by Cindi Madsen
A sliver of hope rose, but then she remembered it’d only stab her in the heart later. She’d given up a job for a what-if before, and she vowed to never do it again. “I can’t stay here to become unemployed, all so I can be friends with my neighbor, miserable or not.”
Maybe he did care. She wished it was enough, but she’d already flung her entire heart at his feet, and he’d stomped on it. She couldn’t just go back to being buddies, even if nights spent with him and Bailey would almost be enough.
Almost.
“But maybe if you told him how you genuinely feel about him,” April tried, and Camilla winced. She’d heard the story already, but Jemma supposed the coffee shop owner wouldn’t give up until she’d gotten the full scoop as well.
“I did.” Jemma was proud at how steady it came out sounding, especially considering the way everything inside of her was crumbling. “I told him I wanted to be more than friends.”
“Sometimes guys can be really dense. Are you sure he understood?”
Tears blurred the two women for a moment before Jemma blinked them away. “I’m sure. I poured out my heart, and it wasn’t enough.”
April shook her head and then pulled Jemma into a hug. “That boy’s clearly lost his marbles. I have half a mind to call up his mother and tell her he’s being an idiot. Maybe she can fly here and straighten him up.”
Jemma could only imagine that weird phone call. April would call; of that, she had no doubt. “That’s not necessary. I was just telling Camilla that I have another job lined up. I’ll miss you all, but I can’t stay here, living so close to him and…” Her voice broke—right when she was being so tough too. “I can’t.”
Both women gave her understanding smiles.
Jemma wiped at her eyes. “We so don’t have time for this. ‘The show must go on’ and all that. April, need help carrying in punch?”
“That’d be nice.”
They went out to the parking lot, grabbed nine more gallons out of her trunk, and set them up behind the table. They took cups and napkins with arrow-shooting cupids out of their wrappers and arranged them on the table.
Then Jemma pulled out her phone checked the time.
In a few minutes, her students would show up, and they’d let in the parents and the rest of the community about twenty minutes after that.
Dorothy Hembolt was on the piano next to the stage, tuning it and playing snippets of the songs. The words automatically went through Jemma’s head—at this point, they’d been so seared into her mind she’d be able to sing them until she was Dorothy’s age.
A grunt escaped as Jemma hefted the giant crystal punch bowl and set it on the center of the table. April poured the frothy pink punch into the bowl. Jemma was about to ask if it had a special name, but before she got out the question, the side door opened, and Chase and Bailey came inside.
“Look, Miss Monroe!” Chase rushed over, looking dapper in black pants, red suspenders, and a black fedora. He yanked the suspenders away from his body and let them snap back.
“Wow, Chase. I’m so used to the cowboy hat that I almost didn’t recognize you!”
He huffed, his whole body getting in on it. “I asked my mom if I could wear it, but she said no, it didn’t match the outfit or my part.”
“Well, the fedora looks sharp,” Jemma said. “If I were Cupid, and I’d gone crazy, I’d want you on my side.”
He grinned and turned to Bailey. “Come on, Ba-Rae. Let’s go find your bow and arrow and shoot—” His eyes went wide, and he grimaced. “I mean…we’re just gonna…look at it. Yeah, that’s it.”
After taking a second to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally laugh like she wanted to, Jemma affected her best teacher voice. “No shooting anyone before the play. Got it?”
He nodded and waved an arm for Bailey to come on already.
But she shook her head and motioned for him to go ahead. With a shrug, he rushed toward the stage.
Jemma made sure Mrs. Hembolt was aware of him—the woman gathered him and the few other students who were streaming in the other door and ushered them backstage—so at least everyone was being supervised.
When Jemma turned around, Bailey was still standing next to her. She was wearing her pink leotard with the flowy skirt, and she had on white wings, a pink glittery heart necklace, and matching earrings.
“Hey, Miss Monroe,” she said. The usual cheeriness was missing from her voice and demeanor. Despite the heart regalia, her pink lips formed a somber line, her hanging head making her look more like one of those melancholy weeping angels than the god of love.
Jemma secured the skirt of her red wrap dress to her thighs before squatting. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you nervous?”
“A little bit, but that’s not what’s wrong. I just…” She shrugged her slim shoulders, the feathery wings moving with the motion. “I’m not a very good Cupid.”
“I disagree. I’ve seen you as Cupid, and whenever I watch you up on that stage, I think you were born to play that role.”
She let out a sigh that seemed to weigh about a hundred pounds for as long as it went on. “I had all these plans and…” She sighed again, and her lower lip came out in a pout.
Jemma couldn’t help but sympathize. Her plans hadn’t worked out, either. First when she’d been laid off and ended up here, and then after she’d fallen in love with a guy, with the town, and with the amazing girl in front of her. “I wish I could tell you that plans always work out, but they don’t, even when you really, really try.”
“I did. I tried so hard. And I thought it was working.”
I so feel you.
Jemma wasn’t sure if the girl was talking about Chase or about her and Wyatt. Maybe she was simply projecting. “You have to decide if it’s worth trying harder or looking at things a different way. If other people are involved, sometimes the only thing you can choose is your attitude. How you deal with it.”
