by Kait Nolan
Angeline waited at Nordstrom Café, picking at a fruit parfait with her fork. She jumped to her feet at the sight of Ronnie, rushing forward with open arms, eyes glittering like gems.
Ronnie relaxed into the embrace, inhaling vanilla, still her baby sister’s favorite fragrance. Afternoons baking cookies sprang to mind. If only every recollection from her teenage years was scented with warmth and pleasure.
Angeline chattered about the colors of pillows she wanted for her sofa, the colors she used in her master bedroom and the woes of trying to make the main bathroom feel less cramped. Ronnie nodded, tapping notes into her phone while her sister talked.
“Are you taking dictation?”
“Writing helps me think.”
Angeline shook her head. Dark blonde waves tumbled against her shoulders. Her brown eyes sparkled. His eyes. Ronnie smashed the hovering memories to smithereens. He wasn’t even her sister’s father, and he wouldn’t come between them. Ever.
Michael’s chime sounded. Buying out the store yet?
He knew how much she despised shopping. She tapped back a response. Not just yet.
“Are you working while we’re hanging out?” Angeline’s frown made her lower lip pucker.
“Of course not.”
“Then who are you texting?”
Ronnie smiled. Talk about the perfect opportunity to flaunt her invisible boyfriend. No doubt Angeline would report to their mother within hours. Saving me from one conversation.
“My boyfriend, Michael.”
Angeline squealed, slapping both hands over her mouth as an afterthought. “You met someone. Tell all.”
Ronnie smiled, recounting her fabricated story of meeting him during a layover in Atlanta after returning from Amsterdam two weeks ago. Each detail became real to her as she relayed some of their conversations over the past ten days.
“Sounds serious. Too bad he lives so far away.”
“Seattle’s not that far.” Precisely the reason she’d chosen the rainy city for her virtual match.
“Farther than I’d want to be from my man. How can you go out? Get to know each other?”
“We talk on the phone every day.”
“It’s not the same as being together.”
“You can really get to know someone, talking so often.” She did know Michael. Of course, since he was a creation of her own imagination, what did that really prove?
As soon as they stepped off the escalator into the home décor section of the store, Angeline turned her attention to colors, styles and spending every cent of her wedding money. While the conversation never returned to Ronnie’s love life, the subject hadn’t been forgotten.
Later that night, her cell phone chimed with the opening strains of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Her mother’s distinct ring tone. Duh, duh, duh, dum: a harbinger of nagging.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Angie tells me you have a boyfriend.” And hello to you too. “Why am I hearing this wonderful news secondhand?”
“We just met two weeks ago.”
“We talk every week. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want you making a production out of it.” Since you make a production out of anything and everything.
“How exciting! Your first real boyfriend.” Nothing like making Ronnie feel twelve years old. Even if the sentiment was true. Boys weren’t interested in the standoffish girl who poured herself into studying and flinched when a boy touched her.
“Tell me all about him. Is his name really Bond? Like James Bond, the sexiest spy on Earth?”
Ronnie rolled her eyes. “Michael Bond. He works in IT.”
“IT. That doesn’t sound too sexy. Well, unless he’s like James Bond’s gadget guy.”
“Q.”
“That’s it. And a boss named M.” Her mother gasped. “Is it more than a coincidence that his name starts with M?”
Ronnie would not roll her eyes, but she shared a look with her reflection as she paced in front of the mirror hanging in her hallway.
“Where is he from? What about his family?”
“Seattle. Didn’t Angie tell you that?”
“Your sister was so excited you’ve met someone.” Since when did her love life become something to get excited about? Since you got one?
“I could tell.” Why was her stomach suddenly sour? Isn’t this exactly the response she wanted? The entire reason she signed up for the app?
“It’s about time you met someone.”
Ronnie bit her tongue. She would not say the first thing popping into her mind. You met enough for both of us. Her plan was succeeding. That was all that mattered.
“Do you have a picture? Did you really meet him on a flight? So romantic.”
Ronnie made the “gag me” gesture. From beside her feet, Major blinked at her. A chirpy tone signaled an incoming text. From Michael Bond.
“Gotta go. He’s texting me just now.”
They said their goodbyes, ending with her mother’s dire warning. “I expect to meet your Mr. Bond very soon.”
Ronnie pressed the red button to disconnect. My mother was grilling me about you.
MBOND: Secret’s out then.
Ronnie smiled, plopping into her recliner and curling her legs beneath her. Her shoulders sagged against the cushioned back of the chair. Yes. Next to becoming a grandmother, this is like winning the lottery.
MBOND: Grandmother? Something UR not telling me?
RONNIE: Ha. Ha. My brother and his wife are expecting.
MBOND: How does a boyfriend compete with a baby?
RONNIE: According to my sister, you’re my first.
MBOND: Am I? Unbelievable.
Major pawed at her kneecap. She patted her thigh, not that he needed any encouragement to jump into his favorite snuggle spot.
RONNIE: Believe it. Major says hello.
The cat butted his head against the edge of the phone as she typed in the message. After sending it, she scratched his favorite spot, eliciting a rumble of pleasure.
