The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) (21 page)

Joe shrugs and smiles. “Don’t be. I’m pretty happy right now.” He winks and grabs my hand.

My heart flutters and my stomach flips. Is this what falling in love feels like?

“All right,” I say, letting the smile take over my face. “I won’t.”

~*~

At the end of the day, the last thing I want to do is attend this ridiculous tribunal. It’s like Harry Potter has collided with
Survivor
. But I’m not getting out of it, this much I know. At least Joe will be there. I confirmed that before our lunch date ended.

Now I’m standing in front of my closet, trying not to be sad that almost nothing fits. How one is supposed to dress for a tribunal, anyway? Is it casual when they slap your wrists and send you to detention? Or should I dress up, like a hotshot lawyer ready to defend my case?

I blow air between my lips, making them flutter in my frustration. Even if I wanted to dress up like a hotshot, I couldn’t.

In the end, I decide to go with my stretchy jeans and a long-sleeved tunic top I got from Joie last year for that yacht day the company organized. It definitely fits a little more snugly than it did last year, but as long as I sit up really straight, my rolls won’t bulge out.

By twenty ‘till seven, I’m rushing out the door. Makeup and hair have been refreshed as much as they could be after a day slaving over a hot oven, and I’m feeling fairly confident that tonight is going to go just fine. I mean, what’s the worst they can do to me, right? Throw me in a dungeon with a fierce dragon?

The GPS app on my phone guides me to 275 Mockingbird Lane, and I’m a little shocked as I pull up to the massive gates that surround the palatial house. It looks like something straight out of the
Great Gatsby
. Okay, maybe not quite that big, but still…
big.

I press the call button on the keypad and someone picks up immediately.

“Name, please?”

“Candy. Candace Cooper.”

There’s no reply, just a loud beep, followed by the slow opening of the wrought iron gates before me. I pull through and park behind the last car in the circular drive. I’m a little surprised there’s no valet, but maybe they decided to keep it simple for the tribunal.

By the time I get to the front door, my hands are shaking. Damn it. I had promised myself I was going to play it cool at this silly thing. Because that’s what it is. Completely silly. Magical folk and tribunals? Will Dumbledore be at the head of the table? Or maybe a Death Eater? At least that would make things more interesting. I shake my head, realizing there won’t actually be any fictional characters at this meeting. Just regular ol’ magic folk.

I reach for the doorbell and the door promptly opens to reveal a tall, thin man with a very long nose, decked out like one of those English butlers. He smiles tightly at me and waves an arm inward, inviting me in.

“Ms. Cooper,” he says in a British accent. Perhaps he actually is one of those British butlers. “They’re expecting you.”

“Yeah, I know.” I hold up my invite. I brought it just in case I needed it for entry, or something.

“May I take your coat?”

I turn around and shrug it off, right into his waiting hands. He hangs it over his right forearm and then says, “Follow me, please.”

He leads me from the black and white marbled foyer down a long wood-paneled hallway. Not like 70s paneling, though. The kind you find in castles and grand English estates. Each giant panel almost looks like a massive picture frame, and they’ve filled every other one in with original paintings. Some portraits that must date back at least 200 years, some landscapes. If my eyes don’t deceive me, that’s a Renoir. Like, a
real
one. Not just one of those prints you get at the museum gift shop.

Okay, I’m impressed.

We reach the end of the corridor and stop in front of a door. I can hear the hum of voices inside, the clinking of glassware, and the sound of Doris Day crooning some old love song. Now my hands are really sweaty and my heart is about to leap out of my throat.

The butler goes to open the door when someone calls out to stop us.

“Hey, wait!”

I turn to see Joe coming toward us at a jog down the long hallway and I can’t stop the outbreak of a massive smile.

“Hey,” I reply, positively giddy to see him. I mean, I knew he’d be here, but getting to see him before the party is the icing on my cupcake.

As he approaches, I realize he doesn’t have a coat, and I briefly think he must have been freezing getting over here, though his finely tailored suit jacket might have been enough. But then I realize that the butler was with me, so who let him in?

He looks up at the butler, nods, and says, “Thanks, Jeeves. That will be all.”

That will be all?

I feel my jaw hit the floor, and all of a sudden I want to throw up. 275 Mockingbird Lane is his home. This is his. This is where he lives. With the butler and the paintings and the marble foyer. I have no idea how to take this. I shouldn’t be so stunned. It’s just money, after all, and it’s probably not even his. It’s his parents’ money, of course. And if he’s still living here, then he’s just as big of a loser as I am. Though I’m sure his basement is a lot nicer than mine.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, and I snap back to reality.

“Oh, um…a little,” I admit. “Do you have any idea what this is about?”

He shakes his head. “I have a hunch, but I don’t know anything for sure.”

My stomach churns. “Oh, God. It’s about Colin, I just know it is. Why did I ever play with magic like that?”

“Listen,” Joe says, gently brushing back a piece of hair that has fallen into my face. “We don’t know anything, okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“And if it is about Colin…I’ve got your back.”

He might be filthy rich, but he’s still the sweetest guy I’ve ever known. “Thanks.”

The doors to this room are those big, wooden sliding doors, and Joe stands right between them to open them. On the other side, it looks like a normal, rich-people party. Everyone’s dressed fashionably, but not in evening gowns or anything. It’s more of a Chico’s kind of thing for the women and suits with no ties for the men. Still, they’re all way more dressed up than I am, which makes me feel even more self-conscious than I already was. Another jazz standard is playing over a hidden speaker system, there’s a fire roaring in the grate, and everyone is milling about with glasses of wine or scotch. It’s everything those posh Speakeasies in New York City aspire to be.

