Southern Spinster

by Cassie Mae

  She clicked out of the tour of the Frostville mansion and set her mouse over the X in the corner, stopping when she saw a testimonial flash onto the screen.

  “Cupid got me good! Not two minutes into my stay and I locked eyes with my future husband. Frostville mansion did what no other dating site could do in thirty years: find my true soulmate! —Real life guest, Anna.”

  “What in the blazing…?” she whispered, scrolling down to find more testimonials. After reading much of the same, Maybelle opened a new tab and typed WHAT IS FROSTVILLE MANSIONS? in the search. A slew of articles popped up, along with some forums on the subject.

  She clicked on the one titled Haunted by Cupid? Frostville Mansion owner Winter Garland confirms the rumor.

  Her heart thrummed in her chest, her eyes skating back and forth through the article. The place wasn’t for couples—it was for singles! Amenities included meals, activities, access to nearly all levels of the mansion, and lots of opportunity for mingling. A match had been made once a week since it opened. “‘Cupid seems to be alive and well in this place,’ Winter said with a laugh, ‘but we call him Eros.’”

  The clock on the wall ticked over another passing minute, and Maybelle felt the urge to rush, to book this place before any more time was wasted. She tabbed back to her search, read the forum, a smile pushing on her face as she read nothing but positive amazement from visitors; even those who didn’t find a match ended up enjoying their stay immensely, the “spirit of Eros” making them better versions of themselves.

  She clicked onto the main page and hit the booking link. “Please be available soon,” she prayed. “Let there be a room within the next week or two.” She needed out of this town, this place where she was gazed upon with sympathetic looks, where she took herself to dinner and was seen as some sort of hero for doing so.

  A green availability flag appeared for two weeks from Sunday. Her fingers tripped over the keys in her haste to book it.

  “Oh…” She deflated, pausing at the price and furrowing her brow. The week was seventy-five more a night than normal pricing and required the guest to stay from Monday through Saturday. On further research, Maybelle discovered it was the murder mystery theater week.

  “Well, that could be fun,” she said, brightening. It was a bit steep for her savings, and Will would no doubt give her lip about it. Momma, however, would tell her to go for it, to get out of here, to have fun and take a chance. She decided to listen to her Momma this time—and prayed she wasn’t wrong about what Momma would really say.

  The only room available was a two bedroom suite that was much too big, but she didn’t really have a choice. She bit her lip as she put in her information. Two bedrooms… maybe she could persuade Will to tag along. He’d never set foot outta Alabama and was perfectly content with that decision, but the thought of going on her first big adventure alone teased her stomach into a knot. It wasn’t so much the stay or the new surroundings, both of which sounded heavenly, as much as it was that if there was the chance she didn’t get shot by cupid’s arrow, she didn’t want to be left with only herself for consolation.

  Oh, she would never admit that to Will. She liked putting on the independent and strong woman persona for her brother so he didn’t worry so much about her. She’d have to come up with some other reason for wanting him to go with her.

  She nodded once. Yes, she’d get him to come along, even if he would be grumbling the entire time. That would no doubt be better than being alone.

  “I’m tired of being alone,” she whispered, only half realizing she was saying it out loud.

  She checked her email for the confirmation and shut her laptop with a smile. This was it—this was the moment she’d felt earlier. Something was going to change. She just knew it in her bones.

  The front door clicked open and a garlic-smelling Will stepped in, his beard in desperate need of a trim.

  His eyes met hers, and he stopped dead in the doorway. “Oh no,” he said, shaking his head at her grin. “What do you want?”

  Frostville wasn’t just around the corner, and convincing Will to come was hard enough. Getting him to fly there was outta the question.

  “There’s a rest stop at the next exit,” Maybelle said, jutting a finger across his line of sight.

  “We just stopped, Bells.”

  “I can’t help my bladder.”

  He dropped his mouth open and grabbed her forty-eight ounce water bottle. He shook it and made incomprehensible noises.

