Virtually Mine (The Lindstroms Book 5)

by Katy Paige

  “I took a chance hiring a quirky kid, Zoë. Don’t make me regret it. You were supposed to bring an artistic angle to the business, which is all well and good, but that doesn’t mean we’re flimsy with our deadlines. I need that website for Patterson Masonry finished by the end of the day.”

  Zoë nodded. “And it’ll be gorgeous. And artistic. Don’t worry. I’ll stay late if I need to.”

  His droopy, watery eyes regarded her sullenly. “Well? Go to lunch then. Be back in forty-five minutes.”

  Zoë grabbed her bag from the back of her chair, heading first to the lobby kiosk for a cup of iced coffee, then to the outdoor plaza to the left of her building that had a fountain and several bistro tables and chairs. It was already sweltering out even though it was only mid-morning, so she shrugged off the cardigan she’d been wearing in the air conditioning and took a deep breath of the slow, brackish breeze blowing in lazily off the Atlantic.

  She settled herself at an empty table and took out her phone, keeping it face down as she sipped her coffee. It’s not that she wanted to prolong the torture of reading the message, but it had been so long since she’d felt this sort of giddy anticipation, she wanted to savor it for a few minutes. The two years since the accident had been fairly void of happy times, so connecting with Paul, through Maggie, was a bit of unexpected—and, as it turned out, welcome—sunshine in an otherwise bleak life.

  A quick bolt of shame launched itself through Zoë’s body as she reviewed the deception she was perpetuating by letting Maggie—and now Paul—think that they were communicating with the girl in the picture, when Zoë felt like she was a million miles away from the sunny, hopeful girl she had once been.

  Honestly, she hadn’t meant to deceive anyone.

  Drinking wine with a girlfriend one night, and commiserating over the lack of quality men in their lives, they’d dared each other to set up profiles on MeetTheOne.com. To maintain a bit of anonymity, Zoë had decided to use her middle name, Holly, and her mother’s maiden name, Morgan, for her User ID.

  But after setting up an account and posting a pic, she and her friend had continued drinking, and had promptly forgotten all about their profiles.

  When Zoë received an email last week, almost two years later, about her account expiring, she decided to check out her long-lost MeetTheOne inbox before letting the account lapse entirely.

  Big mistake. There had been a lot of really jerky, disgusting emails from guys asking totally inappropriate questions or offering her hot, anonymous sex. As if! The odd, drunken hickey notwithstanding, Zoë wasn’t stupid, and she certainly didn’t have sex with total strangers.

  Not that it was really an issue since her once active, if unfulfilling, dating life was nonexistent at this point. After the accident left her face and leg disfigured, and her heart heavier than she could bear, Zoë had pretty much cut off contact with her old friends and eventually they stopped calling. And what man, exactly, wanted to date a girl with scars like Zoë’s? Not that she was looking, but she’d basically given up on meeting someone anyway.

  But just as Zoë was about to exit the website—and good riddance!—she’d noticed the subject line of the most recent email: I can personally vouch for this amazing guy! She was intrigued by the subject line that she suspected was written by a woman and didn’t use any of the more disgusting euphemisms for genitals as a come-on. She tentatively clicked on the email.

  Right away she could tell this email was different from the rest. The woman writing it introduced herself right away, explaining that one of her best friends, a high school principal, was a wonderful guy who just couldn’t seem to catch a break with the right woman. He had the biggest heart in Montana and deserved true love more than anyone she’d ever known. Zoë had been captivated by Maggie’s description of the handsome, young principal: six feet, two inches, with a toned body, dirty blond hair and blue eyes. She said he was in above-average shape and wore tortoiseshell glasses. Zoë loved that detail. Only another woman would have supplied such a specific description.

  Maggie said she’d chosen to write to Zoë because, after checking out Zoë’s erstwhile profile, Maggie thought she might be a good fit for her friend, Paul. They seemed to have interests in common and she wondered if Zoë was still interested in meeting a nice guy. If she was, could she please write back?

