The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) (26 page)

“We—” I cut myself off. I can’t suggest it. It’s too soon and there are already too many other things to figure out. “You’ll figure it out,” I say finally.

Joe takes a deep breath and tosses the will back on the desk with a sort of sad smile. “Yeah, I guess,” he says. “But unfortunately, we didn’t find what we came looking for.”

I put the will back together and open the manila folder to stick it back in its place, but something catches my eye. It’s a smaller envelope that simply reads
The Boat
on the outside.

“You have a boat?” I ask, picking up the envelope.

“Have you seen my father’s home?” Joe says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Of course he has a boat.”

I’m intrigued by the fact he’s using
he
instead of
we.
Clearly, he’s already taken this will thing to heart.

“Oh.” I frown at the envelope. There’s something about it that strikes me as odd. “I think you should open this.”

“You think it’s
not
about the boat?” He takes it from me, clearly skeptical about my hunch. And maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s about to make a big fool out of me, but still…

“So?”

He’s pulled out a few small folded pieces of paper and he’s staring at them intently, his brow furrowed. Finally he says, in a voice that’s slightly confused but mostly lacking emotion of any kind, “It’s in the coffee shop.”

“What?”

He looks at me, his face still contorted with confusion. “It’s in the coffee shop,” he repeats, and finally I get it.

“Oh, my God.”

I jump out of the seat and we both scramble to put all the papers back the way we’d found them, shove them in the drawer and dart out of the law office as quickly as we can. Joe grabs my hand once we’re on the street and we half walk-half run all the way back to the shop.

“Any idea what we’re looking for? Or where to even begin looking for it?”

“None at all!” Joe replies, and for some reason that tickles us both.

We’re giggling like school children as he opens the door of the coffee shop, and it’s in that moment that I realize I’m not just falling in love with Joe. I’m already head over heels for him. My giggling stops and I stare at him, entranced, as he dashes across the shop toward the back. He can’t see me, of course, since it’s still dark. But I don’t care.

The lights come on overhead and Joe peeks his head out of the door behind the counter. “You coming?” he asks, and that prompts me out of my love-struck trance into action.

“On my way!”

Twenty-four

Two hours later, my eyes are crossed. I’m exhausted, but Joe whipped us up a pot of coffee before we officially started with the search, and we’ve drained it completely. So, in spite of being completely bushed, I’m also edgy and wired. My nerves are all humming as the caffeine courses through my veins.

“It’s almost two,” Joe says as he slides a box of inventory back on the shelf.

I can’t help but be engrossed with the way his muscles work under his t-shirt when he does heavy lifting. My tongue darts out to lick my lips as a little frisson of desire shoots through me. I should be desperate to hit my pillow right now, but in truth, I don’t want this evening to end.

“I know,” I reply, heaving a sigh I hope will settle my jitters just a bit. And alleviate my lust.

“Should we call it quits until tomorrow?”

The fact he wants to keep searching tomorrow makes my heart extremely happy. “Probably. I’ve just gotta run to the bathroom before we go.”

“I’ll finish cleaning up.”

I trudge from the backroom into the main shop and make my way to the restroom. It’s a single stall bathroom with this really cool wallpaper. It’s cream-colored with black cursive writing all over it. The writing is almost illegible, like those old diaries you see in museums, but in my amped up state, I attempt to read it while I empty my bladder.

“Gifts…given…by fate,” I read aloud, squinting to try to make out other parts of the script. “Lovers…curse…”

My stomach churns and then drops, as if I’m on the Great American Scream Machine. Oh, my God. It can’t be. No. No way would they put something like this in plain sight. It doesn’t make any sense, but…

My heart is racing so fast now, and combined with the ridiculous amount of caffeine I’ve had, I’m a little worried it’s going to give out. But I don’t have time to focus on that right now. I have to get to Joe.

I finish my business and wash my hands before I run like a mad woman to the back of the store. I stand panting in the doorway and Joe turns to look at me, concern in his eyes.