  “It’s good to stay hydrated.”

  “It’s gonna take us five years to get there, ya know.”

  “Yay!” she teased. “More time with you.” She rested her head against his shoulder and he shrugged her off. “But really, Will.” Her lips formed a straight line. “I have to go.”

  He huffed and pulled into the exit lane. “Last time until we get there.”

  She danced in her seat, half out of the need to use the toilet and half out of excitement. They had plenty of time. She’d told Will they could check in at any time, but check in was at three. But if they got in early, she could maybe explore a bit before the murder mystery started—something else she’d “forgotten” to mention to her brother. Hopefully he would take it well… or at least not scold her in front of the other guests.

  “I’ll be quick,” she said, rushing from the car, the cold breeze blowing up her skirt. She shivered and quickly shut the car door behind her. The colder weather of the northern states was welcomed by her and cursed by her brother. Will wasn’t normally such a grumpy gus; in Alabama he was the town sweetheart, always helping out, always smiling, hootin’, hollerin’. The Monroe’s were the loud, happy lot, especially given the hand they’d been dealt. Momma lost her arm when Maybelle and Will were young, and she would often make the little ones ‘round town laugh by pretending it had gotten taken off in various out-of-the-ordinary ways. Poor Jenny Davies though really believed there was an arm-eating crocodile living in the underbelly of the county. Momma stopped the scary stories pretty quick after that one.

  That was Alabama, though. Warm, comfortable, home… for Will. For Maybelle, it felt like a world of impossibilities.

  She cleaned up in the faded mirror of the rest stop, making sure her face was primped with care and her teeth were free of road trip snacks. Frostville seemed like the place where you brought your best self, and Maybelle wasn’t going to take any chances of Eros not hitting her with a match.

  Will had the heater on full blast when she got back to the car. She narrowed her eyes and turned her vents off. “It’s not that cold, ya baby.”

  They pulled back onto the road and passed the Michigan state line. Maybelle bounced and took a blurry picture with her cell as Will whizzed past.

  “You should probably slow down a bit,” she said, frowning at the missed photo op. “They have something on the road up north here.”

  “And what’s that?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

  She leaned in with a sly smile. “Ice.”

  Will went five under the speed limit for the next forty minutes.

  Maybelle pulled out the Frostville pamphlet she’d ordered and flipped through the pages, excitement buzzing through her skin. How would it be to live in a place like this all the time? Would being alone not feel so lonely when there’s a Jacuzzi tub waiting every night?

  “You know Mr. Right ain’t gonna make nightly visits while I’m there, right?” Will said, tapping the bedroom suite picture on the page she was turned to.

  “He wouldn’t even if you weren’t,” she quipped, closing the pamphlet. She’d convinced Will to accompany her as her “boyfriend buffer.” It had taken her a few practices in the mirror before plucking up the nerve to ask him—and to figure out the perfect way to ask. She’d gotten him a cheese and wine basket, thanking Mrs. Mosey for the idea, and said she was going with or without him, but with him, he’d keep her from bringing home some bum she found on the road on the way there. He’d practically jumped at the cha
nce after that.

  It wasn’t a bad idea, though. Yes, she’d wanted him there to keep her company if her heart ended up as alone as it was entering the mansion, but she certainly didn’t want to fall for just anyone. In her experience, anyone who’d shown any interest in her had been horribly wrong for her, yet she just hadn’t cared in the moment. If they liked her, it was already leaps and bounds ahead of every other man she’d fallen for.

  She frowned. But had any man really liked her? She wasn’t sure.

  She knew for sure she’d never been loved, and that was heartbreaking enough.

  Will jolted in his seat, making her jump. “What was that!” he shouted, his eyes glued to the windshield.

  “Geez, William, scare the life outta m—”

  “There it is again!”

  She squinted out onto the road, but it wasn’t until her eyes focused a little bit closer that she let out a belting cackle.

