Page 5 of Kidnapped Plus-Size Mate

The Fresno Museum of Art should be a sanctuary for my avid imagination, allowing me to get lost in the fine works of artists who could turn their dreams into physical works of art for people like me to perceive freely. Yet, the gallery does little to soothe my fantasies.

Not because I can’t easily lose myself in abstract paintings and bright colors, but because the museum hasn’t quite had the same effect that it did a few months ago…

“Morning, Cam,” I’m greeted by the receptionist at the front desk with a broad smile and sparkling jest in her eyes as she passes a clipboard over the counter.

“Morning, Jenna,” I greet back, frowning when I take a glimpse of the long list of names on the first page. “A last-minute booking, huh?”

Her lips turn down as she purses them and nods. “The school was supposed to visit the pioneer’s farm today, but a wildfire burned down half of the park. So, they’re here,” Jenna shrugs diffidently. “If you wanna swap shifts with Mickey…”

I stare long and hard at the page full of teenagers’ names, mulling over Jenna’s offer to swap shifts with my colleague and fellow museum tour guide. I look up, my eyes flitting around the museum lobby quickly before I turn back to her and shake my head.

Taking a group of teenagers on a tour around the museum isn’t such a bad idea, even if it means that there’s no chance of spotting the full-grown man I’d peeped a few months ago…

He’s the only reason I’ve been despondent about coming to work.

His absence over the past few months has been disheartening, and I find myself peeking over every shoulder and inspecting every group trying to find him.

I don’t even know his name…

“It’s fine,” I assure Jenna, grabbing a pen to quickly sign the list in case I change my mind. With my signature at the bottom, confirming myself as the tour guide for the 1 p.m. slot, I can’t back out now.

My manager would have my neck, and I’d lose my job and any chance of ever seeing the man who joined my tours for a whole week without paying the fees.

My work colleagues thought I was crazy when I described him as a walking Adonis with strawberry-blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Like one of the Greek sculptures we have on display, he’d been walking around in the flesh to leave me fumbling over my words during my tours. It was only when our surveillance cameras picked him up that I knew I wasn’t crazy.

I knew then that I wasn’t going insane, and that a man who walked out of the pages of a magazine really did exist, andwasn’t just a fragment of my overly-active imagination. He did exist, and I didn’t just conjure him up in my mind.

He hasn’t been showing up here for more than three months, but each day, I hold out the hope that I might see him again. Even if I stand no chance with someone of that caliber. After all, what would a man like that want with a woman like me?

I’ve never had luck with men in the past. It didn’t help that I’d cower at every party and hide in the shadows at every club. With my larger-than-life body, and rolls in all the wrong places, my knocked self-esteem could never approach someone like that.

Besides, he was probably just passing his time here. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise that he’s gone, on our radar for skipping payments. He probably won’t ever show up again.

He was just some drool-worthy piece of eye candy that belonged in his own museum.

“I’ll see you later, Jen,” I tell my colleague before heading off to the gallery to prepare for the day ahead. There isn’t much to look forward to, but bills must be paid and life must go on as if the mysterious and strikingly handsome stranger didn’t exist.

***

Curling up on the sofa with leftover cottage pie secured on my lap, I’m about to turn on the television to binge-watch the latest series that’s caught my attention.Emily In Parisis my newest indulgence, a much-needed distraction from a life of solitude and minimal action.

Being painstakingly single all my life, I have little to pass my time except for binge-watching shows and binge-eating myAbuela’shearty meals.

Speaking of my grandmother…

My cell phone rings just as I pick it up from the side. Frowning in surprise, I answer my grandmother’s call with a lighthearted giggle.

“Abuela!” I cheer as I stare at the plate of cottage pie on my lap. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Mi hija!”comes my grandmother’s sultry voice with undertones of urgency ringing out through the speaker. “How are you?! Are you okay?!”

My frown deepens as I hit the mute button on the television remote. “What’s wrong?” I ask with concern. “Why do you sound so distressed?”

“BecauseI am…”she breathes staggeringly. “I didn’t even think I’d hear your voice again, my child.”

“What—” I shift on the sofa, suddenly uncomfortable as a shiver runs down my spine. “Why would you think that, Abuela?”

“I had a very terrifying dream, Camilla,” she explains. “I had to check that you’re okay.”

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