Island Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story (The Kisses Series Book 9) (4 page)

M
y arms fell
from the keyboard as I allowed them a momentary rest. This was going to make for a great post, I could already tell. Posts like these came effortlessly with the most challenging part being accurately recalling the extent of the disaster. Every little detail was required to paint the full picture of what I had dealt with, and my readers ate it up.

As I was doing a final skim over the passage for any typos or grammatical errors, my phone buzzed obnoxiously on the table. I was usually good about not allowing my phone to distract me in the middle of writing, but because I was already mostly finished I allowed my eyes to steal a look at the notification that had popped up. It was a text message from Rosie.

I took a break to open the message and immediately regretted my decision. Her text was all of one sentence that I should have anticipated.

A
fter putting the phone down
, I sighed. I wanted to return to editing my post but I knew it would cause me to forget about the message entirely. My brain was good at forgetting to respond to conversations I didn’t want to have.

I
locked
my phone and put it face down on the table to return to my blog. I had just begun to regain focus when I heard the buzzing of my phone again.
Dear Lord,
I thought. It couldn’t have been more than a minute.

A
nother sigh escaped
as I set my phone down. I could almost see her eager face through the screen. It was the same youthful expression I always attached to Rosie when she was excited.

I glanced back to the blog post sitting like an unfinished painting on the screen in front of me. It was going to be good, but it needed a little more work. The editing process was crucial. As much as I hated editing, it was when I could polish the piece and ensure it had the real edge that my readers wanted.

Without thinking, I stole another look at my phone. Her quick response was evidence that she was sitting in anticipation and it was almost as if she was sitting in the room with me, bouncing on her feet and distracting me.
Oh Rosie
, I muttered to myself. She had officially succeeded in stealing my attention away from my work.
I guess I could use a break,
I thought.

I picked up my phone and typed a quick response.

I
imagined
Rosie’s smiling face as I sent the message and felt relief in knowing that at least I was making someone happy. I scanned the desk for the post-it note I had used to write down the log in info. For a second I caught myself wishing it had gotten lost—as if that somehow would magically make the profile vanish along with it—but I quickly found it beneath a scratch piece of paper.

It all felt odd, like I was a detective of some sort, as I logged in and opened my profile. It was familiar and yet different enough to be almost creepy. Everything was about me, but I hadn't done any of it. Even my picture at the top of the screen looked like a different person smiling back at me.
I need to change this picture if I want this profile to go anywhere,
I thought to myself. I looked far to innocent and happy to be on a dating site. Below the picture was a small space for a bio with a few short sentences Rosie had already written.

I
mmediately the passage irked me
. I would never use something as trite as “getting caught in the rain” on a profile. I reread the sentences a few more times, each time leaving more of a sour taste in my mouth. This was going to be a disaster.

Her description wasn’t
wrong,
at least not factually. And it probably wasn’t all that out of place for the Internet, but it was drastically different than anything I would have written. I would have
never
described myself this way in a million years. The passage was way too happy and optimistic. It read like the bio of a young high school girl and it sounded…
preppy?
How in the world had they derived a preppy sounding bio with me in mind?

I almost gave up on the website right then and there, but the format of the bio made me worried that there was more toxic information below that I needed to be aware of. Had my sister not thought that, while she was carelessly building this profile, she was also introducing the world to a personality that I couldn’t take back?

With a scowl I continued to scroll down the page. The design and infrastructure of the website was actually quite charming. The page had a warm color scheme and an aesthetically pleasing make-up. There were several boxes to respond to questions on hobbies, education and other various talking points. It was light years ahead of my other dating websites. It was easy to see the difference between paid and free.

I continued to read through the answers my sister had come up with. Her responses were filled with an overwhelming optimism and sense of vigor that seemed to scream up at you from the page. It was all sunshine and joy, with only glimpses of my usual sarcasm, but even that had a happy slant to it.

There was something gnawing in the back of my mind that caused my to stop and pause for an instant.
Is this really how my sister sees me?
I wondered. Is this really how she thinks
I
would have answered? She had sought Thomas’s help in building the profile… is this how
he
thinks of me? I could hear Rosie’s words echoing in my head,
he actually does a really good impression of you.
Did my sister and my brother-in-law really see me as a walking bundle of blissful joy?

I guess it’s not the worst image they could have painted,
I thought.
But is this really how I come off to them?
What had I done to leave that impression? And more, what had I done to give them the impression that this is how I would describe
myself?

