Page 5 of The Kiss Countdown

While they’ve been traveling, I’ve been the one checking their mail to make sure their post office box doesn’t get too full. Two weeks into their trip, a letter from the hospital arrived. I’ve been around long enough to know what an outstanding bill looks like, and wrong or right (yes, I know it was wrong—wrongandillegal), I opened it. My heart sank when I saw the large amount for the portion Dad’s insurance didn’t cover.

It was tough enough convincing Mom to join Dad on the trip. The only reason she agreed is because she met a family at her church looking for a short-term rental while their house is under construction. They’re using that extra money to fund their trip. In the almost thirty years that they’ve been married, the only kind of vacations they’ve taken are day trips to the beach.

If I told them about the bill, or about me losing my job, I already know what would happen. They’d turn around and come home, and Dad would get a second job, just like he did when we moved to San Antonio when I was a kid.

In San Antonio, we stayed with my paternal grandmother, a woman who’d worked so hard her entire life she couldn’t comprehend that my mom’s condition made it impossible for her to do the same. I was miserable. I’d met Gina the year prior and had to move away from the only person who ever called me their best friend. Wanting to make his girls happy, Dad took on two extra jobs to save up enough that we could come back to Houston.

But he’s older now, and while he’d probably say his body can handle the stress of working so much, he doesn’t need to. I have the money to pay off their bills. Though after the notice of the rent increase, I don’t have enough to do that and remain in my apartment. It’s one or the other, and I choose my parents’ happiness.

I’m still holding out hope that by some miracle I’ll hit the clientele jackpot and be able to stay in my apartment, as slim as the odds are.

After the first client ghosted me, I haven’t gained any new leads. It’s no surprise, really. When someone looks me up on the Internet, a picture of a crying bride pops up. It’s a stain I can’t wash out and a reminder of the worst weeks of my life.

But I still woke up in clean sheets, and as I look up to the predawn sky, there’s a break in the clouds with two stars shining through. When I was a little girl who still believed in the magic of the universe, I used to wish on stars all the time. It almost seems like fate that I’ve looked up at the exact right moment, and it would be a waste of cosmic energy if I didn’t make a wish now.

I focus all my energy on the brightest one. “Please, just give me one client.”

Just one. That’s all I need to get the momentum going. Then I’ll work so hard to make it a success.

“Wait,” a voice says behind me, and I immediately stiffen as I recognize the deep drawl. “You didn’t just make a wish, did you?”

The slight chuckle accompanying the interruption makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, even as unwanted shivers race down my spine. I asked for a damn near miracle for my business, not another infuriatingly awkward run-in. Clearly the universe has jokes.

I grind my teeth and turn around, steeling my nerves—only to be met with the man I collided with last week. Vincent. In the dark light of the early morning, he’s no less devastatingly handsome than the first time I met him, which turns my annoyance up a notch as I cross my arms. “Don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop on people?”

The same topaz eyes I stupidly thought shone as bright as the sun brush over me from head to toe, lingering a little too long on my hips, before their owner shrugs one shoulder. “It’s not eavesdropping if you speak loud enough in a public space to be overheard. Anyway, I thought you might appreciate knowing that you weren’t looking at a star.”

Lord, give me strength.

I look up to make sure I haven’t been imagining the bright dots in the sky. For all I know, I’ve been staring at a UFO and the whole reason I felt the lights were speaking to me is because aliens have been studying my sad life, trying to decide if I’m worth abducting or not. It’s a relief to see them still in place, even as wisps of clouds threaten to dull their brightness. I face Vincent again, raising both eyebrows.

He gives me the kind of smile one might bestow on a kid so proud of themselves for “reading” as they sit with a book upside down. He’s standing close enough that the smoothmaterial of his jacket grazes my nose when he points up and behind me. “That is a planet. Venus, to be exact. Its dense clouds reflect light from the sun, making it one of the brightest objects from our perspective here on Earth. Morning or night, as you can see.” He regards me expectantly, then continues when I remain silent. “Remember this when studying the sky: The light that stars generate travels so far that it’s bent by our atmosphere. The bending looks like twinkling to our eyes. Planets, on the other hand, are much closer to us. The light they reflect from our sun comes in a steady beam. The other planet you see there is Jupiter.”

While he drones on, I massage the bridge of my nose as pressure builds. This man needs to read the room, because I am ten seconds away from losing it.Of courseit’s a planet. I can’t launch a successful business. Can’t afford to be honest with my parents. And now, apparently, I can’t tell a planet from a star.

I take a deep, cleansing breath, along with a much needed step back so his cologne isn’t clogging my senses. “You know what? Thanks for the science lesson, but I really don’t have time for this.”

I turn back toward the doors, but as I reach for the handle, Vincent grabs it first. He flashes straight white teeth, looking for all the world like a perfect gentleman extending me a common courtesy and not like someone who’s managed to once again throw off my entire equilibrium before I’ve had an ounce of coffee. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me inside, as the phone in one of his pockets begins to ring. The door shuts behind me and I let out a sigh of relief.

The relief is short-lived as I take my place in the line, replaced by a gnawing from that responsible part of my brain that says I need to be smarter about how I spend mymoney. Before I lost my job, I was saving up to buy something I’d never had—a house. I was going to be living in gorgeous Black Girl Luxury in a space that would be all mine. I’d planned to go all out, settling in a two-story with cathedral-style ceilings, bay windows, and a front yard that would be the epitome of curb appeal, with fragrant mountain laurel trees, rose bushes, and grass so lush it would look like it belonged on a golf course.

Now, without a steady source of income and the money I’ll be putting toward my mom’s hospital bills, my dreams of home ownership are nothing but a hazy mirage. Maybe someday, if I’m smart about every penny I spend and find people willing to give a disgraced party planner another chance, I’ll be able to afford to dream about separate garden tubs and walk-in showers again.

That doesn’t stop me from ordering a coffee for myself and two of Gina’s favorite scones when I get to the counter. I justify the purchase, knowing how much Gina will appreciate some comfort food after being stuck with Mack’s mom for a week. I plan to save them for when she comes back to town tomorrow.

The normal large morning crowd is cut in half like it always is when winter break rolls around, so it doesn’t take long before my order is ready. I grab my coffee cup and small bag and move to the sugar-and-cream station.

Coffee and I go way back. I loved the smell when my dad would make his cups in the morning and would always ask him for a sip. He’d relent only when Mom wasn’t in sight, and it always caused my face to scrunch up when the bitterness hit my jaw. But the next time, I’d ask again, and Dad would give in. By the time I was old enough to actually drink coffee, I’d gotten used to having it black, though later I discovered cinnamon adds a nice woody flavor.

After sprinkling a dash of the spice in my cup, I snap the lid on and turn around, stopping short when I almost crash into some unsuspecting soul. Again.

“Sorry,” I say to a man’s back, only to immediately recognize his silver beanie with the Tennessee Titans logo—a grave insult in Texans territory. “Derrick?”

My ex turns around.

Under his atrocious beanie, he keeps his head shaved. He has a deep tan complexion, a small goatee, and groomed eyebrows. He’s the tallest man I’ve ever dated, and wherever we used to go out—it never failed—someone would ask if he played basketball. His response was always “I don’t care for the basketball court, but I do run game in the courtroom.”

Yeah, he’s a lawyer. A corny one at that.

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