“Candy? Are you okay?” he asks, and I’m touched by the tenderness in his voice. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Better,” I say, smiling. “Way better. Follow me.”

I retreat to the front of the store with Joe on my heels. I lead him to the women’s restroom, fling open the door, and gesture proudly inside the small room.

“Go ahead,” I say. “Read it.”

He moves inside and deciphers the words with the same squinty-eyed stare I’d used.

“It’s it, isn’t it?” I ask, and Joe nods slowly. “Hard to believe your dad would put it in plain sight, huh?”

Joe’s lips turn up into a smile. “Only, it’s not.”

“It’s not?” I’m confused. “It’s not the anecdote or it’s not in plain sight?” The former would be a huge disappointment and the latter would simply not make sense.

“It’s not in plain sight,” he clarifies. “At least, I don’t think it is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is an illusion, Candy,” he says as if that should explain everything.

“Oh, good. Thanks for clearing that up.”

He ignores my sarcasm as he gently puts his fingers to the wallpaper. “Only the magical eye can see this. It’s perfect. My family’s curse affects the male bloodline. The odds that the men in my family would spend much time in the ladies room is slim. And any other magical female—such as yourself—would more than likely use their own shop’s bathroom nearby. But even if not, what are the odds they would know what they were reading?”

“Then what does it look like to the non-magical eye?” I wonder.

Joe shrugs. “Maybe Holly can fill us in sometime, but for now…we have a curse to break.”

~*~

Magical lovers free to practice

Turn the Curse upon its axis

Combine the gifts given by Fate

And then ye shall be free to mate

When the moon is full and at its peak

Then it’s time these words to speak:

I wish I may, I wish I might

Have the love with me tonight

For now and forever, till death do us part,

Bind our talents, bind our hearts

“Well, that seems pretty straight-forward, doesn’t it?” Holly says with a shrug.

It’s the next morning, and Joe and I are sitting at the round table in the bakery with Holly, Colin and my parents.

I turn to my sister. Her hair is in a ponytail and she’s not wearing any makeup. It’s unlike her, but it occurs to me how much we’ve both changed over the last couple months. This casual look suits her and her newfound happiness.

“I guess so,” I reply. “Mom, what do you think?”

Mom’s been really quiet this morning, and it’s making me uneasy. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t think this is a good idea, but I can’t figure out why. Didn’t she say she would help?

She sighs loudly and says, “I-I never thought we’d find this,” as she fingers the post-it note where we’ve written the counter spell.

I look at Dad, wondering if he told her about Joe, Sr. The sadness in Dad’s eyes and the resigned shrug he gives me tell me everything I need to know.

“You told her?” I ask, dumbfounded. I didn’t actually mean to ask out loud, but now that I have, there’s no taking it back. All eyes are on Dad now.

“
She
knows?” Mom asks.

Holly, clearly frustrated at being left out of the loop, gives a little huff and says, “Knows what?”

“It’s a long story.” Mom, Dad and I all say this at once, dismissing Holly’s question.

“I had no choice,” Dad continues, addressing me. “Once you break the curse…” He heaves a big sigh, and then finishes, “…she’ll remember.”

A pit the size of Texas forms in my stomach. Oh, my God. I could be ruining a thirty-five-year marriage to get what I want.

“Remember what?” Holly demands.

“Not now, Holly,” Dad says, getting all authoritative with her, like he used to do when we were in high school. The same tone he’d take when our skirts were too short or we were wearing too much makeup.

“I promise I’ll fill you in later,” I add to hopefully appease her, then I focus on my parents again. “Guys, I don’t want to be responsible if…”

Mom reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “I know you don’t, sweetie. And we’d never blame you. But we don’t want to be responsible for keeping you from what we’ve had for the last thirty-five years.”

I want to cry. The tears are already welling in my eyes. I’ve never felt such gratitude for my parents. And to think I was so disgruntled with them over all this not so long ago.

“God, guys. I’ve been so horrible. I’ve acted selfishly at every turn, and…” My lip is trembling thinking of just how
un
selfish my parents are. I squeeze Mom’s hand. “Are you sure?”