My mother, on the other hand, would have certainly come up with answers far different than these.
I wonder whose work would have been more dangerous,
I thought with a chuckle. My mother probably would have posted that I wanted a family right away and that I wanted as many kids as possible.

Finally, I clicked on a tab on the bottom right corner of the screen that said, “
Chat.”
A screen unfolded with numerous conversation bubbles. At the top of the screen was the name, “Gabe.”

Gabe
.
I repeated it out loud. Names are always important. They carry the tone of the person and are part of the first impression. A Nichole gives a very different vibe than a Nicki.

This one wasn’t bad. It actually had kind of a strong, masculine tone yet it wasn’t too stiff. I actually liked his name.
It’s too bad I’ll have to change it when it comes time for your blog post
, I thought and laughed to myself.

I scrolled to the top of the conversation. Rosie and Thomas had apparently rather enjoyed conversing through my mask. There must have been fifteen, twenty, maybe even thirty messages between them and this so called ‘Gabe.’

A groan escaped from my throat as I glanced at the clock above my desk. It was already close to midnight. I looked back to the computer and conversation in front of me. It was like a book that I was only just beginning.
I’m too tired for this,
I thought.
And I don’t have the energy.
Meeting Optimistic Happy Harper had taken it out of me. And I didn’t want to begin a book that I knew I couldn’t finish before passing out.
I’ll come back when I’m able to read through the whole thing in one sitting,
I told myself.

I felt another small surge of relief. I had avoided the full reality for at least one more night. Part of me still felt like a nosey detective snooping around someone else’s personal business. At least I wasn’t the one who had intrusively made the account in the first place.
And
signed someone else up for a date!

I thought about closing my computer and heading to bed, but I was still curious about this guy.
If I am going to go through with this date then I should at least do my homework,
I thought and clicked on his name at the top of the screen.

His picture was the headshot Rosie had showed me initially and I began clicking through his other pictures. They were all candid shots with him looking happy and pleasant. He wore a smile that was gentle and rose into his cheeks. In most pictures, his hair maintained its slightly messy ruffle, but in every picture his green eyes sparkled. They seemed almost brighter than the screen. He was definitely in good shape and he looked to be slightly taller than average standing next to his friends.

I scrolled to his bio.

M
y temples tensed subconsciously
at first and then with an irritated squint. No wonder he had picked my bio- we were practically twins.
Does he really think this works,
I thought.
Attractive guys can be so naïve. This bio is going to work well in his future blog post.
I had almost stopped reading at the end of the sentence but something drew my eyes to the rest of his bio.

A
short spout
of elation shot up from my stomach and into my chest. Sports fan. Bluejays fan.

At least that meant we would have
something
to talk about on the date. I had been on a few quiet dates and they were always awful to write about. Not that they ever went well, but silently and awkwardly looking down at your plate the whole time doesn’t exactly make for riveting blog material, even when the guy is a total train wreck—as they almost always were.

I sent Rosie a mental high-five. Ever since we were kids, Rosie had always known about my intense love for sports. She often joked that if football were a guy I would have married him long before ever getting a chance to start my blog. Clearly, she had remembered this passion when writing my bio. And evidently he liked sports enough to put it in his bio.
That’s probably the whole reason we matched in the first place. Stupid, bogus algorithms that matched us off the keywords in our bios. How brilliant,
I thought.

Well it was settled, I would have to talk about sports the whole time. But I could do that. I could talk about sports all day.
If this guy knows what he’s talking about this might actually be kind of fun,
I thought and then stopped. I paused and stared blankly at my computer as the mouse hovered on the screen.
Fun? Did that thought really just cross my mind? When was the last time a date was actually fun?
It had been awhile. So long that I couldn’t really even remember what a
fun
date felt like.

I blinked away the daydream and blew the hair out of my face.
What am I thinking? This date will be like all the others. Why would it be any different?

After another hurried glance at the clock, I closed the webpage and sank in my chair. That was enough for the night. The clock read past midnight and I needed to finish editing my blog so it could be posted. I would do more research on this guy later, for there was more research to be done. Inside everyone was the potential for a catastrophic date.

I knew this guy, with his dark windblown hair and sparkling green eyes, was no exception. There was the potential for a good blog post somewhere inside of him. The only problem was that he was good at shielding his signs of disaster. He had already successfully hidden them from Rosie. But all it would take was discovering his particular brand of crazy.

