Perfectly Played: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love & Alliteration Book 1)

by Holly Kerr

  “You’ve got it bad.”

  “I’ve got it bad,” M.K. agrees with a silly smile on her face.

  The man in front of me gets his drink and leaves with a smile for both of us. “I love your customers,” I say, leaning on the counter.

  “Most of them are your customers too.”

  “It feels like the bar in Cheers, but with coffee instead of beer.”

  “That’s the one with the dumb Woody Harrelson, isn’t it?” Adam asks. “He’s really cute in that.”

  Adam is seven years younger than I am, but suddenly I feel very old.

  “Do you think Clay looks a bit like Tom Cruise?” M.K. asks.

  “Totally. He’s got a great smile.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” She claps her hands over her mouth. “Oh, I sound annoying, don’t I?”

  “No, you don’t. I’m happy for you.” And I am, but for a moment, jealousy rears it’s ugly head. I like Dean, but I’m not glowing talking about him.

  I smile, but that’s not glowing.

  “What is it?” M.K. asks automatically.

  “You can’t read my mind, so stop trying.”

  “I can read your expression. You’re an open book.”

  “I’m jealous,” I admit, sipping my coffee. “You’re glowing. You’re so excited about Clay you’re practically vibrating.”

  “It’s kind of annoying,” Adam grumbles.

  “It’s not. It’s nice. I’m happy for you. But I want it, too.”

  “There’s nothing like that first bit,” Adam says wistfully. “When you can’t stop thinking about him, only want to be around him, keep checking his Facebook page and Instagram pages to see what he’s doing.”

  “That’s called stalking, Adam.”

  “You know what I mean. You do it too.”

  I shake my head. “Not for a long time. Hence, the little green-eyed monster that I’m dealing with.”

  “Well, you really don’t have to be jealous of M.K.,” Adam announces. “Clay does not have a Facebook page for her to stalk. I checked.”

  “Stop stalking my boyfriend!” M.K. cries before clapping a hand over her mouth. “I said boyfriend.”

  “You said boyfriend,” I say gleefully. “Is that what he is? Already?”

  “I don’t know,” M.K. admits. “We haven’t talked about it. But that’s what it feels like.”

  With a glance at her shining eyes, I push any residue of envy out of my mind. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

  “I want this for you, too,” M.K. pleads.

  “Maybe.” I shrug. “We’re taking it slow.”

  “Which is totally ironic since you’ve already done the nasty,” Adam says drily.

  “How do you know?” I turn to M.K. “Is nothing sacred?”

  “Sorry,” M.K. says as she refills the milk jugs. “You know how he gets when he wants to know something. Sort of like Cappie digging a hole.”

  “Cappie!” I forgot about my dog waiting impatiently outside. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Isn’t Patrick meeting you here?” Adam asks hopefully. “I heard that he might be.”

  “Will the two of you just do the nasty and get it over with?” I grumble. “Wait a minute, that’s my nephew, so forget I said anything. Look, I’ll call you later and find out how lunch went,” I call over my shoulder. The door swings open before I get there.

  “Auntie Flora, I’m here!”

  Patrick rushes across the cafe, his exuberant hug almost knocking my coffee out of my hand. Built like a truck with a barrel chest and thick arms that can lift me and M.K. together, Patrick has more energy than a new puppy, which is good for the landscaping jobs.

  Patrick drops me and pulls M.K. across the counter for a hug before giving Adam a sheepish grin.

  “Hello, Patrick,” Adam says in a demure voice, definitely on the flirtatious side. He hands Patrick a coffee, making sure their fingers brush.

  “You can talk later,” I order. “I’ve got to rescue my dog and we have to get to work.”

  “Goodbye, Patrick,” Adam calls forlornly.

  I don’t miss the glance Patrick gives Adam as we leave.

  It’s short work to load plants and supplies into the truck, and Imogene hasn’t even arrived to open the store before I drive off with Cappie perched on Patrick’s lap.