  Without thinking, Zoë had written back right away, asking about Paul—his likes and dislikes, his dating history and what he was looking for in a woman. Maggie had responded, giving Zoë more details about Paul. He sounded…amazing. A caring educator, a good friend, a lover of the outdoors and wildlife, romantic, kind and perfect. Within two days the women had swapped six emails and Maggie had promised that if there were any further emails, they’d be from Paul.

  Zoë had checked her phone every twenty minutes or so on Sunday afternoon, hoping that she’d hear from him. By ten o’clock he hadn’t written and Zoë was surprised by how disappointed she felt. When Sandy and Rob had stopped by asking if she wanted to join them at O’Byrne’s for a cold one, Zoë kept her heavy-hearted feelings to herself, threw her phone on her bed and agreed to join them. Except a cold one had quickly turned into a cold six, followed by making out with one of Rob’s friends and getting an impromptu tattoo.

  So was this Maggie telling Zoë that Paul wasn’t interested, or was this finally a message from Paul? Wishing it didn’t matter so much, Zoë took a deep breath, turned over her phone and clicked on the notification, watching the screens change slowly as the phone sought out a better signal.

  After a few long seconds, she was finally directed to the website. Her heart fluttered wildly as she touched the screen, leaning over the little table to read.

  ***

  Dear Holly,

  Until last night I was pretty sure that my friend Maggie was on a mission to destroy my life.

  (You should have seen the dates she was setting me up on. I’m still shaking.)

  When she told me she’d signed me up for MeetTheOne.com, I wasn’t very happy, I’ll admit. Then I saw your picture.

  I can’t tell you, Holly, how moved I was by your sunny smile at your aunt’s wedding. You looked so open and pretty, I couldn’t stop staring.

  I read the emails that you and Maggie exchanged and just about fell over when I read that The Princess Bride is your favorite movie too. Somehow that felt like a sign.

  When Maggie explained you lived in Connecticut, I really considered whether or not it made sense for us to correspond, but I couldn’t get your picture out of my head. I have no idea if you want to get to know a guy in Montana. (Truth be told, I think the guys in Mystic should be knocking down your door!) Anyway, I guess I’ll leave it up to you.

  Meeting like this is really awkward. I don’t even know what else to say, other than this… I’d really like to get to know you.

  I’m off to Yellowstone today with my friend Lars. The weather’s clear and warm and the sun’s high. Hope it’s shining on you, wherever you are, pretty Holly.

  —Paul

  ***

  Zoë didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it came out in a rush. Her heart pounded in her chest as she turned over the phone. How could something as impersonal as an email be so affecting?

  Her lips turned up in a slight smile as she savored the warmth and sincerity of his words. She was not surprised—Maggie had been so effusive, there was no way Paul was going to be another jerk—but she was unprepared for the impact of reading his email. She had assumed the physical distance between them would make him feel far away. Instead, it was like she’d just spent ten intimate minutes inside his head.

  She sat back in the chair and let her damaged face bathe in the warmth of the sun for a moment as he had suggested, even though she knew it wasn’t a good idea. Until her final surgery in early October, it wasn’t smart to discolor the puckered, violet skin any further.

  Pretty Holly.

  The girl in the photo that Paul saw last night didn’t have puckere
d, violet skin testifying to an accident that had splintered her family. It had been taken three years ago at Sandy and Rob’s wedding.

  Zoë sighed.

  It would have been far more honest to tell Maggie she wasn’t thin, blonde and blue-eyed anymore—hell, she wasn’t a lot of things anymore—and offer a more recent picture of herself. In fact, she’d considered it. But after combing her phone for a more recent photo, she could only find one that wasn’t horrible: she wasn’t smiling, but at least it was taken in profile and didn’t show her bad side.

  That said, when she’d held the newer photo up to her computer screen, staring at the two incredibly different pictures of before-the-accident and after-the-accident Zoë, she couldn’t bear to offer it to Maggie. Swap out the photo of the trim, blonde, sunny girl who used to be Zoë? For the heavier, black-haired, dark-eyed, tattooed, scarred disaster she’d become? Right. She’d never hear from him again, and for whatever reason, it really mattered to Zoë that she hear from Paul again.

