Dare to Love My Grumpy Boss: Romantic Comedy (Forever Marriage Match Book 1)

by Ellie Hall

  @CookClickChick: Buckle up. It’s about to get boring...and dramatic.

  @PacManWizard: I’d rather that than queuing up the Xenz coding.

  @CookClickChick: Is that your project du jour? I don’t envy you.

  She goes on a tangent about her first experience with that particular computer language. I love it when she gets geeky. There aren’t a lot of women in our field and as always, I admire how clever she is.

  I wonder what we’d be like if we shared an office.

  If we’d sneak each other actual notes instead of digital ones.

  Meet up for a long lunch...

  If we’d leave together...

  Arrive together...

  Never mind. Keep dreaming, nerd.

  Not that I need dreams like that to mess with the life I’ve created. I do things on my terms, mostly. Except when I’m strapped to this desk. Nonetheless, I decide to take a risk. We mostly dance around specifics when it comes to the present and any identifiable characteristics.

  Takeout but not what restaurant.

  Travel but generalities.

  Family and friends but no names.

  @PacManWizard: Where was the wedding?

  @CookClickChick: Lake Winnipesauke. It’s in New Hampshire.

  @PacManWizard: Never been. Paint me a picture.

  @CookClickChick: I’ve spent a lot of time there. New England. Fresh, clean water. Variable skies. Bugs. Old friends. Best friends. Frenemies.

  Her text bubble pulses for a long moment to indicate she’s writing more.

  @CookClickChick It was nice to be back. But let me tell you, the drama...

  @PacManWizard: I’m all ears if you need to unpack.

  @CookClickChick: Nice one. The bride is a high school frenemy. The kind of person who is fake nice but then says offhanded things veiled in either a so-called compliment or a comparison that she thinks/hopes will insult me and my friends. I don’t know if it’s to get under our skin or what. But after all this time, why bother, you know?

  @PacManWizard: I’ve come across people like that. I think it’s down to their insecurities. Don’t let it bother you. Remember, you know how to cook and how to code. I bet she isn’t close to being as cool as you.

  @CookClickChick: Aw. But she can code. We were total AV nerd rivals. But you think I’m cool? I’m questioning your taste ;-)

  @PacManWizard: Nah, we’ve already established I don’t like calamari. Obviously, I have good taste. Anyway, you’re the coolest!

  @CookClickChick: I could be a troll. Not the internet kind. Or like Miranda. Like an actual troll. Like Shrek.

  @PacManWizard: Shrek was a dude and I think he was an ogre.

  @CookClickChick: Then maybe I’m a tro-gre? Troll-gre. Trollgre?

  I laugh so hard, I snort, nearly getting my sip of coffee up my nose.

  @PacManWizard: You actually made me LOL.

  @CookClickChick: I will consider that my win for the day. But what if I have green skin, ear hair, and giant teeth?

  @PacManWizard: Laughter trumps looks.

  @CookClickChick: Said no guy ever.

  @PacManWizard: How do you know I’m not a tro-gre or some kind of beast?

  @CookClickChick: I guess I just have a feeling. You know what happens to the Beast in the Disney movie. But back to me ;-) What if I’m the girl version of Shrek—Fiona?

  @PacManWizard: If you’ve seen that movie, you know she isn’t actually hideous. And the whole moral of the story is not to judge a book or an ogre by its cover.

  @CookClickChick: What about judging a girl by her code?

  @PacManWizard: Then I’d say you’re a smoke show.

  Alert, alert. My computer should be beeping and flashing with an angry red warning. We are venturing into unknown, dangerous territory. Turn back while it’s still safe.

  @CookClickChick: Even with my ostrich skin?

  @PacManWizard: If you’ve seen the movie, you know that everyone has layers. Just like code, right? There’s the way a person looks and no doubt, being attracted to each other is important but character goes a long way too. Whether a person is kind, charitable, honest...all that.

  @CookClickChick: Then you might think less of me if I tell you what happened at the wedding.