  Patrick shifts Cappie to roll down the window. “This dog has a farting problem, you know.”

  “That’s what Thomas used to say. He just has a delicate digestive system. Don’t you boy?”

  “He farts because you give him people food, don’t you?” The dog moans with delight as Patrick vigorously rubs his ears. “I meant to ask you at the game. Have you talked to Dad lately?”

  “Why would I talk to him?”

  “Because you broke it off with the old guy. I think he’d like to hear about that.”

  “Since when has Oliver given a damn about what I do?”

  “He does. And he’d be happy about no wedding, just like me. Not only was I more than a bit pissed not to be included, but now you and Dad can make up. And you can come home!” Patrick claps his hands, the sudden noise making Cappie bark.

  “I don’t know if I want to come home. Fleur is here, and M.K.”

  “And you’re doing so well for yourself, but don’t you miss it? The big house, the smell of fresh air, us? Your family?”

  “You’re around so much that I don’t have to miss you,” I say. “You’re in the city for school most of the year, just around the corner. Literally, as you keep dropping by Pain to see Adam.”

  “Adam…” Patrick has a dreamy smile on his face.

  “Things going well, then?”

  “We’re still talking about you, Auntie, so don’t think you’re out of the woods! You have to tell Dad it’s over with the old guy. For my sake.”

  “Of course,” I agree. “It’s all about you.”

  But maybe it is time for a trip back home.

  Dean

  A week after the Jays game, I move out of the house.

  The empty case of beer in the kitchen and the soap scum in the shower is a fun way of thanking Evelyn for everything she’d put me through.

  “Are you sure it’s okay to keep this stuff here?” I ask M.K. for the tenth time. She said I could store my weights and a few plastic bins filled with clothes, books, and DVDs in her garage until I found a place. I’m sleeping on Clay’s couch for the time being.

  “It won’t be long,” I assure everyone, including myself.

  It wasn’t difficult to move out, but hard to say goodbye to Mrs. Gretchen. I gave her my number and made her promise to call if she needed anything. Then she made me promise to visit.

  Getting out of the house helps. With every day away from any reminders of Evelyn, the slow throb of hurt lessens.

  I move out; Thomas moves in. If that doesn’t say closure, I don’t know what does. At least that’s what Flora says.

  She says a surprising lot about the subject.

  In the weeks after I move out, I spend most of my free time with Flora, which isn’t a lot. With her hours at the store and the landscaping business she does taking up most of the daylight hours, and my shifts and The Baseball Zone mostly happening at night, there are only a few nights during the week when we can hang out.

  We mainly talk or text.

  I’ve never had a female friend like Flora. It’s interesting to get her insights about Evelyn, which she never hesitates to give. She also manages to explain some of the mysteries of the relationship. In exchange, I let Flora talk about Thomas as much as she needs to, at least until one late night conversation when we both admitted we’re sick and tired of hearing about the exes. So we made a pact to quit cold turkey. No more moaning about lost love.

  I lasted sixteen hours, Flora, twenty-seven. But it seemed to check the flow and after that, our conversations are only peppered by mentions of the exes, rather than being the main topic.

  Because Flora works so much, I try and pl
an things to do for her days off. Since the baseball game, we’ve gone to Canada’s Wonderland three times, spending the day riding the roller coasters, each bigger than the last. We go to movies—horror, adventure, comedy—whatever’s out there.

  “Thomas never liked movies,” Flora admits, cramming a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “He said he did, but he’d always complain about something.”

  I spend a Sunday afternoon wandering the downtown streets with her; we take a bus tour of Toronto and pretend to be tourists, complete with Australian accents. Flora takes me to the Hockey Hall of Fame; we make plans for a quick trip to Cooperstown to see the baseball counterpart.

  Last Friday, Flora left the shop in the care of Imogene and we spent the day in Niagara Falls, wearing rain ponchos on the Maid of the Mist, and screaming as we zip-lined across the Falls.

