I book it straight to my office, kicking the door shut and clicking the lock with my elbow. I’ve barely set my coffee down when I hear Mildred shout, “Oh, my goodness gracious! MURIEL! I’m so sorry, Branson!” Her apology is muffled by the door and space between us, but it’s impossible to miss the horror in her voice.
“No worries, Mildred! We never speak of it again!” I remind her. I can hear her shuffling around the front office, but I think I’ll stay in here until my first appointment. That should give Mildred an hour to die of embarrassment and recover.
At least that’s the plan, but a knock comes from the door. I cross the room to open it, not completely sure if I can look Mildred in the eyes yet. But the face on the other side isn’t Mildred’s. It’s Willow.
“Hello, Mrs. Richards. What can I help you with? Another bat attack?”
She shudders, giving me a dirty look. “Nope. No more of your stabbing, thank you very much. I’m actually here to do you a favor. Possibly.”
“Well, come on in.” I gesture at my desk. She takes a seat, scrutinizing me as I sit across from her. I prop my chin in my hand and wait for her to speak. I get the impression she hasn’t thought this through yet.
“You like Alex,” she says finally, her lips pursed. “You’ve been coming by the bakery just to see her, right?” It’s not a question. Not really.
“I do,” I reply with a smile. “And I have been. But it’s not like it’s torture to eat the pastries, either.”
“Why?” She squints.
“Which part?” I ask, unsure what she’s getting at.
“Why do you like her? You barely know her.”
“Alexandra Kaylock, 26. Daughter to Alexandra and Maxwell Kaylock, real estate moguls. Alex graduated top of her class at the Culinary Institute of America, specializing in pastry. She worked in high-end bakeries in New York until your aunt recruited her for the Sugar Creek before her passing.”
“Stalker?” Willow asks with a frown.
“Hardly,” I laugh. “That’s just what people around town say about her. But that’s not why I like her. I like her because when she got knocked down, she cursed me out and stood up on her own. I like her because she’s mouthy and stubborn. And honestly, those curves are sexy as fuck.”
“Good answer, Doc. Give me your phone.”
Baffled, I hand it to her. I watch as she downloads something from the App Store. Once it’s done, she clicks the icon before placing the phone face down on my desk and sliding it back toward me. She doesn’t say another word, just taps the back of the phone twice, and stands, leaving my office.
I pick up the phone. The screen lights up on a brightly colored sign-in page for Curves Connections. I’m annoyed, and honestly unsure why she thought this would be helpful. I don’t just want a curvy woman. I want Alex.
With a sigh, I sign in, making an account with my middle name. I load a picture of myself, shirtless, from the neck down. No way in hell am I putting my face on this thing until I know what I’m getting into.
Setting the location to Sugar Creek, I answer the questions and start swiping. Left. Left. Left. It’s not that these women aren’t attractive. They are. But they aren’t Alex.
Left. Left. Le— Holy shit.
5
Alex
Oh my God. Willow is a monster. My phone has been buzzing non-stop all week. I need to go into the app settings and silence the notifications, but I’ve been putting it off. If I actually open the app, I’m afraid I’ll start looking.
It’s like Pandora’s box, but instead of containing all the world’s evils, it’s filled with unknown and, potentially severe, disappointment. Until I look, all those notifications could be from sexy firefighters instead of unwashed perverts still living in their mother’s basements.
I could just delete it the app. I know I could. I’ve looked at it so many times, my thumb hovering over the icon, ready to deliver the death blow. But then I wonder… what if?
So I’ve left it alone. But, my God, the buzzing. My phone has done more vibrating in the last week than my favorite rabbit has in months. It is officially making me insane. I take a deep breath and nut up, opening the app.
The settings icon sits in the corner, and I move to tap it, but the little notification bell has a red circle with “72” in it. I should probably clear those notifications, right? I hate those things. I’ll just get rid of them real quick.
“Alexandra, someone swiped right! Get swiping to see if you’re a match!”
“Alexandra, someone swiped right! Are they the one? Start swiping to find out!”
“Alexandra, someone swiped right, and shares at least one interest with you! What could it be? Let’s get swiping and see!”