey.

  "I didn’t realize you had a fiancée," Paul said, reaching out to shake Lainey's hand before sitting down.

  Lainey flashed an apologetic smile. "I live in the neighborhood, so I can go home if you'd rather meet with Lance alone."

  Paul smiled warmly. “No, stay. Tell me about yourself. What do you do?"

  Lance was suddenly terrified of what Lainey might say. This was the worst idea he had ever had. Not only was Lainey unemployed, but she blamed him for it. This was the most important meeting of his career, and he was at the mercy of an enemy. He held his breath and braced himself for her response.

  "I'm an illustrator," she said.

  Lance released the breath he'd been holding. Her answer surprised him—and not just because she hadn't thrown him to the wolves. An illustrator? He hadn't expected that. It wasn't unusual for servers in New York to be aspiring artists, but Lance was used to meeting writers, actors, and musicians. An occasional painter or sculptor. Plenty of graphic designers and photographers. But he hadn't met many illustrators.

  "Lovely!" Paul said. "Is there somewhere I could see your work?"

  "I have a portfolio on my website," Lainey said. She leveled her gaze on Lance, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "But if you've had a colonoscopy in the past year, you may have seen my work. My illustration of colorectal polyps on the lining of the rectum is included in medical pamphlets across the country."

  Lance choked on his drink. "She's joking," he sputtered.

  Lainey shrugged. "It's a living."

  "I'm a horror novelist," Paul said with a grin. "Nothing bothers me. After all, I'm the guy who wrote Rats Invade Queens, remember?"

  Lainey covered her eyes in horror. "Don’t remind me."

  Paul chuckled. "I'd love to see your portfolio," he told Lainey. "Do you have a business card?"

  Lainey reached into her purse and handed Paul a business card. Lance didn't miss the dirty look she shot at the heels. "My portfolio is kind of all over the place. It includes medical illustrations, but also some illustrations for children's books."

  Lance watched in awe as Lainey and Paul chatted easily. Had his plan actually worked? Lance had even learned new information about Paul. His first book had actually been a children's book. After receiving numerous rejections, he'd changed course and started writing for adults. Lance would never have known that if Lainey hadn't mention children's book illustrations. It was information that could come in handy if Paul ever wanted to try a different type of project.

  Lance felt his muscles start to relax. He couldn't have chosen a better fake fiancée. Lainey was smart and funny and engaging. Paul was clearly enchanted by her. And Lance found himself hanging on her every word, too. He wanted to learn more about her and her work.

  Well…maybe not the rectum polyps.

  Lainey excused herself to use the ladies' room. As she walked into the tiled bathroom, she was delighted by the satisfying slap of the flipflops. She eyed the garbage can, debating whether to toss the heels in. She pulled one from her bag. They really were adorable shoes. Maybe they deserved a second chance.

  She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. The frown line that creased her forehead earlier in the day had disappeared. It was amazing what a comfortable pair of shoes and a full stomach could do for a person's mood. It also helped to have a little bit of money in her checking account.

  Lainey hadn't forgiven Lance for getting her fired, but her situation had greatly improved in the last hour because of him. With any luck, she could make his $300 last until she got paid for the illustration job.

  She had to admit, she was enjoying the lunch date. Lance had been right about Paul. Despite the author's skill for bringing nightmares to life, he seemed harmless enough. She still wouldn't want to be left alone in a dark alley with him, though. How much could you really trust a man who dreamed up gruesome ways to murder people? But she liked him.

  Lance was a different story. Everything about him irritated her. He was gorgeous. Anyone with eyes could see that. But he was too pretty. Too perfect. He reminded her of a Ken doll. A chiseled jawline, with skin as smooth as a baby's bottom. Not a hair out of place.

  For just a moment, his hair had been mussed. He'd run his hand through it when he was frustrated with her negotiating tactics. He quickly smoothed it again, but it had been messy just long enough for her to feel…something. Intrigued, maybe? Could there be a man of substance and depth lurking beneath the surface?

  But it didn't matter. After today, she'd never see him again.

  When Lainey returned to the table, Paul was standing.

  "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lainey, but I must be going," he said.