  @PacManWizard: Doubtful. Let me have it. I’m a big boy.

  I don’t want her to get the wrong idea about me either—not that it really matters but because we have no idea who sits on the other side of the screen and we’re not exactly coming forward with specifics, I’d better at least give her a sense of my appearance.

  @PacManWizard: Um, about the big boy comment—not like Shrek big. Not like Donkey either.

  I’m kind of flailing over here. It’s been a while since I’ve flirted. Wait? Is that what’s happening?

  @CookClickChick: I have an affinity for donkeys. They’re underappreciated.

  @PacManWizard: No, um, I’m just a regular-sized guy. Oof.

  She pops three laughing faces into the chat box.

  @PacManWizard: Are those at my expense?

  @CookClickChick: Absolutely, but get ready to send them right back. So I have four best friends. We call ourselves the Fabulous Five/Fab Five for obvious reasons.

  @PacManWizard: And they are...

  @CookClickChick: Use context clues...

  I smirk. I don’t need to. I was just teasing. She is fabulous and intelligent and hilarious. Definitely not a she-ogre.

  @CookClickChick: Friend A is type A, a clothing designer, lives in NYC, travels all over the world. She loves being the “big sister” and dressing us up. She’s the stylish one. Friend B is engaged to the sexiest man alive and...

  I can’t help myself. I have to reply to that, she set me up so perfectly.

  @PacManWizard: I am not engaged that I know of, so I’m not sure this friend of yours is telling the truth.

  @CookClickChick: To think I’ve been chatting with the sexiest man alive all this time and he didn’t tell me? So humble.

  @PacManWizard: Ha ha. Actually, I’ve never been voted sexiest man alive, but I’m not half bad. For having a desk job, I’m inordinately fit, strong, capable... I have completed the Iron Man three times and won twice, so the odds are in my favor. Just saying...

  More laughing emojis.

  @PacManWizard: I’m not kidding.

  I’m not, truly.

  @CookClickChick: Impressive. Anyway, Friend B is quirky and fun. She’s the silly one. Then there’s Friend C. The sassy one. She generally hates functions like weddings. She’s the kind of person who’d rather not shed a tear and listen to guests gush about the bride and groom and blah, blah, blah. (That’s paraphrased, but the last part is a direct quote.)

  @PacManWizard: Sounds like a real bowl of sunshine that one.

  @CookClickChick: Once you get to know her...Anyway, the bride fretted over not having something blue. To which Friend C said, “We’re all dressed in blue. Look at us. Five women, in blue.” To really draw a clear picture, imagine five women dressed in blue velvet. I told them we resembled Cookie Monster. They were not amused. Anyway, the bride whined about needing something blue on her person, as is tradition/superstition.

  At all this talk about marriage, I pause. We’ve never discussed it because we keep the conversations simple, but I hope @CookClickChick is single. Wouldn’t want to be flirtexting with a woman who is attached. I’ve been cheated on. Not fun. Would never do that to a guy. But how to ask?

  @CookClickChick: In classic Friend C form, she tore a piece of the blue underlayment of the dress off. Don’t worry, no one noticed it was missing. Then she gave it to the bride. Of course, there was a lot of fussing. A lot of drama after that.

  @PacManWizard: Doesn’t sound that horrible.

  @CookClickChick: That was the beginning...of the end.

  She goes on to tell me about the ceremony when the bride took selfies during the vows for her social media and posted them live, the reception with several close calls involving cake, and ending with almost gettin
g hit in the head with a shoe.

  @PacManWizard: Isn’t the bride supposed to toss her bouquet and whoever catches it is said to be the next to get married?

  @CookClickChick: Exactly!

  @PacManWizard: So you caught it.

  Her text bubble blinks long enough for me to think about how I don’t want her to marry some dude. At least not before we meet and I confirm she isn’t an ogre. But I know we never will. That’s just the way it is. Our relationship is virtual. End of story.

  @CookClickChick: Yeah. Looks like I’ll be marrying the next guy I date. Ha.

