Exactly Like You
A Cupid Cafe Story
Lori Sizemore
After Glows Publishing
Exactly Like You
© Copyright 2016 Lori Sizemore
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Published by After Glows Publishing
PO Box 224
Middleburg, FL 32050
AfterGlowsPublishing.com
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Cover by LKO Designs
Formatting by AG Formatting
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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
AfterGlowsPublishing.com
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
About the Author
Note from the Publisher
EXACTLY LIKE YOU
An invitation to Cupid’s Café will change your life.
Former social worker Roxie Fisher believes she’s cursed to never find happiness and an invitation to Cupid’s Café isn’t going to change her situation. All the same, against her better judgment, she gives it a try. What else does she have to lose?
After the death of his wife, accountant-turned-firefighter Aidan Craig, can’t stop taking ridiculous risks and never turns down a dare. So an invitation to Cupid’s Café is an offer he can’t refuse. What he doesn’t expect is to meet the social worker who helped him through the darkest days of his life. Now she’s the one struggling, and he’s compelled to help.
The two experience an immediate attraction, but Aidan swore to never become involved in another relationship, and Roxie can’t imagine daredevil Aidan being interested in a boring, cat-rescuer like her.
Can Roxie find the simple joy of taking a risk? Is Aidan willing to risk his heart? Or will they both lose out on a chance at true love?
Chapter One
Roxie Fisher settled into a hammock chair tied to a big oak tree in the backyard with her black cat, Jinx, and tried to forget her curse. That last day at work flashed through her mind, as usual. They had told her what happened, and she lost her shit. She had to literally be sedated then sent home. Back to her apartment, when she had lived alone.
She had no job, and no home of her own. She’d moved back into her teenage bedroom in her parents’ house. She sighed. Depression was a bitch.
When she shifted in the hammock, Jinx looked up with his bright green eyes and meowed in annoyance. Everything was surreal and weird. Her constantly chipper mother seemed to believe her attitude would cheer Roxie up—as if that was all it took to cure the depression consuming her life one bite at a time.
Her father simply didn’t speak to her. He wasn’t angry with her, or at least she didn’t think he was. He might be a little disappointed. She’d always been the sensible one. Not flighty, like her sister.
Roxie was pretty sure her dad feared making her depression worse by saying the wrong thing, so he kept silent.
As if conjured by her thoughts, her mother, Meredith, came out waving a card-sized envelope. Exactly what Roxie needed—another get-well-soon card. They all implied she had a cold, or a stomach virus, or something. Hallmark didn’t make cards for clinical depression. “Get well soon! Don’t kill yourself.”
“Roxie, baby, you got a letter. It was hand-delivered by the cutest man in brown shorts. Nice legs, too!”
Roxie took the letter with a frown. She avoided contact with the outside world for a reason—the damn curse and, well, she didn’t care all that much for people anymore. The envelope was already ripped open, the creamy folded paper jammed back inside. “Mom, you read my mail?”
“It looked intriguing.” Meredith shrugged.
“I don’t believe you.” With a sigh, Roxie pulled the typewritten letter out and read through it.
Come to Cupid’s Cafe tomorrow at 6 pm and open your heart to opportunity.
It was signed Mr. Heart with a flourish.
Roxie flipped the paper over, but there was no other writing anywhere on the thick, creamy paper and the matching envelope merely read: Roxanne Fisher.
“I don’t even know what the hell that means, ‘open your heart to opportunity.’” She crumpled the letter in her hand, so she could take it inside and throw it away.
She had no intention of going somewhere she’d never heard of to open herself to anything. She was doing well to get out of bed every day. On good days, she’d shower, comb her hair, and get out of her PJs. Screw this.
“What are you doing?” Her mom’s voice was shrill, as if she’d broken some beloved object.
“I’m throwing it away. I don’t want to go.”
Meredith’s eyes got all watery, and she wrung her hands together. “But, baby, you’ve got to go.”
“I don’t see why I should.”
“You haven’t left the house, except to go to the cat rescue, since…” She shook her head. “I can’t even remember the last time.”
“And that’s how I like it. I don’t need anything complicating my life any more than it already is.”
“Who says this will be a complication? Maybe it’s a Godsend, a solution.”
“Mom, they don’t just come up with solutions to depression. I’ve tried to explain all this to you.” Roxie pushed her way out of the hammock, displeasing Jinx, who meowed at her. Then the cat sat on her hind legs and began to lick her front paws.
Meredith followed Roxie as she made her way to the back door. “And I’ve tried to understand. You’re welcome here as long as you need, and we don’t mind helping to support you.”
“I’ve got my long-term disability from work. I contribute.” Roxie shot her mom a glare as she pushed open the back door. Once inside, she made her way to the trashcan and tossed the letter and envelope inside.
