The Right Guy
A romantic comedy
by
Kate O’Keeffe
The Right Guy is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7940-4149-3
Edited by Karan & Co. Author Solutions
Cover design by pixelstudio
Copyright © 2019 Kate O’Keeffe
Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
EPILOGUE
Sneak Peek at Manhattan Cinderella
Acknowledgments
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Taylor
Have you ever noticed there are two types of people: normal, rational thinkers and people who will believe in practically anything? Well, I definitely fall into the rational thinkers’ camp. If you want me to believe something, you’ve got to prove it to me first.
Leaps of faith are so not my thing.
I knew someone who went to see a psychic who told her she would meet “the one” and get married within twelve months. Well, she did just that, marrying her Prince Charming with all the usual white wedding fanfare. I know what you’re thinking: so romantic.
Wait, there’s more.
What wasn’t so romantic was when her so-called prince got caught banging his assistant in the disabled bathroom at work after just three months of wedded bliss. I mean, you haven’t even unwrapped all your gifts by then, right?
Now she’s bitter and alone. And do you think she makes huge, life-changing decisions based on predictions from psychics anymore? That would be a big fat no.
True story.
So, when I find myself standing outside a tent at Fisherman’s Wharf one gorgeous San Francisco Sunday morning, a sign declaring Kosmic Kandi, Psychic written in looping text above the entranceway, my eyes are already rolling before my best friend even opens her lip-glossed mouth.
“Come on, girl. Give it a shot.” Ashley’s eyes sparkle as she places her hand on my arm. “It’s just for fun, even if you don’t believe any of it.”
“Which I don’t.”
“I know, Taylor. We all know.”
“You first,” I counter.
She shakes her head. “If I go first, you’ll find a way to get out of it.”
She knows me too well. Dammit.
I throw a critical eye over the tent. “Seriously, Ash, her name is Kosmic Kandi,” I point at the sign, hoping she will see some sense, “with Ks.”
I didn’t take a pay cut to join my dream recruitment agency as an assistant consultant to go wasting my hard-earned cash on the likes of someone called Kosmic Kandi. And anyway, why did my best friend have to be a sucker for this sort of thing?
I open my mouth to respond when a peal of laughter catches my attention. I glance over to see a young girl out with her mom. They’re laughing together, having fun. A pang of sorrow worms its way across my chest, the love between the two obvious to anyone who cares to look.
I shift my weight, pressing my lips together. “Let’s just go get a burger, ’k? I’m starving.” I know how much Ash loves Joe’s Burger Joint. Sunday lunch at Joe’s is a long-standing tradition of ours. Now, she’s wrecking it all by marrying Tim.
Ash pulls Kosmic Kandi’s heavy velvet curtain open a crack. “Taylor, just do it, will you?”
I sigh. She’s not going to let up. “Okay. Then we go for burgers.”
“Deal.” There’s a glint in her eye as she pulls the curtain open further. I pause to ask her what it’s about, but her glare tells me to keep moving.
I clench my jaw as I unhook my camera from around my neck and hand it to Ash. She takes it and ushers me inside. The curtain falls back into place behind me with a swoosh. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the change in light. I fumble around, trying to work out how to find the badly named, alliterative psychic so I can get this over with and get on with my Sunday.
“Welcome, please come in.” It’s a heavily-accented (probably fake) voice, located somewhere behind all this material.
“Ah, sure.” I rummage around, trying to find an edge to the curtain. My fingers come across a long row of little beads, running along an edge. I tug on it, and the curtain opens. The space is instantly filled with a warm, orange glow.
I take in the scene before me. Ornate tapestries adorn the tent’s walls, and an old-fashioned chandelier hangs from the ceiling. There’s a large opulent mirror resting on the ground and even a daybed on one side of the tent, covered in richly colored satin pillows.
What does she need that for? A nap between readings? Binge watching Game of Thrones?
I suppress a laugh. My eyes land on a woman—Kosmic Kandi, I’ve got to assume. She’s sitting calmly at a round table covered in red velvet, a crystal ball placed in the center. So far, so clichéd.
She beckons toward a chair. “Please, have seat.”
I take a few tentative steps closer and sit down, running my eyes over her. No turban, no big hoop earrings, no bangles jangling at her wrists. In fact, in her dark blouse and graying hair, tied up in a soft bun, she looks like she could be friends with my mom.
I rub the back of my neck. The happy family outside and now this woman? I could really do without thinking of my own “mother of the year” again today.
“First, you pay. Eighty-five dollar.”
“Eighty-five bucks?” I guffaw, my eyes wide.
She nods. “Is on sign. Outside. No pay, no reading. Is worth it, you will see.”
I’d been so busy trying to persuade Ashley not to make me do this, I guess I’d missed the money part.
“Okaaay.” I shoot out of my chair, my mind set. “Thank you for your time, Ms. . . . Kandi.” Or should that be Ms. Kosmic? It isn’t clear.
I turn to leave. Humoring my friend to alleviate her wedding stress is one thing but spending eighty-five dollars to do so? No thanks.
