Page 7 of Meet Cute Magic

As I take the thirty-third step, my heart pounding in my chest, the small red sign in the corner of the front window catches my eye—the one that says No Mayfields Allowed.

This sign appeared about two years ago, not long after I came over to try and be a friendly neighbor with a popular dragon smut book as a kind offer. I had simply wanted to offer a collaboration of sorts, since everyone knows a gamer boyfriend and a romance-reader girlfriend are a match made in heaven, and we had some content overlap since he sells games with dragons, but he was outraged. Apparently, the mere idea of the genre irritated him. In fact, he told me it was a crime against the gaming world to assume my dragon porn could ever be in the same league as his intellectual-based role-playing game.

He also didn’t appreciate it when I told him I have books with role-playing that might be a better fit for a collaboration. And, sure, maybe I said that bit just to piss him off. I knew it did because his face went all red, and he pointed to the door, ordering me to leave.

Despite my kind gestures (I’ve tried to bring him treats from Vi’s and even flowers from Poppy’s a few times), whenever Jack Haggerty sees me, he glares in my direction.

Though now that I think about it, the sign bans all Mayfields. As I reach for the doorknob, I find myself wondering if he had his temper tantrum with me and decided all Mayfields were poison, or if maybe Poppy or Violet came in at some point and got similar treatment. I’ll have to call my sisters and ask one of these days. But right now, I’m on a mission.

As I open the door, a cheery bell jingles overhead. “Hey, welcome to—” the tall man with black-rimmed glasses and messy dark hair starts to say. For a split second, his face is kind and welcoming, and his wide smile is almost, dare I say, good-looking.

Until it’s not.

“No. Out,” he deadpans, standing from where he’s setting up a replica of a castle built with trading cards. It’s impressive and much more intricate than I would do even with books, which would probably be a bit easier. Last year, I made a Christmas tree with books after seeing someone do it on social media, and it was such a pain in the ass I kept it up until February because the mere idea of undoing it was daunting.

“Hey, there, Jack,” I say with a friendly smile. He stands straighter, taking a step toward me, his jaw going tight.

“I’m not having you destroy another display, Rosemary. Get out.” I cringe, forgetting that last May, I was wandering around the street fair, and when I was looking at his table, trying to think of some kind of small talk, I accidentally sent his display of cards and action figures tumbling.

He was really unhappy with me that day.

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” I say with a friendly smile, even though this rivalry of sorts has been going on for nearly three years now. “Maybe we should get to know each other better.”

He looks at me with a bewildered look. “I don’t want to get to know you better. I want you out of my shop before you create some new catastrophe.”

I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “Okay, fine. I get it, one time I—”

“One time?” he asks, standing tall and crossing his arms, which forces me to notice that Jack Haggerty has nice arms. Toned and tanned, with wickedly broad shoulders and a fine dusting of hair along his forearms. And for a nerd, the man is built. I bet he could carry a lot of books.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I know I knocked your display over at the street fair, but—”

“What about the first winter you were here, when you had a snowball fight with your sisters?” I cringe, suddenly remembering the day there was a huge snowstorm, and Violet, Poppy, and I all had a snowball fight. I’d thrown one with much more force than I thought I could muster, but Vi ducked long before it hit her. My snowball zoomed over her head, smacking into the glass front door of his shop and cracking it.

“I paid for that! I gave you more than enough to cover the expense and someone to replace it,” I say. “And I apologized. I didn’t realize there was a rock in the snowball I made. Even the repairman said that was completely out of my control.”

“What about the fall festival two years ago?”

I cringe again, remembering the time our tables were placed too close to one another. When I tried to slide between our tables, my foot caught on the leg of his table, collapsing the table and everything on it. But I refuse to back down. “You were the one who didn’t lock the leg in place!”

He throws his hands up in irritation. “I didn’t expect someone to come kicking the legs.”

“You stacked your stuff so it was nearly impossible to get behind my table!”

“I was creating a barrier so I didn’t have to deal with your bullshit.”

I glare at him but then close my eyes and take a deep breath, remembering I need something from this man. I find some form of inner peace before slapping my best customer service smile on and forcing my voice to sound friendly. “You’re right. I’m a bit clumsy sometimes, and I know our combating…” I smile, trying to land on the right word that won’t be rude, “… aesthetics make us seem a bit like rivals, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Here, let me help with your tower,” I say, stepping forward and reaching for a card. “And I can tell you all about why I came over.”

“No,” he says sharply, hands moving up as if to cast a spell to freeze me. My hands raise in surrender, about to beg him to just listen to me, when it happens. My pinky grazes the very edge of a card, and slowly, like a goddamned horror movie, I watch it shake.

“No!” he repeats, but it’s too late. The first card tumbles, the tiny reverberation taking down another and another until there’s just a messy pile on the table. My mouth hangs open as I stare at the rubble.

“Maybe we could use tape?” I say in a squeak. “I could help—”

“Every. Time,” he says low, eyes still on the pile.

“What?”

“Every time. Every goddamn time you come by, you ruin something! That is why there is an incredibly clear sign on the front door saying, ‘No Mayfields allowed’!” he nearly shouts, finally looking up at me, his face red with anger and his eyes burning. He still looks kind of hot, which is annoying, if I’m being honest.