  “Do you want to stop at your mom’s place?” I had asked as we passed a sign leading to Niagara-on-the-Lake.

  “No, it’s fine,” Flora said, the tone in her voice leaving no room for persuasion.

  I noticed at least three signs for Shaughnessy Nurseries among the wineries. I didn’t point them out to Flora. She’s open about everything except her family. After hanging out with her for the past six weeks, the only thing I know are her brothers’ names.

  But I don’t press. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.

  It’s like we’re dating, only we’re not. I haven’t kissed her since that day in her shop, as much as I would like to. Deep down, I have a feeling Flora’s backed off the thought of us, like she’s accepted we’re only going to be friends.

  But I’ve caught myself looking at Flora’s profile and wondering what if.

  Am I ready?

  Is she ready to move on?

  Would it even work?

  That’s the big question. Flora and I are great as friends, but what about being more? I don’t feel ready to handle it if it doesn’t work out.

  So I keep looking at her, but I keep quiet about it, seeing as it was my suggestion to go slow.

  And now, weeks later after meeting her, I find myself travelling up the elevator of the tallest building in Canada, wearing a red jumpsuit with a stomach full of knots.

  Flora convinced me to do the EdgeWalk—to walk around the edge of the CN Tower, practically dangling three-hundred-and-fifty-six metres above the city of Toronto.

  I’m not even sure I like the city of Toronto, so what the hell am I doing looking down on it from this height?

  Flora is as excited as a kid in a candy store. “Are you excited?” she asks for the hundredth time in the elevator ride alone.

  “No,” I finally burst out, lowering my voice when the teenage boy beside me looks up with alarm. “I’m scared shitless.”

  Flora shows no sympathy. “Big man’s all scared,” she giggles.

  “And you’re not?”

  She shakes her head, allowing a few strands of hair to escape from the little knot on the back. “I’m a girl. Everyone expects me to be all Eek, I’m afraid. But you’re all manly and sexy.”

  “Sexy?” I raise my eyebrows.

  Flora doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Yes, you’re sexy. Quite attractive in your little jumpsuit.”

  I’ve never known a woman to be so open with her emotions. Flora rants about a bad Costco experience, explodes about the status of one of her plants and tells me exactly how finding a spare sock Thomas had left made her miss how he used to prop his feet on her leg, all in one conversation. She’s an unlimited supply of energy, but instead of exhausting me, it revives me. I feel more awake and conscious than I have in a while.

  She’s fun to hang out with, especially now that my time with Clay has dwindled to Sunday night games, the occasional text and pick-up games of basketball on Thursday nights. The rest of the time, Clay spends with M.K.

  I’m surprised Clay has fallen for M.K. so hard and so fast, but it does make it easier to live with him when he’s not really around. The last time we talked, Clay actually said something about how he and M.K. had already talked about moving in together.

  Once we get to the top, my stomach jumps like one of those bouncy castles as I wait for my turn to have my harness strapped onto the roof of the CN Tower. I don’t want to look even more of a wimp, so I don’t say anything. Plus, I physically can’t. I’m so scared that even breathing is hard. Talking would be impossible.

  Finally we’re strapped on and pushed outside, and I stand on the one thing in the world where I had no idea I ever wanted to be—the roof of the CN Tower.

  “Wow,” Flora gasps as she steps onto the edge and takes in the breathtaking view. I want to catch her hand and pull her back, but instead I take a tentative step out from the wall, and then another. “Can you believe it?”

  “No,” I say shortly, staring at her face because I can’t look anywhere else.

  “You have to look around,” she urges. She tucks her hand into mine. “Have you ever had such a view of the Rogers Centre?”

  Beneath me, the dome is open. I can make out the tiny figures on the field, looking smaller than the little army men I used to play with. Someone hits a ball into the outfield and I smile to see the movement. “Wow.”

  “I know, right? This was a good idea.”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Deano.” It’s the first time she’s called me by my nickname and I frown, the name sounding strange coming from her voice.