MBOND: AH-CHOO.
RONNIE: You’re allergic? You never mentioned it.
MBOND: Long-hairs make me sneeze. Everyone else makes my eyes itch.
Apparently, she hadn’t created the perfect man. Anyone who didn’t adore cats as much as she did wouldn’t make the cut. Since when is there a cut? Get a grip. This is pretend. She tapped out a reply: He’s sad to hear that.
The cat in question circled the space between legs and chair arm before plopping down, like his legs had broken suddenly.
MBOND: I’m sure you’ll console him. How was shopping?
Ronnie sighed. Shopping, her least favorite topic. For some reason she didn’t mind responding: She found some pillows for her sofa and artwork for her bedroom.
MBOND: And it’s over thank goodness
Ronnie laughed, earning a glare from Major. “Sorry.”
Only she wasn’t. Laughter loosened something hard inside her chest. It relaxed her as much as a deep-tissue massage. She couldn’t remember laughing so often at any other time in her life.
RONNIE: And my secret romance has been revealed to the whole family.
MBOND: Secret? Do tell
She smiled and shook her head.
RONNIE: This is why I signed up for Virtual Match.
In the extended pause after that bombshell, Ronnie sipped water from her bottle and ran her index finger through the dust beside the lamp on the table. Dusting: a never-ending thankless task.
MBOND: Lots of pressure from family huh?
RONNIE: You can’t imagine. Like being 30 and unattached is a death sentence.
MBOND: 30! That’s nothing.
RONNIE: It is when you’re the oldest and the younger two are both married.
MBOND: Wouldn’t know. I’m the youngest.
Right. For all she knew, he could be a pimply teenager.
RONNIE: No pressure to get married and have kids?
Another long pause gave Ronnie a chance to mas
sage a kink from her neck and stare at the flashing images on the TV screen. An old sitcom played across the silent stage. Ghosts whispered in her ear while she fumbled with the remote, changing the station.
MBOND: Brothers busy with own lives.
Glad to have something to draw her thoughts away from the abyss of past memories, Ronnie released the clip burrowing into the top of her head. She combed her fingers through her long tresses before responding to the message.
RONNIE: Would be nice for me not to have everyone meddling in my personal life.
MBOND: I’m here to save the day.
The fluttering in her chest made it difficult to swallow. She didn’t need a man to rescue her. On her own, she barreled through college and chose to skimp on sleep for the first two years following graduation. Her purpose was to be self-sufficient rather than dependent. She would never be at the mercy of anyone, especially not a man. The thought of it made her arms itch.
Not that her pretend boyfriend needed to know any of that. Keeping things light, she typed: And my mother and sister love you already.
MBOND: Eventually you will too.
A lump formed in her throat. Love wasn’t part of her plan.
~*~
The dark-haired man pounded his palm against his head. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why had he mentioned the L-word anyway? Things were going so well.
He scrolled over the last few messages. Okay, she was the one who had spelled it out, but he shouldn’t have responded so flippantly. In attempting to maintain a lighthearted, flirty tone, he’d gone awry. Apparently, being tutored by sitcoms and romantic comedies was no substitute for practical experience.
So, she signed up for Virtual Match to get her family off her case about getting a boyfriend. What did he expect? A woman who looked like her could have her pick of men. She wasn’t desperate for male attention. No, he was the desperate one. So eager to make contact with her that he pretended to be someone else.
His chest tightened. Why didn’t Veronica’s family appreciate her successful career? His parents had encouraged him to excel in college, even with their health failing. His father had died of a heart attack when Marcus was twenty-five and his mother two years later. His married brothers hadn’t taken wives until their late twenties, so his single state didn’t seem odd to them.
If they realized he hadn’t dated anyone since high school, their reaction might be different.
His phone chimed, a Tinker Bell tone. His pulse skipped.
VSHAY: It’s nice not to have their pressure right now.
No more mention of love or marriage. With a sigh, he ran his hand over his head. His curly hair tangled between his fingers. His misstep hadn’t sent her screaming for the hills.
Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Five
Sunday traditionally meant two hours at the gym unless the weather allowed for an outdoor workout. Ronnie cooked lunches and dinners for the entire week and packaged them in appropriate containers. After sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, and cleaning her apartment, she settled in with her laptop to organize the details of her work week.
On the average week she would call her brother in the evening. He called her the day after the news broke to her family.
After a few general greetings and meaningless exchanges about work, he said, “I hear there’s a boyfriend I don’t know about.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“You’ve never had a boyfriend.”
And up to this point, her brother had ignored her lack of a significant other. While other family members harped about it, he avoided the subject. Because even though he didn’t know the full ugliness, he was the only one who saw fourteen-year-old Ronnie sobbing and trembling. What could a twelve-year-old boy do about it? He’d clenched his fists, offering to beat the jerk to a pulp. Not that he could. Not that he would—if he knew the truth. Not when he took the last name Thoms—like her mother and younger sister. Ronnie wouldn’t wear that name for anything.
“Never?” Ronnie’s heart dropped into her lap. “Because you’re keeping track?”
“Am I wrong?” If only.
“And you know why.”