“But how can I be Cupid if I can’t make people fall in love?”
“There are different types of love. Like in the play. It’s about kindness and treating each other with respect and love, regardless of how well we know them.”
Bailey scuffed her glittery pink boot against the gym floor. “I guess. I just wish I could choose the kind of love.”
“Don’t we all,” Jemma muttered before reining herself in. Her thighs were burning and with the main doors set to open in ten minutes, she needed to get backstage to help Mrs. Hembolt keep everyone under control. “We’d better go get in place.”
Jemma straightened and glanced over Bailey’s head at April. “You set?”
“All set. Hey, before you go, can you try the punch really quickly? I’m not sure if I need to add more Sprite.” She winked at Bailey, who cracked a smile, albeit a weaker than usual one.
Jemma took the plastic cup April extended and tipped it back. The slushy raspberry mixture burst across her tongue and appeased her sweet tooth. “Tastes perfect to me.”
“Oh, phew.”
Jemma tossed the cup in the large trashcan next to the table. “What’s this one called anyway?”
A smile spread across April’s face. “Since it’s Valentines, I figured it’s only fitting to serve up love potion.”
Wyatt settled into one of the fold-out chairs, three rows back from the stage. Normally he’d hang near the very back, but Bailey Rae was one of the leads and was putting his archery lessons to good use, so he wanted to catch every second.
If only he could cut out the seconds when he’d have to see Jemma. Even as he craved seeing her, it’d only be torture. That ache would throb over the spot where his heart was, digging its claws in when he saw her and reminding him of the pain.
He kept trying to tell himself it was for the best, so why did it feel so wrong?
Think of Bailey Rae. Think of how much more it’ll hur
t if we get closer, only for Jemma to leave.
Speaking of, his daughter poked her head out from behind the curtains. She searched the crowd, and when she neared his area, he lifted his hand.
She waved, nice and big, and a few of the people in the audience chuckled. She twisted to talk to someone standing behind the curtains.
A flash of red dress. Dark hair. Those same black boots he’d shaken his head over the first time he’d seen them. Jemma.
Now he wanted to see her face, despite of how much it’d hurt.
Man, what’s wrong with me?
He didn’t remember being this messed up in the head, even when Andrea had told him she couldn’t take it anymore. She’d been distant, both with him and Bailey Rae, so it’d more clicked the last puzzle piece into place. He’d suggested counseling, but she’d shaken her head, a desperate gleam in her eye.
The need to escape had been so strong, it’d choked the room.
He hadn’t been all that surprised, but he supposed it was adding to the chaos in his brain.
A white-winged angel—make that Cupid—bound down the steps of the stage, her wings flapping in her self-propelled wind.
He scrunched up his forehead, worry rising up. Bailey Rae had spent hours memorizing her lines, and she’d seemed okay before they’d left the house this evening. Though still slightly annoyed at him for not asking Jemma to come over after she’d suggested it Thursday night. And Friday night.
She’d probably suggest it after the play too.
Bailey Rae streaked past him, a blur of pink and white. She walked over to the table with the punch. April leaned over as his daughter explained something to her, arms swinging.
The coffee shop owner nodded and smiled, and then filled a cup.
Maybe she’s just really thirsty…
She gripped the cup, walking carefully down the aisle before stopping right in front of him. “Hey, Daddy. Can you drink this?”
“Why aren’t you backstage? Isn’t the play about to start?”
“It is.” Some of the punch sloshed onto the toe of his boot as she pushed it toward him. “That’s why I need you to drink this.”
The refreshment table was for people to visit after the play, so he felt like everyone was staring at him, wondering why he got punch.
“Please just drink it,” his daughter said, anxiety rolling off her in waves as she thrust the cup closer to his face and glanced over her shoulder at the stage.
The please did him in. He grabbed the cup and tipped it back. When he lowered his head, Bailey Rae gave him a giant grin, one he hadn’t seen in a few days.
“Okay, now you have to throw the cup away, because I have a play to put on.” With that, she raced up the steps of the stage and disappeared behind the thick blue curtain.
The lights in the gym faded, and the glow from the red bulbs overhead tinged the stage pink. It was impossible not to think of that moment when he’d been showing Jemma how to work the control box. She’d been so close and had smelled so incredible, and he’d leaned in, lost to the pull.
Two more seconds alone, and he would’ve kissed her.
It was getting harder and harder to convince himself that he shouldn’t have. After all, if she was going to leave, he should’ve kissed her while he’d had the chance.
It’d only make you miss her that much more.
As if that was even possible.
Every reason for staying away was coming undone, making him think maybe he was just being a clueless idiot.
How often did a woman like Jemma come along?
Only once, that was how often. Kind, funny, and smart—as well as willing to put up with him—wasn’t an easy combo to find. He’d never find anyone who challenged yet calmed him the way she did.
Jemma stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand, and a spotlight flicked on, emphasizing how gorgeous she was and making the rest of the room disappear.
