AVA
Clutching my recent candle purchase against my chest, I can’t fight the grin as I exitBendy Bodies,the yoga studio where I just had my Tarot reading. The woman I met with, Clementine Valentine—I love the way her name rhymes—seemed super excited over what my cards revealed. She said I was entering into a new phase of my life where everything I’ve been manifesting is finally coming to fruition. And better still, she said she sees a meeting of twin flames in my near future.
Twin flames!
Those are even better than soulmates, and I feel like I could just kick up my heels and squeal with delight over how excited I am.
And before you even think it, yes, I know that Tarot isn’t an exact fortune telling science—if there is such a term. And I know it’s wildly open to interpretationandthat some people think it’s just a bunch of phony hocus pocus. But to me, it brings great comfort. I strongly believe that if I can visualize something enough, I can will it into existence. Which is exactly what I’ve been trying to do for my love life.
Well, my non-existent love life. Seems I’m rather…picky when it comes to men. Or so I’m told, anyway.
Still, the one thing I want more than anything in this world is a man who loves me. All of me. Not just my personality. Not just my ‘pretty face’. And certainly not my ‘potential’ if I were to drop about a hundred pounds—all of me.Every last curve and roll that I have covering my five-foot-seven frame. He doesn’t have to be a model himself. But he does have to be decent and good, willing to put in the effort and easy enough on the eye that I’m also attracted to him. I don’t care if he’s tall, short, fit, thin or big like me. I just need to feel a connection with him. I want to be loved by a man who thinks I’m beautiful and perfect from the moment he locks eyes with mine. Is that too much to ask?
I don’t think it is. And I know he’s out there. Deep down in my soul, I feel that there’s someone else in this world feeling just as lonesome for me as I am for them. The tricky part, of course, is finding him. But that’s where Clementine comes in.
You see, I like to think that the universe gives us signs. And a few months ago, when I was trying to buy my favorite Bed, Bath and Body Works candle scent, it turned out they discontinued the line. This sent me searching for the next best scent. I ordered candles from big chains and little specialty stores, and it was the Whisper Valley scented candle that had my senses calming and singing all at the same time. It’s so hard to explain exactlyhowit smelled, but the scent felt sofamiliar.Like the comfort of a family Christmas or the fresh-baked bread from your favorite bakery, or…like home.
The packaging promised that the candle smelled exactly like the little town itself. So when I looked it up and found it wasn’t far from Sugar City, I knew that I had to come and experience that scent in full HD.
I’ve only been in Whisper Valley for a couple of days, butoh my lanta!It evenfeelslike home. It’s like a Hallmark small town where everyone is welcoming and kind, and I honestly don’t want to leave.
Pity I have to be back at work in Sugar City come Monday. Sitting and typing code into a computer day in day out is nowhere as soul-satisfying as being surrounded by nature. I really got into the wrong business, and if it wasn’t for the mountain of student debt I’ve got on my plate, I’d toss it all away to become a bread artisan or something fancy like that.
Sighing to myself, I balance both candles in one arm and unlock my car door, getting into my Prius as graciously as I can before starting her up. It’s getting close to dinner time, and the AirBnB I’ve rented is about half a mile from a bar and grill called Valentine’s. I haven’t been in there yet, because I was worried that with it being on the outskirts of town, it’d be more like one of those roadhouses filled with bikers and unsavory types like in the movies. But Clementine assured me it’s the place to be for anyone over twenty-one in Whisper Valley. Her cousins-in-law run it, and every Wednesday night is ladies’ night. So I’ve already made an executive decision to dine there tonight.
Maybe that’s where my twin flame will be?
With the two new ‘Whisper Valley’ scented candles—Clementine is also the one who made them—secured in the seat beside me, I flick on my indicator and hum a happy tune as I pull out into the street. I’d prefer it if I had music instead of my own humming, but my radio went and broke on me a few weeks back, so now all I have is the jukebox worth of songs in my head to listen to. Which is probably just as well, because I can’t turn the volume up on that, so when I accidentally go backward into the car behind me instead offorwardinto the street like I meant to, I very clearly hear the crunching of metal on metal and hit the brakes hard.
“Oh shit.” I close my eyes and take a calming breath.
Please tell me I didn’t just hear what I think I heard.
Shifting forward slightly, I shut off the engine and get out of the car, trying my best to ignore the curious glances from passersby as I assess the damage. My little red hatchback now has the perfect imprint from the front bumper of the blue Ford pick-up behind me. The Ford, however, has little more than a few bright-red paint scrapes embedded in its paintjob. I sigh as I look at my Prius. They just don’t make cars as sturdy as they used to.
Despite the minimal damage done to the truck, I can’t in good conscience just get in my car and drive away. So, I grab a notepad and pen from the glove compartment and scribble out an apology with my cell number on it. Then I fold it in half and slide it under the front wiper.
Except the wiper comes right off in my hand.
“Shoot.” This really isn’t my finest moment.
Going back to my car, I scrawl a promise to pay for the wiper repair too, then decide using the other wiper to hold the note in place is a bad idea since I’ll likely tear that one off too.
Returning to my car, I grab one of the heavy candles and place it in plain view on the hood of the truck on the driver’s side, note underneath. Then I tell myself that’s the best I can do as I dust off my hands and turn to go back to my car. Which is precisely when I run into a wall of man.
“What the hell are you doing to my truck?”
DUKE
Ahead full of curls collides with my face as I inhale, smothering me as they tangle with my stubble. To make matters worse the owner of said curls has somehow managed to headbutt me in the throat. I’m desperate and gasping for air but that just makes things worse by sucking the curls deeper into my mouth. I think this might be the way I die.
Reflexively, I place my hands on the shoulders of my assailant and shove, coughing and spluttering as air rushes into my lungs.
“Stay back,” she yells, spinning what looks like a car’s wiper like it’s a set of nunchucks. “I know self-defense, and I’m not afraid to use this against you.”
“Whoa there, kitten,” I say holding my hands out, so she doesn’t slash me with the broken metal. “Retract those claws. I’m not trying to hurt you.”
She frowns slightly as she holds the wiper still between us. “Then why did you push me?”