“Your nana was very kind person. She loved you very much.”
Even though I know it’s a safe bet to go for a grandmother, the mention of her name makes me pause, an unexpected stab of sadness digging in my side. “That’s . . . ah, great. Thanks.” I reach the first of the curtains.
“She miss you very much. She want me to tell you she loves you and did not want to go when she did. But, she have to. It is the way. You know, she worries about you. She ask if you are happy with the way you live your life?”
Am I happy with the way I live my life? A lump forms in my throat. Nana was one of my few constants, there for me when my mom was not. She was kind, loving, teaching me right from wrong. Losing her when I was only eleven to the cancer that had plagued her, that she’d fought so hard against, was the toughest thing I’d had to go through in my short life.
My hand touches the velvet curtain. If it wasn’t for Ashley’s p
arents, inviting me into their home, their family, I’m not sure what would have become of me.
“Your nana ask, does your mother brush Fluffy?”
I whip my head around and look directly at her, my eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”
“Brushing,” she repeats, enacting a brushing movement with her hand in case I missed her point. “Fluffy, he has very long fur. Very old cat, very old. Needs brush every day. Your mother not so good at it, no?”
My mouth drops open. She knows about the cat’s grooming requirements?
“Wh-what else does she say?”
Kosmic Kandi’s middle-aged face creases into a small smile. “I do reading now?”
I let the curtain drop behind me and return to the seat. The last thing I expected was for her to mention how my mom forgets to brush Nana’s old cat. It’s unsettling and a whole lot more specific than I’d expected.
I take some cash out of my purse.
She pockets it with a nod of acknowledgement. She shakes her hands out and places them a couple of inches above the ball in the center of the table. She closes her eyes, her upturned face illuminated by the glowing lights.
I wait for her prediction. I tell myself it’s so I can get the heck out of here, but I’m thrown. Nana’s question plays on my mind.
Are you happy with the way you live your life?
I tap my foot on the ground. Of course I’m happy. I’ve got my friends and my career at Sefton’s Recruitment Agency, which I know is going to take off soon. Sure, my bestie is getting married next month, and I’m barely dating, let alone in that place. But I’m happy. Super happy. And anyway, it’s probably just some standard line the psychic uses when she thinks she may lose her eighty-five bucks.
Isn’t it?
Kosmic Kandi opens her eyes and levels me with her gaze. “You come looking for answer. You come looking for love. Your heart is ready, but you do not know it yet.”
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. More than anything, I want to meet the right guy, to create my own little family, my own little world.
“He is out there. His heart is ready for you. He does not have your,” she waves her hand in the air, “blockages.”
“Blockages? You make me sound like a clogged sink.”
She waves my joke away with a flick of her wrist. “You cannot hide from your true feelings. You keep everything inside, in here.” She balls her hands into fists and places them against her ribs. “You must open your eyes, see what your heart knows you need.”
“Sure. Great. Someday I’ll meet the guy I’m going to marry.” It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to see I’m hiding behind my flippant tone.
“No. You misunderstand,” Kosmic Kandi snaps. “He is ready for you, and he is out there.” She points to the entranceway.
“Out there?” My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. The man of my dreams, the one who will expertly deal to my “blockages,” is standing outside this tent, just waiting for me to step outside so he can sweep me off my feet?
Yeah, and there really is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
“You do not believe here,” she taps the side of her head, then moves her hand to her chest, “but you must believe here. Deep inside, you know what the truth is. He is ‘the one,’ your soulmate, your love.”
I nod, wanting so much to believe her—all the while reminding myself I don’t go for this kind of gimmicky crap.
She leans across the table toward me. “Listen carefully. Before the sun progresses into Libra, you will have locked eyes with him, and you will know. Make sure your heart is open.” She closes her eyes. “I can see him now. He will be dressed in blood-red orange, his eyes as green as a tropical ocean. He is waiting.” She opens her eyes and squares me with her gaze. “You go now. It will happen. Much sooner than you think.”
I blink at her, not quite believing my eighty-five dollars bought me about eighty-five seconds of this woman’s time. “That’s it?”
She leans back in her seat and nods in reply.
I collect my purse from the floor and stand up. “Err, thanks.”
Kosmic Kandi doesn’t reply.
I find the curtain, pull it open, and step through the dark entranceway and out into the warm, bright sun. I squint, shielding my eyes with my hands. I look around, testing out Kosmic Kandi’s prediction. Fisherman’s Wharf is teeming with people, as it always is on the weekend, but other than a girl in an orange tank top, there’s not a single guy dressed in the required color.
So much for “the one” being right outside the tent.
I spot Ashley a few feet away, reading something on her phone. I make my way through the crowd.
She looks up at me, her face creasing into a grin. “Oh, there you are! How was it? You have to tell me everything.”
I search my brain, looking for a way to describe what just happened. I mean, how do I tell my friend I went into that tent as the die-hard Queen of Cynicism and came out as . . . what? A believer?
