I’m touched by my sister’s need to defend me. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and I just want to grab her in a big hug.
“Thanks, Hol,” I say, giving her a grateful smile. “But I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I’m ready to change the subject now. As a matter of fact, I have to. I can’t very well infuse today’s cupcakes with all my fear and worry. “We have a lot of orders to fill today. I better get started.”
~*~
At a quarter till eleven, my phone lights up with a text. I wipe my hands on my apron and pick it up.
Wanna have lunch with me? I have an extra PB&J.
I smile and text back: Would love to.
By the fountain @ noon?
See ya then!
“What are you grinning about?” Holly asks from across the room.
I shrug. “Nothing.”
I let a few minutes go by and then announce, “Well, I’m gonna pop out for lunch.”
“We’re not eating together?” Holly asks, because we usually do have lunch together.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, as if I’m completely taken off guard. “I didn’t realize. I mean, I made plans with a friend, since…you know…we weren’t really speaking there for a while. You can eat with Colin though, right? A little private lunch date.”
“Yeah, of course,” she says, shaking her head back and forth. Then she shoos me with her hands. “Go on. Have fun with your friend.”
“Er, thanks,” I say as I slip my apron onto its hook. “See you in a bit.”
I dart out of the shop and have to stop myself from skipping to the square where Joe is already waiting for me. Fall is most definitely in the air now, with the chilly breeze and bright sun. The leaves are starting to change and I’m reminded of my childhood, the beginning of a new school year, with its promise of new friends, boyfriends, football games and cashmere sweaters. Oh, that life was as simple now.
“Hey you,” I say, as I approach the bench where Joe is sitting. He’s decked out in a worn, brown sweater and a pair of jeans. His blondish hair is shimmering in the sunlight, reflecting the red leaves of the tree above for a strawberry blond effect.
His smile is wide as he replies, “Hey yourself.”
He moves over on the bench to make room for me and pulls a sandwich out of the paper bag beside him. I sit and take the pb&j.
“Thanks,” I say. “But what if I had said no to lunch?”
Joe shrugs and takes a bite of his own sandwich. “I would have called another pretty girl to join me.”
He winks and I swat him with the back of my hand. I don’t actually say anything, because I’m not sure what to say. Do I thank him for calling me pretty? Do I chastise him for talking to other girls? God, I suck at this dating thing. One-night-stands are much easier. But so much less fulfilling than this. I have to make an effort. I like him…a lot. I’m not going to run away like I’ve always done in the past.
“Well, thanks for asking me,” I finally say, settling on sincerity, and then I nestle in to eat my sandwich.
“So, listen,” I say after a couple bites. “Where have you been all these years?”
“Ah. She wants to get to know me.”
“It’s only fair,” I retort. “You seem to know way more about me than I do about you.”
“Only what I know of you from high school, and what you told me over dinner the other night.”
“That’s pretty much everything. Now go.”
He takes another bite of his sandwich and then a sip of what looks to be iced tea. “Well, I went off to college—”
“Where?”
He winces. “Does that really matter?”
“Yes. Spill it.”
“Dartmouth.”
“An Ivy-leaguer,” I say, impressed. “Fancy.”
“Well, don’t get too excited. I left after three semesters.”
“Why?” If I had gotten into an Ivy League, they would have had to pry me out of it. “Where’d you go?”
“To the beach.”
I nearly choke on my sandwich and sputter a bit. He offers me a sip of iced tea, which I accept gratefully. “The beach?” I finally croak out. “I’m sure your parents loved that.”
“My dad wasn’t thrilled, that’s true. But there wasn’t anything he could do to stop me. My trust money was mine by that point, and I was free to use it as I pleased.”
“A trust fund baby? Seriously?”
His cheeks turn pink. Clearly, he’s not proud of that fact.
“Anyway,” he says, ignoring me. “I set up camp, so to speak, in a little town in Florida, near the beach. It was great. I’ve been there ever since. Until now, of course.”
“What did you do for work? Or did you have enough to live for the last, what, ten years?”