  “Too soon,” Flora guesses, reading my frown. “I’m not at the Deano stage yet?”

  “I don’t think you ever will be. I don’t mean it like that,” I say quickly as Flora’s face falls. “I mean, I like it better when you call me Dean.”

  “Dean,” Flora parrots.

  “Flora.”

  “I like the way you say that, too.”

  She smiles at me, the same smile she gave me right before I kissed her. I haven’t seen it for a few weeks.

  Her hand is warm in mine, the only thing in my body that has heat. The wind tugs at me, puffing the legs of my jumpsuit, but I don’t know if it’s the chill or my fear that makes me as cold as the girl in Frozen.

  Flora holds my hand the entire way. The way her other hand grips the strap suggests she’s not doing it only for my benefit.

  “I hear you can see Niagara Falls on a clear day,” she says, as we face Lake Ontario, her voice rising over the wind.

  “Can you see where you lived?”

  She releases my hand for a quick moment to point over the lake. “Right across there. It would be quicker to go by water since the house is close to the shore.” Her expression is wistful.

  “Do you miss it?”

  Flora shrugs. I vow to talk to her later, once we’re off the ledge and inside.

  My fear gets better as we circle the Tower, but I don’t fully relax until I’m out of the jumpsuit, back on the ground and in a pub, with a cold pint of Guinness before me.

  “You did have fun, didn’t you?” Flora asks as she blows on her hands. The September evening is as warm as summer, but Flora looks chilled through from the wind.

  “It was unbelievable,” I admit, taking her hands in mine and rubbing to warm them. “I think I was scared out of my mind for most of the time, but it was amazing.”

  “I don’t think there’s any thinking about it.” Flora laughs. “You were scared the whole time.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “I was okay once we got out there and I knew the strap would hold. It was like when I went skydiving—it was the first step out of the plane that was the big deal, and then I was fine.”

  “I don’t think I could do that.”

  “Skydiving?” Flora slides her hand out of mine to take a sip of her wine. “It was awesome.”

  “I don’t like heights.”

  Flora practically spits out her mouthful of wine. “You don’t like heights? We were just hanging out on the outside of the CN Tower and you don’t like heights? Now you tell me that?”
r />   I shrug. “You seemed to be excited about doing it.”

  “And you weren’t?”

  “I did it with you.”

  “But…” Flora trails off, for the first time at a loss for words. “We just spent two hundred dollars on something you didn’t want to do?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want to do it,” I correct. “It was amazing, and I always thought it looked like something fun to do. But, no, I don’t especially like heights.”

  “And I made fun of you in front of the other people,” Flora wails. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you didn’t. You laughed a bit.”

  “I made fun of you with the other people. I thought it might help them because you’re so big and manly—”

  “Don’t forget sexy. Especially in my jumpsuit.”

  “You did it for me,” she says in a small voice, sliding her hand back into mine. I look at our tangled fingers and have a sudden urge to kiss them.

  We sit by a window overlooking King Street about a block away from the Royal Alex theater. I turn away from Flora to watch the groups of well-dressed people stream by, fighting the growing urge to kiss her.

  Take that heart-shaped face in my hands and kiss those soft pink lips until we both run out of air. Kiss her until she can’t see straight.

  I grip my pint of Guinness until the urge passes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Flora

  The next Sunday, M.K. and I go to Clay and Dean’s baseball game.

  It’s their last game of the season and the September evening is chilly as we head for the bleachers, scanning the crowd to find the boys. Clay finds us first, kissing M.K. with easy affection before hugging me.

  It’s hard not to be jealous when you see them together, so cute with their heads bowed together, Clay’s hand resting easily on her hip.

  I have Dean but it’s not the same thing, although sometimes when Dean looks at me with those blue eyes or I’d catch sight of one of his hands and have this need for him to touch me…

  Friends. Still friends. I like to think I could make him change his mind, but there’s no point, at least not until I know he’s over Evelyn. I can’t take a chance before then.