Mom nods and I turn to Dad. He nods too, and I resist the urge to have a full-on sob fest right there in front of everyone. But we have work to do. There’s no time for tears.

~*~

The moon will reach its peak in less than a week, and we have to come up with the perfect recipe before then. Oh, sorry. Let me catch you up. We’ve decided the best way to combine our talents—as the poem indicates we should do—is to create the ultimate, magical cupcake, using Joe’s coffee, of course.

Thankfully, it’s Monday, and the bakery is closed anyway. So we spend hours in that room, bandying about different ideas for the cupcake. There are just too many options from salted caramel mocha to Mexican mocha to peppermint mocha (which isn’t a terrible idea with Christmas so near), filled, drizzled, alcoholic or not.

My mind is swirling by the end of the day, but I know we have to make a decision before we call it quits and go home. Joe had to leave to deal with things at A Latte Joe’s for a while, but he’s back now and despite how tired I am, thanks to an alarming lack of sleep over the last few days, I still can’t wipe the besotted grin off my face. He can’t seem to, either, which makes my grin even wider. This is definitely the happiest I’ve been in a very long time, if not ever.

“All right,” I say at last, drawing a halt to Mom and Holly’s argument about caramel or mocha buttercream filling. “It’s time. We have to make a decision.”

Everyone starts talking at once, trying to get in last-minute pleas for their favorite flavor combos.

“Stop!” I yell. They’re starting to get on my last nerve, and it occurs to me that there are literally way too many cooks in this kitchen. “You know what? Everybody out.”

“What?” Mom and Holly blurt this out at the same time, matching looks of indignity on their faces.

“Thank you, everyone,” I say, trying my best to seem gracious despite my frustration. “But ultimately the decision is up to us.” I look at Joe and he gives me that wink I love so much. “All your ideas will be taken into consideration, I promise. Just give us five minutes.”

“We’ve been at this
all day,
Candy!” Holly squeaks. “And you and Joe are going to decide this in five minutes?”

“That’s the plan,” I reply, not leaving the door open for any more discussion.

Thankfully, Dad takes charge and gently nudges both my mom and Holly toward the door. Colin holds it open and together the four of them leave the room. I breathe a sigh of relief as the door clicks shut behind them.

“Rough day?” Joe asks, coming up behind me and rubbing my shoulders.

I groan, grateful for his ministrations. “You have no idea.”

“So let’s do this.” He pulls his hands away, much to my chagrin, and plops down in the chair next to me. “What are the options?”

I run down the list and then wait as he contemplates the thirty-two possible flavor combinations. When I’m done, he stares at the list. He furrows his brow, bites his lip, squints and says, “Mmm-hmm,” several times, before looking up at me with a big smile on his face.

“I’ve come to a decision,” he says proudly.

“And?”

“It needs to be sweet.”

I give him a
you’re-kidding-me
kind of look. “Really?” I say, my tone laden with sarcasm. “A cupcake? Sweet?” I shake my head skeptically. “I’m not buying it.”

He winks and goes on. “And obviously, it needs the coffee element.”

“Wow, you’re good at this,” I say with mock seriousness.

“But the most important thing,” he says, ignoring me, “is that it represents
us.
”

He reaches out and takes my hand. My heart is racing as he rubs his thumb back and forth over my knuckles. The action makes my belly tickle from the inside out and I resist the urge to giggle. The idea of
us
is overwhelming and wonderful.

“I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you,” he says, and I hold my breath waiting for the
but
. Of course, it never comes. He says this instead: “You light me up inside. You’ve started a fire in me that’s raging out of control.”

I swallow over the lump in my throat. I don’t know whether to cry or rip his clothes off. But I do know this has to work. We have to break this curse.

“So,” he says, his tone shifting from sultry and romantic to businesslike, “in light of that, I vote for something with spice and fire.”

“Mexican mocha,” we both say at the same time, and a wide smile comes to both our faces.

“Bingo.” He winks again. That will
never
get old.

“Well, then, let’s get started.”