“Thirteen years, actually. And no, I blew through the trust pretty quickly.” He winces again. Man, he really doesn’t like talking about his past, does he? Or maybe it’s money he doesn’t like to talk about. “I, um…I worked at a coffee shop.”
I can’t help the laughter that bursts out of my mouth. “That’s brilliant,” I say. “Young man flees family coffee shop business to…work in a coffee shop. You do see the irony, don’t you?”
“Why do you think I didn’t want to tell you?”
We both laugh and then fall silent again while we munch on our sandwiches.
“So, what about you?” he asks, turning to me. “I know you were some kind of big-shot in New York, which isn’t surprising at all.”
I look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Come on. You were always a go-getter in high school. Valedictorian—”
“Salutatorian,” I correct him, and the bitterness I’d felt at eighteen comes rushing back. “Stupid Kimmie Stark.”
Joe gives a little chuckle, but goes on. “Either way, you were pretty smart. Always running for some office or another.”
“I was class president, for your information.” I can’t help but feel a little stung that he doesn’t remember that.
“See? It was inevitable. So what happened? Why’d you leave?”
I sigh and shove the crust of my sandwich back into the little baggie. “What happened is I got promoted to an executive position at Bell North, after working my way up for several years, only to be accosted by my boss’s boss and asked to leave when I wouldn’t sleep with him.”
I dare to glance at Joe. His jaw is wide open, and he has a look of pure stupefaction on his face. “Why didn’t you sue?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I would have won, I’m sure, but Mom and Dad and Holly were pressuring me to move back here and run the bakery. My best friend got pregnant and moved back home, to Ohio. Everything seemed to be working against me in New York. So I gave in.”
“Yeah, things weren’t going so great for me toward the end, either. Maybe it’s all part of the stupid curse this town has on it.”
“I’m inclined to believe that,” I say, and then, “So what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
I shift on the bench so I’m facing him and cross one leg over the other. “You said things weren’t going so well. What happened?”
He gives a little groan, as if he doesn’t want to talk about it, but finally says, “Woman trouble is the best way to put it, I guess.”
I laugh at his choice of words. “Woman trouble? What is this, the Wild West circa 1875?”
“Okay, maybe not the best way to put it,” he admits, “but that’s what it was. Long story short, she broke my heart. I thought we were going to get married, and the next thing I knew, she was packing her bags and moving out.”
I’m not sure what to say. To be honest, I’m kind of distracted by my own jealousy. Not of the woman he was supposed to marry, but oddly enough of the fact he’s had his heart broken. I’ve never been in love. Never been with someone long enough to let them break my heart. It might be a silly thing to wish for, but this thought strikes me to my core. I’ve filled my life with mean
ingless things and dead-end relationships. I thought it was what I wanted. I thought it was who I was. But as this warm, fuzzy feeling steals into my heart, I realize just how wrong I’ve been. About everything.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say, hoping it’s the right thing in this situation.
Joe shrugs and smiles. “Don’t be. I’m pretty happy right now.” He winks and grabs my hand.
My heart flutters and my stomach flips. Is this what falling in love feels like?
“All right,” I say, letting the smile take over my face. “I won’t.”
~*~
At the end of the day, the last thing I want to do is attend this ridiculous tribunal. It’s like Harry Potter has collided with Survivor. But I’m not getting out of it, this much I know. At least Joe will be there. I confirmed that before our lunch date ended.
Now I’m standing in front of my closet, trying not to be sad that almost nothing fits. How one is supposed to dress for a tribunal, anyway? Is it casual when they slap your wrists and send you to detention? Or should I dress up, like a hotshot lawyer ready to defend my case?
I blow air between my lips, making them flutter in my frustration. Even if I wanted to dress up like a hotshot, I couldn’t.
In the end, I decide to go with my stretchy jeans and a long-sleeved tunic top I got from Joie last year for that yacht day the company organized. It definitely fits a little more snugly than it did last year, but as long as I sit up really straight, my rolls won’t bulge out.