  "It was nice to meet you, too," she responded with sincerity. She was actually a little disappointed that the lunch date was over.

  "We'll look forward to seeing you on Tuesday," Lance said.

  As Paul walked away, Lainey swiveled to glare at Lance. "Tuesday?"

  Lance's eyes didn't meet hers. "Paul and his wife are going to spend the rest of the year traveling the country in an RV."

  Lainey took her seat, resting her elbows on the table as she leaned toward Lance. "Okay…?"

  "And he asked us to join them next week in Pennsylvania." Lance's words tumbled out in a rush.

  "And you said we would?" Her voice was incredulous.

  "I said it would be the perfect opportunity to use our RV," Lance said, still not looking at her.

  Lainey's eyebrows shot up. "Our RV?"

  Lance dropped his face in his hands. "The one your parents gave us as an engagement gift."

  Lainey groaned. "You're a compulsive liar, aren't you?" She rose from her chair. "I hope you get the help you need. Seriously."

  "Please, Lainey." He looked at her then, his hazel eyes looking like kaleidoscopes. For a split second, Lainey was mesmerized. Then the spell was broken.

  "No," she said.

  "I'll pay you. It'll be like a paid vacation."

  "Do you even have an RV?"

  "No, but I'm sure I can find one."

  Lainey sighed. She couldn't deny that she needed the money. "I really don't like you," she hissed.

  To her amazement, Lance grinned. "We've progressed from hatred to dislike in under two hours. Admit it, I'm growing on you."

  Despite her annoyance, Lainey felt the corners of her lips quirk up.

  Chapter 4

  Navigating the Class C RV through Brooklyn was easier than Lance thought it would be. The thing was a tank. He could drive it into battle and it would survive. The mean streets of New York didn't frighten him a bit.

  He was, however, a little worried about the reliability of his betrothed. She was obviously strapped for cash and he was shelling out a pretty penny for her cooperation. But he hadn't spoken to her in a few days. What if she'd found a new job in the meantime? Or what if she had simply decided this was an incredibly stupid idea?

  He was certainly having doubts himself. Being stuck in a cramped space with a stranger wasn't going to be easy. And Lainey was actually worse than a stranger. A stranger's feelings toward him would be neutral, whereas Lainey had already decided she didn't like him.

  Lance stru
ggled to read building numbers. The robotic voice giving directions from his mobile phone hadn't spoken up in a while, but he had to be getting close to Lainey's building. Finally, the phone chimed melodically, and the robot spoke. "You have arrived."

  Had he? All the buildings looked the same. He eased his foot off the gas and changed tactics. Instead of trying to find the right building, he looked for Lainey. She said she'd be waiting outside for him. It didn't take long for his gaze to find her. She sat on the steps of a brownstone, holding an iced coffee. A couple of suitcases were stacked next to her. She'd piled her hair into a loose bun and she was dressed casually in jeans and a striped t-shirt. When she saw the RV, she stood, a smile spreading across her face. Lance couldn’t help but smile back. Maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad.

  Then he noticed the fat dog sprawled on the ground at Lainey's feet.

  Lainey waited as the RV rolled to a stop. A moment later, the RV's caution lights flashed and Lance was stomping toward her, looking extremely unhappy.

  He stood in front of her, arms crossed. "No," he said.

  "Good morning to you, too," Lainey said, taking a sip of her coffee.

  Lance scowled. "You didn't say anything about a dog."

  "Didn't I?" Lainey nearly laughed at the look on his face. "I'm sure I did."

  Lance's lips pressed into a tight line. "You did not."

  "Well, this is Chonk," she said, gesturing to the overweight corgi. He hadn't moved an inch in the past fifteen minutes. The walk to the coffee shop had tired him out. "As you can see, he's an easy dog."

  "Is he dead?" Lance asked, his voice sounding hopeful.

  "That's not funny," Lainey said. "He's not a puppy, but he has some good years left." She tugged on Chonk's leash, but he didn’t budge. Bending down, she nudged him into a standing position. He grinned up at her in the way only corgis can. Lainey laughed. She loved the silly old dog.