“Well, that won’t last forever, and you’re not getting any better.” Meredith dug the letter from the garbage and smoothed it out on the counter. A glob of tomato sauce now marred one corner. “You have no ‘long-term’ plan. Why not just go?”
Heaving another deep sigh, Roxie studied her mother. She stood in front of the counter, looking at the letter. Her eyes were red and wet from unshed tears. This was clearly a very big deal for her mom.
On the other hand, getting dressed up… the simple idea exhausted Roxie. Showering, picking out decent clothes with no holes or stains, styling her hair. She wasn’t doing makeup, period. That was cruel and unusual punishment.
She supposed she could pull her hair back in a messy bun. She’d read in one of her mother’s magazines that those were stylish now. She wore them all the time, because they kept her too-long hair out of her face. And her mother had bought her some new jeans and a plain white blouse a few weeks ago, hoping it would inspire Roxie to get dressed for real, instead of in old clothes or pajamas.
Why was she even considering this? “Mom, I can’t.”
Her mother lifted her gaze to Roxie’s face. “Please,” she said
in a soft voice. Her hands worked at the smoothed but stained creamy paper.
Her voice was Roxie’s undoing. She let her eyes flutter closed and nodded. “Fine.”
She turned her head toward the living room, where her dad spent all of his time in front of the TV. Their gazes met, because he’d turned his head as though to listen in. He gave a curt nod, then returned his attention to the television.
She’d been overruled by her parents, like an unruly teenager, and guilted into agreeing to go like… she didn’t know what. Someone easily manipulated, she supposed. “But, seriously, no makeup.”
“Maybe a little lip gloss?” The words tumbled out in a rush now that she’d convinced Roxie to go. “I’ve got the prettiest pink, and it would look so good on you.”
“Mom… no. I mean it. I’m not budging on the makeup, not even lip gloss. This isn’t a blind date, it’s some weird… setup. Probably some well-meaning member of the hospital staff trying to get me out of the house.” A thought struck her and she narrowed her gaze on her mother. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
“Would I have opened it if I had? Obviously, I’d have known what was inside.”
Fine, her logic was pretty flawless. “Well, good. Because I wouldn’t have gone if you resorted to playing tricks on me.”
“Oh, honey, I don’t think it’s a trick. Look, it says right here: it’s an ‘opportunity.’”
“For my heart, whatever that means.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. She already regretted agreeing to go, especially within earshot of her father. She didn’t want to disappoint him anymore than she already had.
She’d clean up, put on the new clothes, pull her hair back and show up. She’d give it exactly thirty minutes, and if nothing happened—it probably wouldn’t—she’d be back home in her pajamas by 7:30.
Aidan Craig swiped his brow with his forearm. He was covered in soot and stank of smoke. He and the rest of his crew had spent the night putting out a fire in a restaurant. It raged out of control into the early morning hours until they’d finally soaked the buildings nearby and reduced the burn to a slow smolder. Out of accelerant and dry wood to consume, it would soon burn out.
Sushi Den was so much smoking rubble now. They’d managed to save the businesses on either side of it and no one had been hurt, so Aidan counted both as wins.
His friend, Kurt, sidled up to him and clapped him on the back. “We did good work back there.”
“We did,” Aidan agreed with a nod.
“So what’s better? Jumping off a bridge or fighting a roaring fire?”
Kurt referred to Aidan’s latest adventure. Since his wife Miley’s death, a lot had changed. Lately, he didn’t get enough of a rush out of fighting fires, so he’d been taking on more and more opportunities to flip death the bird. That rush… it was the only time he felt alive since Miley died.
Aidan nodded at the building’s remains. “When we do our job well and no one gets hurt, it’s better. But only a little.” He couldn’t stop his slow grin. “When you jump off a bridge, death hurtles toward you, and it’s incredible, man. When the bungee cord kicks in and you’re snatched back from its clutches? It’s pretty badass.”
Kurt grinned at him, his teeth a flash of white in the ebony of his sooty face. “Let’s finish up so we can get back to the station.”
Since the structure was compromised, they took care checking that no fire burned through the rubble and they’d saturated the remains with sufficient water to ensure the fire didn’t reignite.
Back at the station afterward, Aidan hit the showers, cleaning all the grime of the night’s battle with destruction from his face, body, and short brown hair. He headed out with Kurt to grab a post-shift breakfast. Aidan ordered a protein-heavy meal, as he usually did. Lots of eggs, a little bacon, no bread.
After the waitress took their order, he and Kurt did a play-by-play of the night before. They’d all done a good, efficient job of putting out the fire.
When the waitress brought their plates, Kurt sat back eyeing his. She left and he quirked an eyebrow at Aidan before digging in. “So what’s your next big adventure?”
“Airplane, I think.”
“As in, learning to fly one?”
“Jumping out of one.” Aidan peppered his eggs then used his fork to break the yolk and mix it all together.
Kurt paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. “You’re serious?”