By twenty ‘till seven, I’m rushing out the door. Makeup and hair have been refreshed as much as they could be after a day slaving over a hot oven, and I’m feeling fairly confident that tonight is going to go just fine. I mean, what’s the worst they can do to me, right? Throw me in a dungeon with a fierce dragon?
The GPS app on my phone guides me to 275 Mockingbird Lane, and I’m a little shocked as I pull up to the massive gates that surround the palatial house. It looks like something straight out of the Great Gatsby. Okay, maybe not quite that big, but still…big.
I press the call button on the keypad and someone picks up immediately.
“Name, please?”
“Candy. Candace Cooper.”
There’s no reply, just a loud beep, followed by the slow opening of the wrought iron gates before me. I pull through and park behind the last car in the circular drive. I’m a little surprised there’s no valet, but maybe they decided to keep it simple for the tribunal.
By the time I get to the front door, my hands are shaking. Damn it. I had promised myself I was going to play it cool at this silly thing. Because that’s what it is. Completely silly. Magical folk and tribunals? Will Dumbledore be at the head of the table? Or maybe a Death Eater? At least that would make things more interesting. I shake my head, realizing there won’t actually be any fictional characters at this meeting. Just regular ol’ magic folk.
I reach for the doorbell and the door promptly opens to reveal a tall, thin man with a very long nose, decked out like one of those English butlers. He smiles tightly at me and waves an arm inward, inviting me in.
“Ms. Cooper,” he says in a British accent. Perhaps he actually is one of those British butlers. “They’re expecting you.”
“Yeah, I know.” I hold up my invite. I brought it just in case I needed it for entry, or something.
“May I take your coat?”
I turn around and shrug it off, right into his waiting hands. He hangs it over his right forearm and then says, “Follow me, please.”
He leads me from the black and white marbled foyer down a long wood-paneled hallway. Not like 70s paneling, though. The kind you find in castles and grand English estates. Each giant panel almost looks like a massive picture frame, and they’ve filled every other one in with original paintings. Some portraits that must date back at least 200 years, some landscapes. If my eyes don’t deceive me, that’s a Renoir. Like, a real one. Not just one of those prints you get at the museum gift shop.
Okay, I’m impressed.
We reach the end of the corridor and stop in front of a door. I can hear the hum of voices inside, the clinking of glassware, and the sound of Doris Day crooning some old love song. Now my hands are really sweaty and my heart is about to leap out of my throat.
The butler goes to open the door when someone calls out to stop us.
“Hey, wait!”
I turn to see Joe coming toward us at a jog down the long hallway and I can’t stop the outbreak of a massive smile.
“Hey,” I reply, positively giddy to see him. I mean, I knew he’d be here, but getting to see him before the party is the icing on my cupcake.
As he approaches, I realize he doesn’t have a coat, and I briefly think he must have been freezing getting over here, though his finely tailored suit jacket might have been enough. But then I realize that the butler was with me, so who let him in?
He looks up at the butler, nods, and says, “Thanks, Jeeves. That will be all.”
That will be all?
I feel my jaw hit the floor, and all of a sudden I want to throw up. 275 Mockingbird Lane is his home. This is his. This is where he lives. With the butler and the paintings and the marble foyer. I have no idea how to take this. I shouldn’t be so stunned. It’s just money, after all, and it’s probably not even his. It’s his parents’ money, of course. And if he’s still living here, then he’s just as big of a loser as I am. Though I’m sure his basement is a lot nicer than mine.
“Are you nervous?” he asks, and I snap back to reality.
“Oh, um…a little,” I admit. “Do you have any idea what this is about?”
He shakes his head. “I have a hunch, but I don’t know anything for sure.”
My stomach churns. “Oh, God. It’s about Colin, I just know it is. Why did I ever play with magic like that?”
“Listen,” Joe says, gently brushing back a piece of hair that has fallen into my face. “We don’t know anything, okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
“And if it is about Colin…I’ve got your back.”
He might be filthy rich, but he’s still the sweetest guy I’ve ever known. “Thanks.”