  Feeling like a lying piece of crap, she stared at her phone and considered deleting Paul’s message, disabling her account and leaving him alone. He was a nice guy looking for love and she had no right to lead him on even the littlest bit. Yet when she visualized deleting his sweet email and disabling her MeetTheOne account, a terrible heaviness threatened to edge in on the little bit of hope she’d been enjoying.

  Was exchanging a few emails really leading him on? It was more like being pen pals, especially if she was upfront about her intention to be friends. She could tell him about her life in Connecticut and he could tell her about Montana and Yellowstone; they could get to know each other, just as he suggested. No more, no less. They couldn’t very well get romantic from so far away, could they? No, of course not. His email only felt intimate because it had been so long since a man—a nice, decent man—had been so kind to her. It was impossible to be intimate from two thousand miles away. There was no reason to overthink it.

  Halfway convinced that she wasn’t a horrible person for writing back and ignoring the guilt that wouldn’t quite leave her alone, Zoë picked up her phone and pressed reply.

  Dear Paul,

  Your email made me smile. I think Maggie’s intentions are good, but it certainly sounds like you have been out on a few really bad dates.

  Thank you for your kind words about my photo. It was taken two summers ago, at my aunt Sandy’s wedding. She got married in Newport, Rhode Island, which isn’t far from where I live in Mystic, Connecticut. Maggie mentioned that you went to school in Rhode Island so perhaps you’ve had a chance to visit Newport. That day was especially beautiful—bright sun, blue sky—and while my aunt Sandy doesn’t generally stand on convention, her wedding on the beach was very traditional.

  What is your favorite line from The Princess Bride? Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine. While you’re at it, tell me your favorite scene too! 

  Right now, I’m on an early lunch break from work so the sun is shining on my face, although it’s getting very warm so I should probably go back inside.

  I’d like to get to know you too. We could be pen pals. I think that would be fun.

  Enjoy your day in Yellowstone.

  —Holly

  ***

  Paul got out of the shower and toweled off.

  He wrapped the towel around his waist and lathered up his face to shave, taking an extra look at himself in the mirror. After six years in Montana, he was disappointed to note that he still looked like a preppy Johansson from Kennebunkport. His cheekbones were high and chiseled, and his square chin jutted out in a confident, almost arrogant way, like his father’s. Though he was tan from a summer spent outdoors, mostly in Yellowstone, and his body was fit, it was also spare, not jacked-up like his friend, Lars, who was naturally muscular.

  Jenny’s husband Sam had once confessed that at first glance he thought Paul should be a J. Crew model rather than a principal. Paul had grinned at his old rival, but inwardly, he’d grimaced at Sam’s assessment. Part of the reason he’d left Maine was to get away from his wealthy, entrenched family and the iron hold they would have had on him and his life.

  Ding! He was distracted by his phone alerting him to an incoming message. Probably just Lars reconfirming their time and meeting place. Paul used a towel to wipe the shaving foam from his face and picked up the phone charging on his bureau.

  MissMystic has sent you a message.

  He chuckled softly, looking at the words, feeling a smile spread across his face. He’d written to her less than an hour ago and here was a reply already!

  Leaning against his bureau, he took his time reading her message. It wasn’t fair that she should start by telling him that he made her smile, because all he could think about was the picture of Holly at her aunt’s wedding, and he wished he could see her smiling like that for him.

  He thought about the many summer days he’d spent in Newport and wondered if he’d ever bumped into her—maybe seen her walking with a girlfriend or buying herself a tube of lip gloss at one of the tourist shops, on the beach in a floppy hat or in a bikini playing volleyball. He could have seen her a million times and yet it took Maggie’s meddling for him to meet her.

  He loved her questions about The Princess Bride and felt sort of bad that she was stuck teaching summer school. Well, he assumed that’s what she meant by work; the only other summer job for teachers was summer camp, but that wouldn’t be an indoor job.

