LUNA
After my near-psychoticmeltdown in my car outside the Law Firm of Dickbag and Douchenozzle—witnessed by only three or four passersby, I’d managed to drive myself home where I proceeded to burst into a fit of ugly, snotty sobs—you know, the kind that make your face splotch so it looks like you have hives? Yeah, those.
Anyway, I was about to pour myself a bottle of wine when I decided it probably wasn’t the healthiest outlet, so I did the next best thing. While Cheyanne made some of the prettiest, most creative pottery I’d ever seen, and Monica made the best cup of coffee on the West Coast, my talent lay within my green thumb.
Needing the peace and tranquility I received from tending my gardens and the numerous beds spread across my property, I stomped up the stairs to my room and changed into a pair of yoga shorts and a racerback tank. Being a natural redhead, I slathered on my SPF before I headed outside and, coupled with my floppy, wide-brimmed gardening hat, I was safe from those evil rays.
No one who knew me would dare to call me a romantic. All my friends knew I avoided commitment like it was covered with massive, festering boils and pox. But despite that, I had a serious weakness for romance novels that stemmed all the way back to my childhood. Like death and taxes, it was guaranteed that Madeline Copeland would bounce from one boyfriend to another like a rubber ball, and it wasn’t exactly rare that she’d tie herself to a man who skeeved me out in a serious way.
When that happened, I’d spend as much time as possible at the local library to avoid going home. I’d sit in one of those hard wooden chairs for so long, pouring over stories, my butt would eventually go numb, but I’d loved every second. It wasn’t just an escape from my mom’s latest handsy, pervy boyfriend, but from reality all together, and it was exactly what I needed.
It was there that I cultivated my love of fiction. I started with things like Matilda and Sideways Stories from Wayside School. As I got older, I shifted to all the Fear Street books by R.L. Stine. Then one day, a day like any old day, it happened. I was browsing the stacks for my latest adventure when I saw a cover, out of place from all the books around it—I found out later it had been mis-shelved by accident—that grabbed my attention and refused to let go. On it, a man dressed as a pirate from historical times—his long, unbound hair whipping in the breeze, his shirt inexplicably undone to reveal ripples of muscles—was holding a peasant woman tightly around the waist as her boobs heaved from a partially untied bodice.
I’d snatched that book up, holding it to my chest like a dirty little secret, and found somewhere tucked away to dive into a world of sexy marauding pirates and the tavern wenches they’d kidnap, forcing them onto the violent seas during a dangerous voyage where they’d eventually fall madly in love and bang like rabbits from port to port. The pirates gave way to rakish dukes and other sorts of nobility, then once I’d poured through all those, I’d stumbled on the more modern billionaires, cowboys, celebrities, professional athletes, and men in any type of uniform you could dream up. The similarity in all of them was the romance and the happily ever after.
If my friends had any idea that their self-professed lifetime bachelorette was a sucker for sappy love stories, I’d never live it down. I’d harbored that secret for longer than any other I could remember, eventually shifting to audiobooks when they became a big thing. Now I could stream to my heart’s content with the click of a button.
With my latest novel unfolding in my ears, I got to work on the flowerbeds bordering my front porch, ripping out weeds and clipping off dead flowers like a mad woman, tossing the spent blooms in a basket at my side. In no time at all, the stress of the day started to melt from my shoulders beneath the bright, warm sun heating my skin. There wasn’t much that could keep me down when I had my hands buried in the cool, rich earth. It was easy to keep my mind off the bad when I was doing something I loved.
I was in the zone, so focused on my book and my task at hand that the tap on my shoulder scared the ever-loving hell out of me. With a battle cry that probably sounded more like a cat being drowned, I whipped around, falling on my ass in the middle of my begonias. “Back the hell off,” I shouted as I flung my gardening shears wide in self-defense. In hindsight, it probably would have been smarter to keep them in hand while defending myself, but I hadn’t exactly been thinking straight at that moment.
“Whoa! Jeez, crazy,” Cheyanne cried, raising her hands in the air and taking a step back. “It’s just me!”
I pulled out my earbuds and stuffed them into my pocket. “Oh my God, Chey.” Sucking in a deep breath, I placed my hand over my heart to keep it from beating out of my chest. “You scared the crap out of me. What were you thinking, sneaking up on me like that? I could have seriously hurt you.”
She let out a snort as her brows creeped higher on her forehead. “Seriously? Your aim was about five feet wide, and I was standing directly behind you. Pretty sure I was safe.”
I blew out a raspberry and rolled my eyes. “Well, I coulda hit you if I wanted to,” I said on a pout.
“Momma, look!” Cheyanne’s daughter popped out from behind her and pointed at me. “Lu-Lu’s butt smooshed all her flowers.”
“That’s right, shorty. My butt smooshed my pretty flowers, and it’s all your mommy’s fault.”
Renee tilted her head back to her mom with an expression that dripped with disapproval. “That was mean, Mommy.”
“Yeah, Mommy,” I said on an exaggerated pout, poking my bottom lip out and everything.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I made you squish your flowers with your fat butt.” I stuck my tongue out at her but took her offered hand and let her help me up. Renee skipped around my front yard, doing cartwheels and singing about my fat butt. I was going to make Cheyanne pay for that.
“But seriously, I’m sorry for scaring you. I thought you heard us pull up.”
“I was listening to music.” The lie rolled off my tongue easy enough, and I didn’t feel the least bit bad about it, especially not after the fat butt joke. “I didn’t hear you, sorry.” Dusting off the back of my shorts, I sent a forlorn look to the begonias that were definitely going to need replacing before turning back to my friend. “What brings you and my shorty by?”
“I wanted to see how the interview went. I know I could have called, but Renee’s been missing her Lu-Lu, so I figured, two birds with one stone and all that jazz.”
I let out a huff, the anger I’d been feeling earlier giving way to defeat and disappointment. Crossing my ankles, I lowered myself back to the ground, mindful of my plants this time. “Let’s just say, it could have gone a lot better.”
Cheyanne pulled up a patch of grass beside me, crossing her legs in front of her, and together, we looked out at Renee dancing around the yard and brandishing a dead twig like a magical wand.
“You would have been so perfect for that job,” she insisted. “What happened?”
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and bit down as I tried to figure out how to explain the situation I was in. “Well... you see...” I hemmed and hawed as my brain spun like a top. “The thing is. No—what had happened was—”
“For the love of God. It’s obvious there’s a story here. Just spit it out already.”
“I kind of slept with him a while back.”
Her head jerked around so fast it was a wonder she didn’t give herself whiplash. Her eyes went big as she stared at me silently. She blinked, then blinked again before finally speaking. “How is that possible? He’s been here less than a month. And you don’t hook up with locals.”