Page 1 of Cupid Loves Curves

OOH! CUPID

A BBW & MILITARY VALENTINE’S ROMANCE

CHAPTER 1

BERNADETTE

This has got to be the worst idea ever. Because who does something like this, these days?

I look at the front door, hesitating.

Fuck it. Let’s do it.It’s almost Valentine’s Day, and if I can find the owner of these letters, they will be so happy.

I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell before I can change my mind. If no one answers by the time I count to…

“Hello?”

Holy mother of…I expected someone old to answer the door, but instead? Instead I’m looking at the most impossibly handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Tall, dark curly hair cut short, the highest cheekbones, and…I glance at his body and suck in my breath. His body is more impressive than a statue you see in an Italian museum.

“I… I’m sorry. I must have the wrong house,” I mumble, shoving the letters deep inside my purse.

“What? Oh, shit!” The most gorgeous man in the world whips his head around as something starts beeping insistently. He glances back at me, then toward the beeping, then back at me. “Come in, come in. That’s just my timer for dinner.”

“I…”

All of the sudden, the doorway is empty and he’s rushing through a crowded living room and on his way to what must be the kitchen.

Last seen entering a house on a dark night, Bernadette Higgins was never heard from again.

But surely a man that handsome isn’t a serial killer. Right? Right! And who am I to decline an invitation from such a handsome man?

I cross the threshold and close the door behind me, certain this is the stupidest – and possibly most dangerous – thing ever. It’s not like I’m even interested in dating anyone, not after what happened with Peter. Right now, my only priority is getting a promotion at work.

Doesn’t mean I’m not intrigued. Plus, getting to talk to a handsome man is not something that I’m against. Heaven knows he’s way out of my league and more handsome than anyone I’ll ever be lucky enough to date.

“Um… is everything okay?” I call out, not sure what to do. I unbutton my coat as the heat from the fireplace overcomes me. Everything around here is cozy – pictures on the wall, overstuffed furniture, knick-knacks like you wouldn’t believe – and not like how I would picture the living room of a guy this handsome.

“I think so! Come join me,” he calls out. There’s a clatter of plates and silverware, like he’s preparing to host a feast.

If I die…at least I won’t have to go to the annual company dinner without a date.

I follow the sound of his voice and walk into a cozy kitchen. I wrinkle my nose when I smell something…interesting.

“I know this will sound crazy, but would you like to have dinner?” There’s a hopeful look in his dark eyes and against everything I know I should and shouldn’t do, I find myself nodding and shrugging out of my coat. “Sure. Why not?”Hot man asks you to share a meal, you say yes. Always. And just hope the smell in the air isn’t what’s for dinner.

“Great! Have a seat,” he gestures to a well-loved, antique wooden dining table. “So, tell me, what can I do for you? I don’t often have a strikingly gorgeous woman knocking on my door unexpectedly.”

“Such a charmer,” I joke, biting my lip and smile at the unexpected compliment. My stomach flip flops at how much I’m attracted to him and how much I want to touch those muscles that his clothing doesn’t hide. “I…well I have some letters that belongs to you. Or rather,” I say, correcting myself, “to this house. I think you’re a good fifty or sixty years too young – and the wrong gender – to be the recipient of the letter.”

“Oh? Do tell. And would you open the wine?”

“The short answer is, I have letters addressed to Eunice Paine, from way back. I found it while going through my grandparent’s things. See,” I say, twisting the corkscrew and then pulling up the cork from a bottle of red wine, “my grandmother was a bit crazy with her mail. If she didn’t recognize the sender, she’dthrow it in a drawer. When the drawer got full, she’d empty all the mail into a box, then put it up in the attic. She did this with bills, too. Drove my grandfather nuts. My grandparents passed away a couple of years ago and I inherited the house and everything in it.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry for your loss. Were you close?”

“A little. I never saw them as much as I wanted, when I was growing up. Family drama,” I say, rolling my eyes and watching as he puts a plate of lasagna in front of me. At least, I think this is supposed to be lasagna. “I only moved here after inheriting the house and landing a job here. They passed away when I was in college.”

“Cheers,” he says, holding up his wine glass. “To unexpected dinner companions.”

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