The doors to this room are those big, wooden sliding doors, and Joe stands right between them to open them. On the other side, it looks like a normal, rich-people party. Everyone’s dressed fashionably, but not in evening gowns or anything. It’s more of a Chico’s kind of thing for the women and suits with no ties for the men. Still, they’re all way more dressed up than I am, which makes me feel even more self-conscious than I already was. Another jazz standard is playing over a hidden speaker system, there’s a fire roaring in the grate, and everyone is milling about with glasses of wine or scotch. It’s everything those posh Speakeasies in New York City aspire to be.
“Ah, there she is!” Mom says from her position on the other side of the room.
All eyes go from her to me, and that sick feeling comes rushing back to my stomach. I never used to mind being the center of attention. I gave presentations to boardrooms full of people all over the world. So why is this little gathering so unnerving? Perhaps it’s simply the not knowing that makes me so nervous.
I give a little wave to the room.
“Come over here, darling,” Mom shouts again and now she’s waving her hand in the air, motioning for me to join her.
I give a tentative look to Joe, who sends a wink back. God, I love when he does that.
“Hey, Mom,” I say as I approach her and Dad. They’re standing next to an elderly man in a wheelchair. He’s wearing a red silk smoking jacket with a pair of black pants, but it’s his face that draws my attention. It’s Joe’s face, only much, much older. A Latte Joe.
Vague memories of seeing him over the years come flooding back. Seeing him on the sidelines of our high school football games, thinking he looked so out of place. And of course, ordering a coffee at his shop. I’d never realized he was Joe. I’d never even realized he was acquainted with my parents, yet here t
hey stand, chatting as if they’ve known each other their entire lives.
This prompts me to take a better look around the room at the people my parents refer to as The Elders. Familiar faces, all of them, but none I would consider friends or even close acquaintances. People who had served us at restaurants, like Giovanni, or hemmed my prom dress or fixed the plumbing. And there’s Mrs. Shoemaker, my third grade teacher. No wonder she knew about my mom’s abilities—she’s magical herself.
“Well, Candy,” Joe the Elder is saying. “It’s nice to finally be able to meet you.”
Be able? “Yes, um…you too?”
He chuckles, as if he understands my confusion and finds it amusing. “I’ve been watching you since you were a little girl.”
Okay. Creepy.
“You never thought to introduce yourself?” I say, unable to hide the sarcasm.
“Now, that would have gone against the rules, Ms. Cooper,” he says, with a grin. “Though you’ve never been much for rules, have you?”
Heat rushes into my face. Obviously he’s talking about Colin, and now I’m more convinced than ever this is what tonight is all about. Colin. And my stupid, stupid obsession with him.
I open and close my mouth like a guppy. I have no idea how to respond to that. But thankfully Joe the Younger comes to my rescue.
“Dad,” he says, a gentle warning tone to his voice, “play nice. She’s new to all this.”
“You’d think you were too.” Father Joe raises his brows in a look of admonishment.
Now I’m thoroughly confused.
Jeeves appears at Joe, Sr.’s side and whispers something into his ear.
“Yes, thank you, Jeeves,” Joe, Sr. says, and then he turns to the room at large and raises his voice. “It is seven o’clock, everyone. Time to begin.”
At that, everyone finds a seat around the room, nestling into leather armchairs or tufted settees. I swear this is like something out of a gothic novel.
Joe, Jr. grabs me by the elbow and leads me to a pair of chairs near the fire. I’m glad to be sitting with him. It’s making me slightly less nervous, plus he smells really good. Like coffee and Calvin Klein. As we sit there, waiting for his father to start the meeting—tribunal—whatever it is, it strikes me again this is Joe’s home. His home. Is this cavernous room where he comes to read a book? Does he play polo on the back lawn? Does he take tea with the bloody Queen? I just can’t wrap my mind around the fact that this laidback, chilled out coffee boy lives here. Or that his father is actually wearing a satin smoking jacket.
The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) Page 22