“
S
o
, what do you think, Cora?” Anticipation bubbled through my voice.

“So good!” she paused, obviously re-reading a section. “I think it’s your best one yet to be honest!”

I let out a grateful sigh. If my best friend Cora said a blog post was good, it was golden. She was the most honest and appreciated critic of my work.

I had finished and posted my blog late last night and had woken to a barrage of comments. My readers were the reason I loved my work. It was always nice to wake up to great feedback after a long night. Their comments made all the bad dates worth it.

“This is more hits than you’ve gotten in awhile, yeah?” she asked. I could hear her clicking around on her computer over the phone.

“Yeah, I think so” I said, scrolling down the comments. I was glad to see such a positive response to the post. Cora was right, there were more comments and shares than I had received in awhile.

“I guess Bathroom Dude was a big hit! Wait, hold on,” she said as there was a muffling noise from the other end of the phone. I could hear scratching as Cora moved the phone from her face and then bits and pieces from her side conversation.

“Okay, I’m back,” she said again.

“Really, Cora? You’re having a double shot at dinner?” I asked while also slightly covering a laugh.

“Hey don’t eavesdrop! And it’s fine, that stuff barely touches me anyway.”

“You’re insane,” I said as I reached for the post-it note with my login information.

“Me? You’re the one going out on a date your sister set you up on. Where are you going again?” she asked.

“Dinner. Keepin’ it simple,” I said. I opened up the Kindling Dating website and began browsing. My humiliating profile, the chat conversation and the website as a whole seemed much less intimidating now after the success of my last post. Success had an odd medicinal effect. I was too excited about my good post to be anxious about the Kindling Dating website or my upcoming date.

Cora chuckled. “I think it’s awesome. Tell Rosie she has my complete respect.”

“You tell her,” I scoffed.

“Oh, I totally will next time I’m in town,” Cora promised.

“Does that mean you’re coming to town?” I asked hopefully. My tone was equipped with a persuasive attempt in it. Cora lived in Orlando, and although we were in the same state it still required a three and a half hour drive either way, which made coordinating visits rather difficult. I needed to see my best friend much more than I actually got to.

“Not any time soon. Sorry, girl,” she said. “Work has been crazy. I’ve been picking up extra shifts left and right until we can hire somebody new. It sucks.”

“Darn. I was hoping,” I said solemnly.

“Yeah, I know. Me too,” she said. “Now quit changing the subject! I want to know more about this date! Tell me everything.”

I gave an obnoxious sigh into the phone before I began, “Well, his name is Gabe. He’s a business owner.”

“Nice!” she interrupted. “Maybe that means he’ll pay for dinner this time!”

I laughed and started filling out a date request on the website. “A girl can dream.”

“What are you doing?” she asked starkly, “I keep hearing your keys typing. Are you writing another blog or something?”

“No,” I hesitated for an instant, my fingers hovering guiltily over the keys. “I’m actually signing up for another date…”

“Really? Already?” she asked, impressed. “You haven’t even met this guy yet.”

“Yeah I know, I’m…” I began, but trailed off as I looked for the submit button.

“You think things are going to go that well?”

“No, I mean with another guy,” I replied, frowning. Why in the world would I set up a second date with a guy I hadn't even met yet?

“What? Why?” she was genuinely surprised. “This guy sounds like the most promising guy not for your blog that you've had in a long time.”

“Because, Cora. I’m hedging my bets,” I explained.

“Hedging your bets?” she asked. I could hear the displeased expression on her face. She was almost as bad as Rosie.

“Yeah, I need bad dates to fuel my blog. Did you forget that that’s how I pay my bills?”

Cora sighed. “Yeah, I get that Harper,” she said. “But don’t you feel like you should at least give him a chance?”

“I am giving him a chance! We have a date scheduled, don’t we?”

“Well yeah, but you’re already assuming it’s going to go badly.” She sounded disappointed.

“I have experience with these things, Cora,” I said. If I wasn't sitting at my computer, I would have put my hands on my hips.

“I think it’s just wishful thinking for your blog. And I don’t know if that’s healthy…”

I rolled my eyes. “You sound like my sister right now.”

“Well, maybe we both just want you to find someone you actually like,” she said. “You deserve some love in your life.”