  @PacManWizard: I’ll pretend that doesn’t crush my ogre-loving soul. But you said the Fabulous Five. What about Friend D?

  @CookClickChick: She’s the sweetest. Still lives in our hometown. Single mom. And the reason we secretly despise the bride. She’s the sweet one.

  I want to ask more questions about Friend D, but mostly I want to know about @CookClickChick, Friend E. What letter does her name start with? Is she serious about marrying the next guy she dates? Does she date? Safe behind the screen and not at all at risk of ever seeing any of this through, I jump back into the chat.

  @PackManWizard: So, what about Friend E? You. I’d like to know more about you.

  But @CookClickChick leaves me unopened. Why does that feel like waiting for a mega roller coaster at an amusement park and being told it’s closed when I get to the front?

  5

  Cora

  A little buzz of excitement brings a smile to my face that just won’t quit. As I gently fold blueberries into the pancake mixture, my grin grows—it’s one of those amused kinds that I only realize I wear when my cheeks strain like I’m at the dentist for a cleaning and have been holding my mouth open for too long.

  As I test the heat on the griddle, the upturn of my lips becomes irrepressible. Even as I overcook the first blueberry ricotta pancake with a hint of lemon, I just can’t wipe the smile off my face.

  Do I feel like a dork? Yes, yes I do.

  Am I ashamed? Not. At. All.

  It’s been a while since I’ve worn a giddy smile.

  Coming from the front door, Mila calls, “It smells delicious. I knew staying with you in this city with overpriced rent would have its benefits.”

  I chuckle. Leases in Boston are wicked expensive, as they say here. Even though there are loads of restaurants, I don’t spend much on dining out or takeout, so I save money on overpriced food. Rather, every second of my spare time, I create recipes, photograph them, and post them on my blog and social media.

  “I told you, you do not have to contribute,” I say.

  The flat look Mila gives me is a reminder that we’ve already discussed the issue of her not having to contribute to rent at length. “I am not a freeloader.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Ooh, I see you got the expensive French cheese.” Mila tries pronouncing the name but butchers it, not that I could do much better.

  “Paws off. I’m saving it for a recipe and before you ask, yes, I’ll save you some.”

  “You know, I can pitch in for groceries since you practically feed me.”

  The chocolate and cheese do add up. We don’t talk about redit-cay ills-bay.

  “We’re even. You get an award for saving me from spiders,” I say.

  I carefully take the second, and perfectly cooked, pancake off the heat and set it on a plate. I blow a stray hair from my face. “I always forget the first pancake is like a sacrifice to the pan. It never turns out quite right. The second one on the other hand...” I waggle my eyebrows at the disc-o-perfection.

  Mila grabs the discarded one from another plate and tears into it. “Consider it a sacrifice to me. Goddess of good food. Omigoshthisissodelicious.”

  “And that’s why you’re a terrible taste tester,” I tease as I finish up making the rest of the pancakes. “You tell me everything is delicious.”

  “That’s because it’s true.”

  I cock my head. “You’re aware I have an entire page on my website called ‘#FoodFails,’ right?”

  She waves her hand like that’s neither here nor there.

  “The souffle with the center like molten lava and the exterior of a basalt cliff? The rice brick? There was also the time I melted the cutting board to the heating element on the stovetop and had to replace it before the landlord found out. Oh, and the chocolate-covered frozen bananas of which we-shall-never-speak.”

  “The real failure would be if I were in the apron. We’d starve to death, so you just keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll even eat your fails because they’re delish-ical.”

  “Delish-ical? That’s a good one.”

  Mila half-smiles. It’s rare to get a full one out of her. “A combo of delicious and radical.”

  The made-up word carries me to the conversation with @PacManWizard. We Lol-ed about what foods should never be combined. I let him get away with spaghetti and ketchup because college was expensive and ketchup is technically in the same family as marinara sauce. Also, he vowed never to eat it again.