No, definitely not. Fluffy the cat was a lucky guess. And meeting the man of my dreams before the sun moves into Libra—whenever that is—well, that’s just the kind of stuff people want to hear.
I don’t let myself think about Nana.
“I guess it was surreal. But probably a load of crap.”
Her eyes widen. “Probably? You mean there’s a possibility you might believe her?”
I shake my head.
“You’ve got to tell me everything.”
“She knew about Nana’s cat.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Fluffy?”
I nod.
“That’s amazing! How could someone know about Fluffy? She’s got to be the real deal. Did she say anything about your career, whether you’re going to meet the man of your dreams, anything?”
“She said some stuff.” I try to pull myself back to reality, my head full of the psychic’s words.
“Jake? What are you doing here?” Ash exclaims, her eyes focusing past me.
I glance up as Ash’s big brother collects her in one of those hugs siblings specialize in—friendly but almost a wrestle kind of thing.
Jake puts his little sister back on the ground. “I’m meeting some of the guys before the game. Your fiancé included. You?”
“Hanging out, our usual Sunday. Oh, and Taylor’s just been to see a psychic.”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “You? Tay Tay the Cynic?”
I throw my eyes to the sky. Jake Harrison always uses my childhood nickname from when I was, like, seven. I’m sure he does it just to annoy me. And it usually works.
This time, I let it slide. I’m kinda knocked sideways right now. I couldn’t think of one of my usual witty retorts if you promised me a life-supply of chocolate. Instead, I simply shoot him a sarcastic smile as I look up into a pair of teasing green eyes, set in a handsome face with a square jaw, smiling down at me.
Wait. Green eyes . . . as green as a tropical ocean? I take another furtive glance. Yup, definitely. How had I never noticed those? My breath catches. Quickly, I look down at his shirt. Kosmic Kandi said blood-red orange. Jake’s is navy and white checks. I let out a puff of air.
Huh. It’s not Jake Harrison. Which is a good thing. His family is my family, after all. Messing that up for a playboy like Jake would be, well, it wouldn’t be worth even thinking about.
So why do I feel a sudden stab of disappointment?
I chance another glance at his face. He’s still looking at me with those green eyes, his features serious, questioning. Something stirs inside me. It feels . . . new. Nice.
Nice and wrong wrong wrong.
“You okay there, Tay Tay?” he asks.
I blink, breaking the spell, pushing stupid, inappropriate thoughts away. Stupid, inappropriate thoughts that would wreak havoc in my world. I force a smile. “Of course.”
“Oh, she has a lot to tell me. Don’t you, Taylor?”
I nod.
“We’re going to get some burgers.” She hooks h
er arm through mine. “Catch you later?” Ash says to her brother.
Jake returns his attention to his sister. “Sure. Enjoy your last single girl girl-date.”
I try not to watch as he walks away. Fail. I bite my lip. What has gotten into me? Not only have I started believing Kosmic Kandi about the green eyes and orange shirt, but I’m sizing up Jake Harrison as a contender? Jake Harrison—my almost-brother, the guy who’s seen my prepubescent self in all its dorky glory, the guy who only thinks of me as his kid sister’s friend?
I push my hair behind my ears. No way. Not going there. This psychic stuff is all a big fat hoax, and I’m a fool to even think of entertaining the idea of some guy with green eyes in an orange shirt sweeping me off my feet.
I just need to keep reminding myself that.
CHAPTER 2
Jake
Tim Dawkins is a brave man. Not a lot of people would have the guts to take this on and live to tell the tale.
What’s he doing? Climbing Kilimanjaro? Diving with sharks? Worse. Much worse. Tim’s marrying my kid sister. Don’t get me wrong, Ashley is an awesome girl. Any guy would be lucky to get her down the aisle. But she’s headstrong. And tough.
A lot like her big brother. Although, I like to think of myself more as focused and driven. Excellent qualities, in my mind.
“Dude, I could kill a burger.” Tim stops outside Joe’s Burger Joint, one of the better spots at busy, touristy Fisherman’s Wharf. “Want to grab one before we go to the game?”
My belly rumbles, right on cue. “Sure, why not?”
As we walk through the heavy front doors, we’re immediately hit by the smell of deep-fried carbs and trans fats—perfect for curing the low-level hangover I got from last night’s bar hop. I say “bar hop,” but it was really a pre-bachelor party-party before the real thing kicks off in Cabo next weekend. Well, a combined bachelor and bachelorette party. Which meant me and the guys needed to go old school last night for Tim.
There may have been beer, shooters, and a strip joint or two, but I’m not talking. Especially to my kid sister, the future Mrs. Dawkins.
I spot Ashley and Taylor sitting in a booth at the back, remembering Ash said they were coming here. They’re talking about whatever it is girls like to talk about. Hair or clothes or something? Or maybe the psychic Taylor has been to? Girl talk, for sure. Whatever it is, Taylor’s doing all the talking, and Ash is hanging on her every word.
The Right Guy Page 1