“Actually, you sound like my mom,” I decided. “And that’s much worse.”

“Please,” she said, and I could hear her put her glass down. “Just give this guy a chance? I have a good feeling about this one.”

I allowed silence to be my response. All of the women in my life were hoping this would be my Prince Charming and I was the only one sane enough to be cautious. I was just glad I wasn't talking to my Mom, Rosie, and Cora all at the same time. Those were the ingredients for a storm that could wipe out the whole Florida coast.

“What if he’s the perfect guy for you, Harper?” Cora asked after a moment.

I laughed silently to myself. “Cora there is no such thing as a perfect guy,” I said.

After repeating this same conversation with different people I had developed an inventory of preset responses. Why everyone was so certain that this was a ‘perfect match’ was beyond me. “Like I said, putting another date or two in the books is just hedging my bets. If he is the
perfect guy,
then I can just cancel them.”

“I don’t know, Harper…” Cora trailed off as she spoke.

“And besides, everyone knows
you’re
my soulmate!” I said with a sort of exaggerated flare.

Cora laughed. “Okay. I
am
your sole mate,” she agreed. “I have to get some work done. I want to know all the details about the date! And the guy. I want to know everything.”

“Of course!”

“Alright. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you,” she carried the last syllable affectionately.

“Love you too, Cora,” I said and hung up.

I set my phone down on my desk and continued scrolling through my old dating profile on the free website. I wasn't quite ready to test the waters with a second date from the same expensive site. What if the dating algorithm Kindling Dating actually worked? Besides, I didn't want to go through and have to change all of Rosie's hard work.

No, I knew that if I wanted a bad date, I should go with my tried and true method. Free dating site with answers that were actually applicable. If I wanted to meet actual guys, I needed to come up with better answers. Rosie's answers on Kindling Dating were mostly true, but so off the mark as to what men wanted. I had to put what guys were looking for. Not what I actually was.

I clicked to the page with my next top match on my old dating site and began scanning his profile before confirming the date. He looked nice enough. A Miami man named Dave who liked deep-sea fishing and bowling. There was nothing on his profile that screamed
warning,
but then again, there usually never was. At least not with the sane ones. I had seen enough profiles in my life to know that they’re never exactly as advertised. Even if their personalities were riddled with trouble, most men were at least competent enough to know what to reveal and what not to reveal on a dating profile. This profile was no different. He knew how to disguise his brand of crazy, whatever it was.

The problem was that Rosie and Cora hadn’t seen the hundreds of online dating profiles that I had. I’d seen them all—good and bad—and I knew how they played out. If they consistently saw all the pitiful profiles that I did, they would share the same pessimism. They would understand that the best and most likely scenario would mean more material for my blog. And this one—I continued scrolling through his profile and descriptions—looked like it would make perfect blog fodder.

I clicked the button to send the confirmation. Now I just had to wait for him to reply. I felt like delving into more matches to find more potential blog suitors, but I remembered my conversation with Cora.
Maybe she’s right, maybe it’s not the healthiest approach,
I thought. But regardless, the success of my recent post was evidence that I was doing
something
right.

Instead of looking for more matches, I clicked back to Kindling Dating and to the match that Rosie had found. Gabe.

The smile in his picture sure was charming. It was like he was beaming up at me through the computer screen. His smile was piercing and his emerald eyes locked on me as if he were standing two feet away and making eye contact. I felt the urge to smile back.

I knew that it was dangerous to get too smitten with someone’s online profile picture. Lots of people hide behind a good photo, but evidently there was some reason that Kindling Dating thought that we would make a good match. A perfect match, if that was even possible.

Were their algorithms really capable of assembling the perfect fit? The whole concept of a ‘perfect fit’ in general had always seemed cliché to me. Certainly great fits and happy couples existed. I had seen proof of happy marriages between two people that worked great for each other. But they were never between two people as… particular… as myself. They were always between two nice and pleasant people, not a pair of sarcastic realists, whose best friends also happened to be extremely sarcastic.

For a second I paused and chuckled at the idea of marrying Cora. There’s no doubt it would be intensely amusing, but we would drive each other up the wall.

Although isn’t that the whole idea of marriage,
I thought.
Find someone that you enjoy enough not to kill when they drive you insane?

I caught myself staring off into space, imagining what a perfect marriage would look like, and I made an effort to refocus. There was research that needed to be done.

I started writing my message to Mr. Bowler.