  He also said he once had a hamburger with peanut butter on it, which actually inspired me to try making one with Thai peanut sauce, spicy peppers, and a few other toppings. He also suggested peanut butter and bacon, which, I’m not going to lie, doesn’t sound half bad. Bacon wins every time.

  Then we went on a tangent—a cookie cheeseburger. You put a burger with cheese in between a pair of chocolate chip cookies instead of buns. That’s a misdemeanor in my book. But it seems like the guy likes his meat.

  ...And it seems as if maybe he likes me. I mean, he did say he would be lonely without me on the HUB when I was at the wedding. As they say, absence makes the heart grow...

  Yes, he’s the source of my giddy grin, but I wipe the smile off my face because I’m supposed to be focusing on the griddle.

  We also dared each other to try the grossest things we could think of. He’s going to report back with a pickle split—pickles in place of bananas on a sundae. And I got stuck with a pancake burger, which is what inspired today’s breakfast, sort of.

  Speaking of dares...

  No, I’m not going to think about @PacManWizard. Cooking is my rare and precious time when I force myself not to think or do anything digital—I even have old-fashioned brass scales for measuring ingredients.

  “Yup, delish-ical,” Mila repeats around a bite.

  “Like radical.”

  She nods and takes another bite.

  “So you’re bringing back eighties expressions?”

  “Keepin’ it real,” Mila says.

  “Isn’t that a nineties saying?”

  She shoots the air with a pair of fingers guns at me like I got it right.

  “In that case, likewise. I’m keepin’ it real, hence the #FoodFails page.” I jerk back to the stove because I don’t want these pancakes to end up in the blog graveyard.

  After I successfully cook three more pancakes, I place a dollop of whipped ricotta on top of the short stack, top it with a few more blueberries, a twist of grated lemon zest, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and a drizzle of honey. “We’re almost ready to try them.”

  “I know, I know. You have to take pictures first,” Mila says, well-aware of the drill.

  “The recipe is unconventional, but I think it’s a keeper, at least visually.”

  Taking family favorites and comfort food then enhancing them is my thing—my “brand,” as they say in internet marketing, which is an aspect of my hobby that I’m still getting used to. My passion for cooking and sharing food comes from the heart, and it’s hard for me to think of it as a potential business. Yet, my social media and blog followers are hungry for more content and recipes—no pun intended. I took a photography course in college because I needed another credit. Who knew it would’ve paid off. I’m not a professional photographer or cook by any stretch, but I know my way around the kitchen and digital darkroom.

  After I take the plate to the bathroom window because it has
the best natural light in the apartment—not ideal and not something I’d tell my readership—we return to the kitchen and each take a bite from opposite ends of the pancake.

  The distinct flavors come alive on my tongue and yet they meld together too, which is exactly what I hoped would happen when I combined the not-typically paired ingredients. Definitely a keeper.

  Mila’s eyes are closed and she releases a little blissful sigh. I wait for her review, which is always favorable. My followers online often have positives, but the truth is I lack the confidence to take my food blogging talent to the next level—I’ve had loads of offers to be an influencer, be a guest at events, and teach what I know.

  But I have that cheese and chocolate to pay for and my current job offers lots of benefits. Plus, it’s what I went to school for, so I don’t want those student loans to be a complete waste.

  Mila opens her eyes. “Usually, at this point, you’re leaning in, holding your breath, as though worried that I’m going to spit out your masterpiece in disgust. It’s like you’re waiting for it to happen. It never will. You are a kitchen genius, Cora. But today...” Mila clicks her tongue. “Today, there is something different. Either you know these pancakes are the best you’ve ever made or...” She snaps her fingers. “Or you got another email from him.”

  I bite my lip, trying to hold back that pesky smile that was fine when I was alone, but if she sees it...

  She gasps. “You did, didn’t you?”

  “I neither confirm nor deny that @PacManWizard messaged me. We haven’t moved onto email yet.” I’m playing it safe, slow, and smart when it comes to relationships after a bad breakup years ago. Yet another topic we shall not discuss. Hmm...maybe I should make a blog page called #LifeFails.