“I do. Which is why I was surprised when Mom mentioned it.” Surprised? In what way? “And glad. It’s about time you let go of the past.”
That’s what he thought had happened? She met some guy and the horror disappeared? If only it could be so simple. She cleared away the tightness in her throat. Don’t go there, Ronnie. Leave it alone.
“It’s not really like that. We just met.” And she told him the story. Every retelling made the fictional scene in the airport come alive. She might convince herself she’d really met Michael before too long.
“I want to meet him.” The hard tone of his words warned her. Mr. Military intended to sweep in and secure his sister’s dating life.
“Because you’re around here? Besides, he lives in Seattle.”
“Then you aren’t actually seeing him.” Why did he sound so relieved? She wasn’t a helpless teenager anymore.
“We’re planning a weekend rendezvous.” Where did that come from?
“I’ll be off in two weeks. Jen would love to come up to San Francisco.”
A double date with her brother and his wife was not what Ronnie had in mind. But if she refused, Tony would be even more suspicious about Michael.
“I’ll mention it to him.”
Or not. But the conversation shifted to normal banter about their daily lives. Until the end.
“If you’re dating this guy, I have to meet him.”
“Yes, Father.” Ronnie grinned with the teasing jibe, ending the conversation.
The word father resurrected the face she wanted to forget. Her hands shook. She dropped her phone on the counter, curled her icy fingers into fists, and closed her eyes.
Deep breaths.
Mocking brown eyes flashed. Calloused hands reached for her. Smirking lips dripped with lies. And then the humiliation.
She slammed her palm against the granite counter. Stinging needles radiated up her arm. Tears burned from behind her eyes. Two rolled down her face. She swiped them away.
That’s all.
She wasn’t shedding any more tears over the past.
~*~
Later that night, Ronnie stroked her deep red and gray comforter. When she stretched out on it, the brushed microfiber smoothed along her freshly shaved legs. Time for the best bedtime routine she had ever known. A pathetic admission?
Major hopped up, rubbing his cheek along her big toe. Flaking polish reminded her that next Sunday’s schedule should include a pedicure. She fingered the phone before her thumbs tapped out her message: Stretched out on the most wonderful comforter in the world.
MBOND: A challenge?
The thundering in her ears drowned out Major’s purrs. Was it completely wrong that her breath hitched? Never in her life had she responded to a man like this.
RONNIE: Just a fact. Week ahead looking good?
MBOND: Don’t want to talk about work. What R U wearing?
Ronnie’s heart leapt toward her throat. She covered it with a palm, letting her eyes slide over the spaghetti straps, silky camisole and boy short bottoms. The burnished bronze of the silk glittered against the dark red backdrop of her quilt.
RONNIE: PJs
MBOND: Granny gown with polka dots?
RONNIE: LOL. No. Shorts and camisole.
MBOND: Lacy?
RONNIE: Not really.
MBOND: Sheer? Slinky? Sexy?
Would he find her sexy? She swallowed to add moisture to her suddenly dry mouth. Did she want that?
RONNIE: If I told, you might have a heart attack.
MBOND: Goal achieved. Imagine see-through everything. Very nice.
The thumping in her chest migrated to her abdomen. Heat licked lower still. Her face exploded into flames. These sensations were foreign to her experience. Never had she encouraged herself to desire the fluttering and fire. Why now?
RONNIE: For a man who just had a heart attack, that was a pretty long text.
MBOND: I’m in pain & you joke?
RONNIE: Stop that overactive imagination. Problem solved.
MBOND: Hardly. You’re beautiful. A man can dream.
Ronnie let the phone slip to her lap. What was this man doing to her? Was it right to have fantasies about someone she’d made up on a whim? Or was she starting to feel something for the man behind her fictional boyfriend?
No. She shook her head. That was not part of her plan.
~*~
A sleeveless t-shirt stretched over the toned pectorals of the man on the other side of the phone conversation. If only he’d been joking about the effects of picturing Veronica in slinky sleepwear. That auburn hair would cascade over one shoulder, pointing attention to the deep V of the camisole. Peaches and cream skin beckoned, light swells of firm breasts peeking over the silky edges. The sheer fabric revealed everything. Marcus swallowed.
The tent created by his loose-fitting shorts testified to the potency of his imaginings. Soon enough, these nighttime interludes would have him reverting to pubescent activities he’d rather forget. His longing to meet her grew more intense with each passing moment.
VSHAY: That must be good night.
MBOND: After a cold shower maybe
His gaze flicked toward the opening into the master bathroom. It wouldn’t be his first one over the past two weeks.
VSHAY: Doesn’t sound too relaxing. Try playing a nice ocean surf recording.
MBOND: Imagining U in the surf, so much better
VSHAY: Glad I could help
He feared he might be beyond help. Watching her from afar had been difficult enough, but now every glimpse of her made his chest ache. If only this relationship were for real.
MBOND: You always help
VSHAY: Good night
MBOND: Sweet dreams, Veronica.
As usual, she didn’t reply. It had become an unspoken part of their routine for him to send the final message in every exchange. That meant she didn’t have to respond to him, but he was bound to answer her texts.