  “It’s snow.” Snow. Her cackles turned into gleeful giggles, and she rolled her window down, sticking her hand out into the breeze.

  “No,” Will said, shaking his head. “No, no, no…”

  “Oh, stop it. It’s not that bad.”

  “You said the forecast would be sunny and dry. None of this.” He waved his hand at the soft flurries that could barely pass for a snowfall. He slowed the car down even more.

  She sat back in her seat and gave him a look. “It’s not sticking. Calm your cannons.”

  His hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. Maybelle laughed and put her window up. She supposed he was doing this for her—going completely out of his comfort zone to help her find love. She could bite her tongue on his attitude, but if he was going to complain this whole week he had another thing coming.

  “You remember when Momma made it snow?” she said, hoping the conversation about home would help him relax.

  His shoulders moved in silent laughter. “She pelted me right in the face with that freezer ball.”

  “Well deserved,” Maybelle pointed out. “You said her peach pie was disgusting.”

  “It tasted like shoe leather.”

  “And that’s why you have to cook.”

  He chuckled, but they both knew the reason Will took on the kitchen duties was because of Momma’s accident. This story was better, though.

  After a few more Alabama stories, and a bit of teasing from Maybelle about Penelope, the woman Will’d had his eyes on for months now, Will finally looked relaxed. Just in time for them to pull past a vast iron gate with a cursive F in the center.

  “Guess we’re here,” Will announced, coming to a stop. Maybelle looked up at the mansion, at the world she was about to experience, the endless possibilities and fantasies weaving into her mind. She gave one giant smile to her brother before letting out a squeal and practically bouncing up to the front door.

  “What do you think?” Maybelle asked, leaning in toward Will who’d been looking very bored near one of the large plants in the lounge they were in. The full group of guests there for the murder mystery had arrived in their Sunday best, chatting and flirting already and Maybelle couldn’t wait to dive in.

  “About what?” her brother asked, though his eyes were directed precisely toward her target of affection. She gave him a look, resigning not to punch him in the shoulder for playing dumb.

  “Do I have a shot, Will?” she huffed, trying with all her might to push back her irritation. The mansion was a beauty, and the people were friendly and flattering—so far—and the staff had been catering to their every desire. Will’s grumpiness was getting old.

  She caught the eye of the man she’d been ogling since he’d walked in the room, a crimson heat going through her cheeks when he offered her a smile. He was the Norse God himself, a Hemsworth brother gone rogue and mingling with the single norms of Michigan. Maybelle stood a little taller, trying to look unfazed by the sheer beauty of the man.

  “Or…” she continued, gazing around the room, “should I settle for… that guy?”

  “You don’t have to settle for anyone,” Will said with a cocky eyebrow. A frown pulled on her lips. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or being sincere. She really needed him to be sincere.

  “Will…”

  He set his empty glass down and looked her in the eye. She’d always been envious of his blue irises. Hers were more like faded sapphires while his shined like the Alabama skies. “Serious, Bells. If you’re really here to do this, go all in.”

  “So, you’re tellin’ me—in your very brotherly way—I could have any man I want.”

  He tapped his nose, and a squeal bubbled in her throat. Yes, sincerity was exactly the motivation she needed. She stuck her glass out for him to take and fixed her hair. “Save me if you see the signal.”

  She knew all too well good looks weren’t the only thing that mattered; the man could be a complete buffoon, but the way his eyes sparkled as she marched toward him had her confidence rising with every step, despite the fact that he had four other women attached to him already.

  Okay, Eros… if you’ve got an arrow ready, aim it right here.

  A clink of glass went through the room and the crowd fell silent. A deep frown pulled on Maybelle’s lips, but it didn’t stay long when she caught the same frown on Mr. Handsome’s face, looking equally disappointed they didn’t get a chance to chat.

  “Welcome to Frostville Mansion!” the owner, Winter Garland herself, said to the room. She stood up on a platform of some sort, and even on that and four inch heels, she didn’t match the height of the man next to her.

