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“Of course, doll. I am picturing a pale pink background, not unlike the sweater you’re wearing. A woman in the forefront, in a tight red dress, is blowing a kiss toward a man in a tuxedo who is staring at the woman like she hangs the moon.Stupid Cupidin a bubbly font, bold, and white. A bow and arrow symbol is in the top left-hand corner. Your name in hot pink down at the bottom.”
“Wow. All that?” she asks, looking struck. “I’ve been wracking my brains for months. How did you come up with that so fast?”
“It’s a scene from the book that you sort of described; I added the blowing of the kiss, but the dress and tux are from the proposal flash mob you mentioned. It’s veryPretty Woman, but less prostitution.”
“No prostitution,” she says, smiling, but I can tell she’s embarrassed because her face lights up bright red. Her neck flushes too, but not as brightly. I can’t help but wonder if her tits are blushing too. Imagining that is getting me nowhere fast. My cock is hard in my jeans, just imagining her naked, writhing underneath me while I make her come.
“So what do think?” I ask, needing her approval more so than another client that I have. I know it’s because Cheryl Monreau Bow is no mere client. She’s my whole world.
After lunch, I reluctantly watch her leave before I get back into my truck and head home to begin working on her cover. The best thing about a new project is the beginning. I can see it clearly in my head. I’m excited to get started on it and get mockups sent over to Cheryl for her opinion, but I know my girl. She’s going to love it.
I spend several hours on the mockup, making sure it’s perfect before I send it over to her. I found a photo of a couple that look remarkably like the two of us. I am hoping it sends a subliminal message to Cheryl that we are meant to be together. Now there is nothing to do but wait for her to reply.
Good thing I am a patient man, but even my patience is wearing thin when it comes to her.
CHAPTER5
CHERYL
TWO DAYS LATER
Something is seriouslywrong with me. Like I went to sleep two days ago and woke up in another body that doesn’t belong to me. That is the only explanation for these vividly, explicit dreams about Nolan I keep having. It probably didn’t help that the characters in my story kissed for the first time. I think my mind is trying to process my new genre of stories. That is the only thing that makes sense.
Ever since lunch with him, I have noticed things I never noticed before. For example, when he looks at me, I swear he is like a hungry predator. Or that is how I see him now. His eyes seem hyper-focused, and he is always scanning, looking around, checking for what I don’t know, but in a weird way, it makes me feel safe. I know it sounds crazy, but it is the only way I can explain it.
Also, I never noticed before, but whenever I go somewhere, he either shows up there, coincidentally, or I swear I see him down the street not too far from where I am. Now that part might actually be a coincidence. I mean, neither my town nor Cupid’s Cove is that big. So really, you run into everyone all the time.
But now I am waking up sweating and in shock by my own dreams. You know what, it could also be this darned book club me and the girls have started. Sassy had the bright idea for us to each pick a book a month, and we all read it and discuss it. I thought we were going to pick Jane Austen and Stephen King, but we decided to let Sassy pick for the first month. Do you know what she chose? A book calledMore Than Enoughby this indie author named ChaShiree M. It looked innocent enough, but holy Hershey kisses, the mouth on the man in that story, it's no wonder my body is going berserk.
On the bright side, today is the first day of the festival, and I am so excited. Nolan aside, because it is so obvious I am the only one making this into something, I am feeling positive there is someone out there who has to like me, right? I refuse to believe I need to move away to find the love of my life. I mean, how would that be fair? I should be able to find him here, at home, where he also lives, by the way, so we can stay in this blissful bubble of our small-town life.
Throwing back my sheets, I get up and grab my stuff for a shower. The streams of the shower and the steady drum of the water hitting the curtain sort of form a trancelike state. One where everything for the last week plays over and over in my mind.
My mom is convinced, as she so eloquently said to me last night, that Nolan has a thing for me. She told me I wouldn't know if a man was flirting with me if he struck me with an arrow. Her exact words were, “Honey, before you start writing romance you should learn what it looks like and it ain’t what you think.” I have no clue what she means by that.
I think it looks like flowers, handholding, walks, long phone conversations, giggles about silly things, sharing ice cream and candy, and sweet kisses. Right? Then there is Rose. My own personal bad influence. I have her in my ear telling me love is messy and unexpected and more primal than my innocent little ears are ready for. Well, if my dreams are any indication from reading that book, she is right about that. But am I really missing the signals about Nolan?
Dried off and dressed in a sweater dress and a hat, I am grabbing my coat when my mom calls. “Good morning, mama.”
“Don’t good morning me, missy. Where are you? You are supposed to be helping me set up.”
“I know. I am walking out the door as we speak,” I tell her, grabbing my keys and purse.
“Are you alright sweet girl? You are never late, and you haven’t been yourself. Are you sick?”
“No, mama. I am not sick.”
“Oh, is it your sugar time?” Oh geez. I roll my eyes at the term she taught me for when my period starts. She explained, when I got it the first time at sixteen, that this is the time when women get to indulge in all things sweet without apologizing.
“No! Now stop this. I will be there in a few minutes. Love you mama.” I reach for the handle, but the doorbell rings. Opening it, I see Rich from the electronic store standing at my door with a wrapped box with a bow on it. “Rich?” He smiles at me.
“Happy first day, Cheryl. Someone sure loves you.” He hands me the box and walks away. Confused, I shut my door and walk over to my counter. My pulse begins to pick up as it hits me. This is a gift. A day 1 gift. I see a tiny card and flip it over. It simply says.
You are worth a million of these. I hope you know it. If you don’t, you will.
Love Always
I flip the card over and over, looking for it to be finished with a hint at who or something, but that’s it. Air rushes into my lungs, and suddenly, I am ten again, waiting to open Christmas gifts. Ripping the wrapping open, I pull the top off the box and gasp. “Oh, my valentine.” It’s a brand-new MacBook Air Pro. Not just that, it has a stylus, and the front of the laptop has a red heart etched into it. It's magnificent.