“Hell, yeah, I’m serious. What would you suggest I try next?”
“I’d suggest…” Kurt put the fork down and frowned at Aidan for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was serious. “I’d suggest you stop actively trying to kill yourself.”
“I’m trying to not die, man. That’s the whole point.”
Kurt shook his head, picked his fork back up, and shoveled another bite of pancakes into his mouth. He chewed for a minute and swallowed. “Doesn’t seem that way.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I’m a little worried about you. I’ve only known you—how long?”
Miley had died two years before, and that was when Aidan’s career as an accountant ended. He didn’t want anything to do with the life he’d shared with her before. He’d sold their house and moved into a garage apartment. He’d traded in his sensible sedan for a pickup truck. He loved driving as fast as possible on the country roads outside of Louisville.
He had the money from the sale of his house to live on, so he’d taken his time choosing a new career. He’d gone through an in-depth hiring process, six months of training. Fighting fires for the last year, and the inherent danger that came with it, seemed perfect. And it had been. It still was. But it wasn’t quite enough to satisfy him anymore.
“How long since we met? Recruit class.” Aidan shrugged. “Year-and-a-half? I don’t know. Long enough. What’s your point?”
“It just seems like you’re constantly looking for ways to kill yourself.”
“I’m looking for ways to tell death to fuck off, as often and in as exciting ways as I can find.”
“You get that death isn’t a real person to be pissed at, right?” Kurt pushed his empty plate aside and shook his head.
“Didn’t know you were a philosopher.” Aidan stood, dropped a ten on the table. “I’m out of here.”
Forehead furrowed, Kurt nodded a goodbye.
There was no need for Kurt to be worried. Aidan always followed the safety practices of whatever he did. The important part was not dying. If he killed himself, death would win, and he’d never let that happen again.
He got to his driveway and paused to check the mail. A few bills, nothing of importance, so he pulled on up to park in the garage under his apartment. That had been a major selling point for him. He liked to keep his black pickup truck and motorcycle in pristine condition.
Before he got halfway up the stairs the led to his apartment, a voice behind him called out, “Aidan Craig?”
He turned, pausing on the stairs to see a deliveryman in typical brown garb.
“I’ve got a letter for you, Mr. Craig.”
Aidan made his way back down the stairs and met the man midway between the road and the garage. “Hey, thanks.”
“No problem, sir. You have a nice day.”
Already forgetting about the delivery guy, he nodded. Why would someone send him a letter by courier, rather than sticking it in the mail? His interest was piqued.
He ripped open the flat cardboard envelope and inside, another envelope. It was black, and had Aidan Craig hand-lettered in silver.
He started up the stairs again, looking at the envelope. What a weird looking piece of mail. Black? Black meant sadness, death, and bad things. A person didn’t send a normal letter in a black envelope.
And it was definitely a letter, not a card. The envelope gave too much to have a card inside, despite the square shape of it.
Once he’d unlocked the door and stepped inside, he put the rest of his mail on the counter by the door a
nd ripped the envelope open. Plucking heavy black paper from the envelope, Aidan shook it out to see a short, silver-scripted message.
Come to Cupid’s Cafe tomorrow at 6 pm. Your next adventure awaits…I dare you.
Mr. Heart
His eyes narrowed as he read through it again. What sort of adventure could be waiting for him at a damn café down the street from the firehouse? It didn’t sound like anything he’d be interested in. Except… that dare.
Aidan had never, in his life, been able to resist a dare. Not even before Miley had died. She’d known it was the surefire way of getting him to do something. But only she had known him that well, so it was a coincidence, right?
He tapped the letter against his lips, thinking it over. He was off tomorrow evening, would be until morning after next. He’d sleep on it for a few hours, go rock-climbing as he’d intended, and then decide.
But, in the big picture, what could it hurt to go? What if it really was the start of a new adventure?
The next day, at 5:50 p.m., Aidan turned off his motorcycle and took in the café before him. A lit sign, cream with blue writing, read Cupid’s Café and stuck out from the brick building. White shutter-framed windows revealed pillars and drapery hanging from the ceiling. What an odd vibe for a coffeehouse.
He climbed off his motorcycle, clicking the button to lock it, then made his way to the door. Once he stepped inside, a feeling of peace settled over him. It was strange, a little like the afterglow following the rush of doing something dangerous.
A blond man stood at Aidan’s elbow. He hadn’t seen or heard him approach. “Aidan Craig, it’s so nice that you’ve joined us.”
“Who is us?’” He frowned. How the hell had the guy approached without any warning? The man had an angular nose and clear blue eyes. Aidan was not easily charmed and he didn’t intend to start now.
Acoustic guitar and harp melodies flowed from speakers disguised behind more sheer panels, and people peppered the place, on couches, at tall tables, and enclosed in small booths.
Exactly Like You: A Cupid Cafe Story Page 1