  Maybelle’s heart stuttered for a second time that night, eyes widening at the man’s bulk, height, and sense of power. Sweet Potato Pearl, had she walked into a Marvel movie?

  Winter’s announcement buzzed in her ears, not making sense though she tried. The hulk of a man pulled at the collar of his dress shirt and scratched his midnight skin at the base of his neck. The material strained against his bicep, and when his eyes met hers, she chickened out and shot a look to the floor.

  Will let out one of his signature hollers, and she jumped, laughing along with the rest of the guests. She had no doubt that Winter had just announced it was dinner time; her brother only made that noise when there was food involved.

  “Your names are in front of your seats,” Winter continued, and Maybelle perked her ears, avoiding eye contact with Hulk and connecting once again with Thor. His sweet eyes and awkward and adorable grins were much less intimidating, but no less effective at making her skin flush. “I know it’s out of comfort zones to sit by strangers, but here at Frostville, we like to mix things up and force you to get to know each other.”

  As soon as the doors were opened to the dining room, Maybelle scurried in to look for her name. Excitement bubbled in her stomach, erasing any hunger she may have been feeling. The change of atmosphere was needed; she was already getting ahead of herself, swooning over not one, but two men within seconds of spotting them.

  She plopped down into her seat, her southern belle dress fluffing out to the sides of the ornate chair and fluttering to a stop under the large table. She grabbed at the chair legs to scoot herself in, but a deep voice stopped her.

  “I got it, Miss.”

  He has to be seven feet tall, she thought, smiling up at Hulk and allowing him to push her seat in.

  “Thank you,” she said, and his mouth twitched at her twang. He slid into the spot on her left. She not-so-subtly checked for his name. “Michael.”

  He looked at her nametag propped on her appetizer plate. “Maybelle.”

  She took his massive hand and shook it, his warmth and smile easing her back into herself. Before she came down to dinner, she’d scolded her reflection to not be so loud, not be so… Maybelle. But with the excitement in the room and the many, many handsome, single men at her disposal, she was going to find it harder and harder to contain random squeals.

  This was definitely one of those moments. Her jaw clenched so tightly her
back teeth slid off each other.

  Guests took their seats, and Maybelle playfully raised her brows at Will sitting across from her. He barely registered who he was next to—an older woman who was obviously one of the murder mystery actresses—and she hoped he wouldn’t make a scene once he found out what the entertainment was for this week.

  She pushed a stray red curl from her face and glanced at the plate on her right. Garreth.

  “I guess this is me.”

  Her eyes flicked up, meeting Thor’s once again. A squeal popped from her mouth that was completely involuntary.

  The chair stuttered against the floor as he pulled it out with shaking hands. A nervous laugh filtered from his handsome lips, a single dimple showing on his chin as he smoothed his tie away from the table and sat. Maybelle inhaled the scent of aftershave and pen ink, and she looked for a pocket protector, slightly disappointed he didn’t have one.

  Food was put in front of them almost immediately, and Maybelle shook her head at her brother who’d dived into the salad like it was the first meal he’d had in months.

  “You two related?” Michael asked, leaning to the side, probably so his deep voice wasn’t overheard by half the table. Little did he know that Maybelle was the one who could be heard clear across town when she whispered.

  “My brother.” She sighed, feigning annoyance. Really, she was happy he seemed to finally be enjoying himself. “How’d you guess?”

  “Oh, my sister gives me that look when I embarrass her.”

  “And I bet you just keep on embarrassing her.”

  “That’s what brothers are for.”

  She playfully wrinkled her nose and daintily stabbed at her salad. Before Momma lost her arm, she ran a charm school for the belles. She’d also run the debutante balls Maybelle would sneak into every year. One day, she’d tell herself, one day I’ll be dressing them up and doing their hair.

  She’d had all the time in the world to go after her career, but she never did. She’d been so focused on catching up to all the other belles—finding a man, falling in love, having children…