Page 58 of Meet Cute Magic

My biggest hurdle to finding a partner in the past was that, with my business, I didn’t think I’d have enough time to devote to her. However, I’m finding I always have time for Rosie.

Except today.

“Hey,” I say quickly, my eyes never leaving my computer screen as I look at the checklist I made two weeks ago and triple-check to make sure I have everything on the list. Next, I need to print a dozen papers for each attendee and then head over to the grocery store to pick up the catering order I placed. Then I have to clean my store even though I stress-cleaned it this morning when I was slow.

She moves through the store to her normal spot, perching her peach ass on the edge of my counter, and I look up, watching as she moves my things aside to do that.

“Can you not?” I ask, exasperated. Her brows shoot up on her forehead, but I’m an idiot, so I don’t take the hint that I’ve overstepped. “I just organized all of that stuff how I wanted it, and you messed it up.” She looks around at the empty store with confusion before looking at me, reading my face in a way I don’t like, but she always does all the same.

“Is this a bad time? Should I… should I go?” There’s a look on her face, something hidden beneath the flirtatious indifference she always wears. I take a deep breath.

When I get stressed, I can be rude, and Rosie doesn’t deserve that. It’s just another reason I’ve been single for so long: until I can manage my own emotions like an adult, I’m not going to put a woman through having to deal with my shit. “No, no. I’m being a dick. I, uh,” I start, putting a hand to the back of my neck and taking in a deep breath, closing my eyes to settle myself. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit stressed.”

“About?” she asks, and when I open my eyes once more, she’s still watching me, raising one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows. Mine are full and can be wild, which is why she’s always rubbing one of her soft thumbs along them, like she desperately wants to tame them. I groan, trying to decide whether or not to admit what’s happening, but considering she and I are closer right now than I’ve ever been with anyone, and I’m quickly tipping over the edge of my anxiety, I spill.

And even though I don’t want to admit it, it feels good to get it all off my chest.

“A month ago, I decided to advertise a game night at the shop, thinking no one would really sign up. I said it would be awesome with snacks, games, giveaways, and tables all over from six to nine, but I didn’t really think many people would sign up. It could be a tester, see if this was something I could actually do. Dip a toe into it.” I take another deep breath, trying to chase away the tightening in my chest before continuing. “Unfortunately for me, people did sign up. Enough that I had to create a fucking waitlist.”

Her eyes light up. “Jack, that’s—”

I cut her off, on a roll now. “And that would be amazing, especially since they’re probably going to make purchases today and they all paid an entry fee and it’s a smart promotion, but now I have to have fifteen people in here in six hours and five of them are bringing their girlfriends, apparently, because they’re codependent and can’t leave home without them, which I get because hell, I’m also anxious about hanging out with new people, obviously. But I have no idea what I’m doing. I have to set up tables and check inventory and make the game packets and pick up the food I ordered, and I’m overwhelmed and I know it’s not fair that I took that out on you, but honestly, I usually keep to myself so I’ve never really had to interact with people when I felt like this and you walked in and… well… yeah.” I take in a deep breath when I finish my tirade and even though it leaves me feeling a bit relieved, embarrassment creeps up behind it.

“That sounds like fun,” she says simply, and I blink at her. “When does it start?”

“Six.”

“Okay, so six hours until we have to be ready? Give or take fifteen minutes for people who inevitably get here early.” Early? People will show up early? “Where’s the food at?” she asks, clearly blind to my panic.

“What?”

“You said you ordered food?”

“Yes,” I say, unsure of where she’s going with this, but also realizing the clock is ticking, and as much as I like chatting with Rosie, I don’t have time for this today. “Snacks and whatnot. Catered trays.”

“Where did you order it? I can pick it up. I’ll grab lunch while I’m out too. I haven’t eaten yet. Have you? We’ll have to order dinner in, in case anyone comes in really early, but Prima delivers, so that shouldn’t be a problem. That is, unless you want something more balanced,” she says of the pizza shop next to her sister’s bakery. I blink at her.

“I don’t understand,” I say low. She smiles wide, somehow knowing what I mean, like she always does. She reaches out, touching my cheek.

“I’m going to help,” she says.

“What?” I’ve noticed that Rosie never gets annoyed by confusion, instead slowing things down for me, explaining a dozen times if needed, in different ways until I understand what she’s saying.

“I’m going to help you with your event. I love events, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” I have. It’s actually why I started this godforsaken event, because I saw Rosie constantly running in-store events and book clubs, getting people from all over to visit her little shop, and it sounded like a smart idea.

One I’m deeply regretting right now.

“You don’t have to help me, Rosie,” I say, running a hand over my hair. “I’ve got this.”

“You helped me before. Now it’s my turn.”

“You’re crafting a potion to help my grandfather move on to the other side. I think that’s enough to balance it out.” She gives me a disbelieving look.

“And I have completely selfish intentions with that as well. Plus, we’re friends, Jack. Friends help each other.” She stares at me, waiting for me to accept her offer, but I’m stuck on the one word I’m starting to hate more and more.

Friends.

Because that’s all Rosie and I are, after all. Friends.