The realization that he loved her slammed into him, so strongly he couldn’t believe he hadn’t already known. Perhaps because he’d been in denial since the day she’d told him she wanted to be more than friends.
He peered down at the empty cup in his hands. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the punch had been filled with some kind of truth serum.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The audience laughed as Cupid hit the wrong person. Bailey fired again and hit another passerby.
Still not Brody or Sydney, the people she’d originally been aiming for.
Cupid yanked back the bow for another shot.
Like with the other arrows, it hit another one of the students, missing its mark completely.
Bailey’s eyes widened with horror, and she gently flung her bow to the ground and stomped a foot. “It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’ve lost my aim!” She threw her hands up over her face, exasperation rolling off her in waves—she was such a good little actress that Jemma felt it, and she was sure the audience could as well. “This entire holiday is going to be ruined. What am I going to do?”
“Okay, guys,” Jemma whispered to the kids who were backstage in a group next to her, “go out and line up for the musical number.”
The kids filtered out onto the stage. They were dressed up in a variety of dressy clothes, and they all looked so cute and nice, and sigh…
Mrs. Hembolt lifted her arms, her conducting baton in one hand, and as she brought it down, the kids began their song—almost at the same time, although there were always a few early and a couple stragglers.
They sang a version of “Stupid Cupid” called “Crazy Cupid.” Jemma leaned against the archway, pride filling her. She could tell Mrs. Hembolt was trying hard not to sing along and drown out the students.
The song ended, and a couple of kids tried to go the wrong way before Mrs. Hembolt herded them back toward Jemma, who encouraged them to hurry so they could start the next scene.
Bailey remained on stage, along with Chase, the businessman with a proposition for Cupid.
He told her he’d help her complete her mission in exchange for her allowing him to shoot an arrow at the person he had a crush on.
At the beginning of Jemma’s time here, Chase’s thick country drawl had made it hard to understand every word he said, but now she could hear through it.
Despite telling herself not to look, it was as if her eyes couldn’t help it. They scanned the crowd and landed on Wyatt.
The fissure that’d formed in her heart shuddered and split deeper, the ache from it spreading throughout her entire body. If only she were a rich businessman who could make a deal with Cupid.
Except, she wanted Wyatt to like her for her, not because an arrow had struck him.
He held his head high, happiness radiating from his features as he watched his daughter’s performance. Of course it had to go and make him all the more handsome and loveable.
When Bailey had told her she had an emergency and needed to tell her dad something two minutes before the play was about to start, she’d whispered for her to go ahead, but to hurry. Then she’d turned to retie one of her student’s neckties. Since Bailey had come rushing backstage, out of breath but flashing a thumbs up, Jemma had figured the emergency had been taken care of.
Onstage, Cupid reluctantly handed Mr. Businessman the bow.
Just like the god of love, his arrow missed its intended target, and soon the entire stage was filled with kids who’d been hit by Cupid’s arrows.
The few students not onstage went out, and they sang another song, a twist on “The Witch Doctor.” They called Cupid, and she told them what to do. Which was basically a whole lot of nonsense words. The witch doctor—or Cupid, as it were—definitely got that part right. Love was rather nonsensical.
Otherwise she wouldn’t keep crushing on unattainable guys who didn’t like her back.
She wouldn’t end u
p falling completely in love with the single-father who lived next door.
But like the people onstage who found themselves spreading love and kindness, she’d found friendship and graciousness and goodwill and so many things that made life great, even when it didn’t go as planned.
As the kindness spread throughout the people who’d been shot, the lights glowed brighter, yellow and sunny.
Kids stepped forward to give their parts about kindness and love, quoting people like Martin Luther King Jr., Audrey Hepburn, Ralph Waldo Emerson, the Dalai Lama, Mark Twain, and Anne Frank.
Her third-graders—people in the village—began working together instead of arguing about everything. They sang a happy song about teamwork and showing kindness and love.
As they began the last verse, tears sprang to Jemma’s eyes. She was so proud of them all, but it also hit her that this was her last big production with these amazing kids. That she’d have to say goodbye.
Fingers squeezed her hand, and she turned to see Camilla. “This is the best Valentine’s Day play we’ve ever had.”
“I think you’re just trying to butter me up.”
Camilla laughed. “Maybe un poquito, but I’m also telling the truth. Although you haven’t been here long, you’ve made a big impact.”
A giant lump formed in her throat, and it seemed to be trying to push out more tears.
“Just so you know, Anna Lau is also in the audience.” Camilla gave her hand another squeeze. “She said she wasn’t sure she was ready to come back quite yet. I think she’d like to take the rest of the semester off.”
Jemma exhaled a shallow, shaky breath. “Camilla, I…I just can’t. There are way too many variables and maybes. The district job starts March first. I can’t stay here for maybes, and more than that…” Her gaze drifted to the still-beaming father in the third row, the one she’d fallen in love with. “It hurts too much. It’s not good for me, and I’m learning from my past mistakes.”
Her friend nodded and gave her a sad smile. “I understand. If you’re sure.”