“Ah, there she is!” Mom says from her position on the other side of the room.

All eyes go from her to me, and that sick feeling comes rushing back to my stomach. I never used to mind being the center of attention. I gave presentations to boardrooms full of people all over the world. So why is this little gathering so unnerving? Perhaps it’s simply the not knowing that makes me so nervous.

I give a little wave to the room.

“Come over here, darling,” Mom shouts again and now she’s waving her hand in the air, motioning for me to join her.

I give a tentative look to Joe, who sends a wink back. God, I love when he does that.

“Hey, Mom,” I say as I approach her and Dad. They’re standing next to an elderly man in a wheelchair. He’s wearing a red silk smoking jacket with a pair of black pants, but it’s his face that draws my attention. It’s Joe’s face, only much, much older.
A Latte Joe.

Vague memories of seeing him over the years come flooding back. Seeing him on the sidelines of our high school football games, thinking he looked so out of place. And of course, ordering a coffee at his shop. I’d never realized
he
was Joe. I’d never even realized he was acquainted with my parents, yet here they stand, chatting as if they’ve known each other their entire lives.

This prompts me to take a better look around the room at the people my parents refer to as
The Elders.
Familiar faces, all of them, but none I would consider friends or even close acquaintances. People who had served us at restaurants, like Giovanni, or hemmed my prom dress or fixed the plumbing. And there’s Mrs. Shoemaker, my third grade teacher. No wonder she knew about my mom’s abilities—she’s magical herself.

“Well, Candy,” Joe the Elder is saying. “It’s nice to finally be able to meet you.”

Be able?
“Yes, um…you too?”

He chuckles, as if he understands my confusion and finds it amusing. “I’ve been watching you since you were a little girl.”

Okay. Creepy.

“You never thought to introduce yourself?” I say, unable to hide the sarcasm.

“Now, that would have gone against the rules, Ms. Cooper,” he says, with a grin. “Though you’ve never been much for rules, have you?”

Heat rushes into my face. Obviously he’s talking about Colin, and now I’m more convinced than ever this is what tonight is all about. Colin. And my stupid, stupid obsession with him.

I open and close my mouth like a guppy. I have no idea how to respond to that. But thankfully Joe the Younger comes to my rescue.

“Dad,” he says, a gentle warning tone to his voice, “play nice. She’s new to all this.”

“You’d think
you
were too.” Father Joe raises his brows in a look of admonishment.

Now I’m thoroughly confused.

Jeeves appears at Joe, Sr.’s side and whispers something into his ear.

“Yes, thank you, Jeeves,” Joe, Sr. says, and then he turns to the room at large and raises his voice. “It is seven o’clock, everyone. Time to begin.”

At that, everyone finds a seat around the room, nestling into leather armchairs or tufted settees. I swear this is like something out of a gothic novel.

Joe, Jr. grabs me by the elbow and leads me to a pair of chairs near the fire. I’m glad to be sitting with him. It’s making me slightly less nervous, plus he smells really good. Like coffee and Calvin Klein. As we sit there, waiting for his father to start the meeting—tribunal—whatever it is, it strikes me again this is Joe’s home. His
home.
Is this cavernous room where he comes to read a book? Does he play polo on the back lawn? Does he take tea with the bloody Queen? I just can’t wrap my mind around the fact that this laidback, chilled out coffee boy lives
here.
Or that his father is actually wearing a satin smoking jacket.

“Elders, thank you for joining us tonight. I hope this evening finds everyone in perfect health and happiness.” Joe, Sr. has rolled to the front of the room and all eyes are on him. “There is important business we must address later, but first, a bit of the mundane. As many of you know, my health has been declining, and I fear I will not be of this earth much longer.”

Be of this earth?
Who talks like that?

“In preparation, my son, Joseph, has returned to us to take over the family business. Welcome home, son.”

Everyone claps to welcome
Joseph
back into the community. When I join in, Joe grins at me and shakes his head. Clearly he’s a bit shy about having the spotlight on him, which I find to be incredibly endearing.

“Likewise, I’d like to welcome back the Coopers, who have returned to us from their trip abroad. We’re sorry to have you cut it so short, but please accept our gratitude for your presence here tonight.”

Another round of applause.

“And of course we’d like to acknowledge the newest member of our magical family…” Joe, Sr. holds a hand out in my direction. “Candy Cooper, welcome!”

Now it’s my turn to give Joe the grin and head shake, only I’m so nervous it probably looks more like a tick.

“Unfortunately, on the heels of welcoming our newest member, I must admonish her as well.”

Oh, God
. I’m going to throw up. I just know it. Is he really going to call me out like this? In front of everyone? What is this barbaric system they’ve got going here?

“But it is not just her, I’m sorry to say,” he continues, much to my confusion. “My own son has gone against the rules of this magical community, and tonight, they both will stand trial before all of you.”

My jaw drops and I turn to Joe. He takes a deep breath and purses his lips together into a flat line.

“Did you know about this?” I ask quietly.

He at least has the decency to look apologetic when he nods. “I’m sorry. I wanted to say something, but…”

“Candy, you are charged with two counts of Magical Misdealings,” Joe, Sr. says. “Firstly, by using your own powers to gain the affections of a mortal.”

I’m struck by two oddities in his accusations. One: why am I being charged with
two
counts of Magical Misdealings? And Two: Aren’t we all mortal? I mean, I get we have magical powers, but I didn’t think we were
immortal.

“And secondly, by…” He clears his throat loudly. Obviously this second one is a doozie if he’s having so much trouble spitting it out. “By canoodling with another person of magic.”

Canoodling?
I’m not entirely certain I know the full definition of canoodling, but a tragic sense of foreboding washes over me anyway. It’s Joe.