Page 12 of The Mr. Right Checklist

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I’ll help you understand women, and then you’ll want a relationship and be open to finding love, and I’ll plan your proposal! You can thank me later. Or not. I’m not expecting a thank-you. I don’t need one at all. Helping people get to their happily ever after is what I do.”

I narrow my eyes in warning. “Not with me it’s not.”

“We’ll see,” she says smugly and far too cheerily.

“Don’t get your hopes up, sunshine. How about we get started tomorrow? Unless you have other plans.”

“I don’t. That sounds great.”

“I’m playing basketball with some buddies in the park, but I can meet you for coffee at La Love afterward if you’re free around one.”

“Perfect! I’ll be there.”

“Okay. Bring your business plan and any other relevant materials.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Business plan?”

“You don’t have a business plan? An outline of goals and how you’re going to get there?”

“I do, but it’s not written down. It’s super simple. I let people know about my business, and I plan to succeed.”

What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Five

FLETCH

The sun beats down on my shoulders as I dribble the basketball Sunday afternoon, keeping my back to my older brother, Chuck. Jimmy also showed up, and he’s on Chuck’s team. I’m partnered with my buddy Marshall Dutch. Marshall grew up in this area, and I met him a few years ago, shortly after he’d moved back, when we were both out for a morning run.

“Should I pick out my tux for your wedding?” Chuck teases.

I made the mistake of telling them about how my stalker took things up a notch yesterday, and they’ve had far too much fun teasing me about it.

“Maybe you and Jimmy can have a double wedding,” Chuck adds. “Right, Jim?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap.

“Fine,” Chuck says. “Did I tell you about the date I went on last night?”

“Only seventeen times.” I fake left, then dribble down the court to the right and toss the ball to Marshall, who is standing by the basket.

Jimmy hollers as Marshall jumps up to catch the ball, but Marshall doesn’t miss a beat and shoots before his feet even hit the ground. The ball circles the rim, and we all hold our breath until it drops into the basket.

“Yes! Nice shot, dude.” I high-five Marshall.

Marshall has an edge to him. He’s bearded and tatted from neck to fingers and ankles. He’s lived a rougher life than the rest of us. His late wife, Annie, gave birth to a stillborn little girl. Soon after, Annie died by suicide, and he fell down a drug-and-alcohol-induced rabbit hole. He’s been clean for several years, and a few years ago he founded Annie’s Hope, an emotional wellness center, to honor his late wife.

“That’s how it’s done,” Marshall says cockily. “Even with these idiots trying to distract us.”

“Hey, I’m bragging, not distracting,” Chuck says with a laugh, and rakes a hand through his thick brown hair. He and Jimmy inherited our mother’s dark hair and brown eyes, while I take after our father.

“As a small-town attorney, isn’t there some kind of moral code about discretion?” Marshall asks.

Chuck smirks. “I’m talking to you, not my clients, and I never tell you who I’ve been with. For all you know, it could be your sister.”

Marshall glares at him.