  The only thing that bothered Paul about the email was her use of the term “pen pal.” He sat down at the foot of his bed, clasping the warm phone between his hands as if it were an actual link to Holly.

  Pen pals.

  Ugh.

  It was the internet-dating equivalent of saying “Let’s just be friends,” and maybe it didn’t make any sense at all, but Paul didn’t want to be “just friends” with Holly. Looking at her picture made his blood heat up, made him feel longing, hope, excitement. He’d only known she existed for a handful of hours, but he didn’t think of her as his “buddy,” and that’s not the road he wanted to walk down with her. He wanted to leave the door open to a good deal more than that. It was absurd and defied explanation, but he just had a feeling about her that he couldn’t shake. Being pen pals didn’t figure into it.

  He plugged his phone back in and finished shaving his face, nicking himself twice in the process. His instinct was to write back something along the lines of “I’m not looking for a pen pal,” but he cringed at how bald and pushy that sounded. He didn’t want to push her away. He wanted to get to know her.

  And then it occurred to him: maybe saying she wanted to be pen pals was just her way of saying she wanted to get to know him too. Maggie had found Holly on a dating website, right? Called “MeetTheOne,” for heaven’s sake. So certainly she wasn’t just interested in making a faraway friend. If that were the case, she would have had an account on “Meet A Pen Pal.” He decided to turn up the heat a little in his next message and see what happened. He’d try to make it clear that he was looking for a little more than friendship at this point in his life.

  He pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean white T-shirt. His days of jeans and T-shirts were dwindling now, he thought. In a few weeks, he’d be back in suits and dress shirts with a different tie every day. He had amassed quite a necktie collection over the years as principal of Gardiner High & Middle School; it had become the go-to gift from most of the kids and he tried to wear all of the ties at least once a year.

  Checking his phone, he realized he had just enough time to write one more message to Holly before Lars picked him up. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at his kitchen table.

  Dear Holly,

  What an awesome surprise to get your message. I was just about to head out when my phone pinged to let me know you’d written. I think that’s about to become one of my favorite sounds.

  I know Rhode Island well. I went to Brown and spent many sunny afternoons in Newport sailing with friends. It’s always
been one of my favorite places in the world and I still try to get there every summer. I wonder if I ever bumped into you. Nah, couldn’t be. I’d have remembered a girl as pretty as you and definitely would have tried to get your number.

  My favorite line from TPB is “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it a while.” I know it’s ridiculous in theory, but I love the intention of the words—the hope, the absoluteness. (Now I’m getting poetic on you! Watch out!)

  My favorite scene is—brace yourself since my brothers informed me a million times with their fists that boys weren’t supposed to like the kissing scenes! —in the very beginning when Westley pulls down the jug for Buttercup, and he stares into her eyes, and they realize they’re in love and kiss on that hill while the sun sets. I guess that means I’m a romantic.

  Probably showing my cards a little too much here, but why not? Wouldn’t it be amazing to start a relationship with someone based on truth? Based on how you really thought and really felt and not have to backtrack later? This is who I am, for better or worse.

  I hope I hear from you again.

  —Terrible at Poker, aka Paul

  ***

  Zoë was just heading back into her building when her phone pinged again.

  PrincipalPaul has sent you a message.

  Those butterflies in her stomach returned tenfold and she took a deep breath, moving to the far side of the lobby near the coffee kiosk and leaning on the wall behind a large potted fern. She looked at the time: 11:52. Damn, she was already late getting back, but she couldn’t resist taking a look.

  She felt her face soften as she started reading his words. He went to Brown, which meant that he was smart, and he sailed, which was a pastime Zoë used to love. Her finger slid down the screen and her heart caught, reading his words about love.

  The intention…the hope…the absoluteness…and they realize they’re in love.

  She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, the hammering of her heart loud in her ears. She’d heard of women swooning from romantic words, but she’d certainly never experienced it. Goose bumps spread from her hands up her arms and a shiver went down her spine. A smart, sporty, handsome man who believed in true love? Principal Paul just got better and better.