Page 6 of Imperfect Arrangement
I shake my head. “There is no guy.”
His eyes go wide. “You were joking? Oh my God.” Clutching his chest, he gasps. “Willow, don’t joke about things like that! I think my heart stopped for a second.”
“Sorry, but if you don’t make a move soon, that day will come.” I cross my arms. “Mom isn’t exactly short on admirers, you know.”
“Any man would be lucky to take Steph out on a date.”
“And I hope that man is you.” I nudge him with a genuine smile.
He chuckles, his eyes crinkling. “Thanks, kid. But enough about me. Why don’t I seeyouwith some dashing gentleman, someone with enough wit to keep up with yours?”
“I think they stopped making men like you, DJ,” I reply earnestly.
His laugh echoes loud and deep, turning his face the color of ripe tomatoes. “Well, I’m flattered, but you don’t need a man like me. Out there somewhere is a guy who’s a perfect fit for you—your one true love. You may have met him, or maybe you haven’t, but when it’s the right time, trust me, you’ll feel it.”
My forehead furrows, all sincerity. “Feel what? An earthquake?”
“Nothing that dramatic,” DJ says, clapping a big hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be like a spark—a real jolt. One that runs from your fingers all the way down to your toes. And that’s how you know that this is someone you’d do absolutely anything for, even if it doesn’t make an ounce of sense.”
“Wow,” I say, genuinely caught up in the moment, before shaking my head. “If that spark actually hits, with my luck, I’ll probably mistake it for a panic attack.”
He lets out another laugh. “Trust me, you’ll know the difference.” DJ glances up at the clock. “Now go on. It’s aboutthattime.”
And he’s referring to the well-known “quirk” of our town’s Ferris wheel—it stalls every fifth ride, pausing for thirty full minutes. Many locals skip it on “drama queen mode,” but I practically live for those moments at the top.
“Which cabin am I taking?” I ask, nodding toward the big wheel.
“Third from the right.” DJ grins, pointing to the one that’ll be dangling at the highest point.
Since I was a kid, those thirty minutes at the top have been my sanctuary. Just me, the rolling hills cradling the town, and the endless expanse of sky. There’s something undeniably magical about being up there, like I’m inhaling more than fresh air.
From this vantage point, nature feels close enough to touch, and staring out at the world from this height reinforces what I’ve always believed deep down: you don’t need to depend on anyone else to fulfill your purpose in life. You only need yourself, a little courage, and maybe a moment like this to remind you of how capable you really are.
With my dog in tow, I head toward the ride.
DJ calls out, “You remember the drill?”
“Yep! Captain Lick here will stay comfy and secure in his bag.”
“Good. Now go do…whatever it is you do up there,” DJ says, winking.
I let out a chuckle. My mood already feels much better. I unfold Captain Lick’s carrier from my backpack and settle it next to the ride entrance. With his age creeping up, I always keep his bag close. Around stairs or if he’s tired after sniffing every corner like it’s his day job, he gives me that look—the one that says it’s time to retire.
“You ready for a little therapy session, old man?” I glance down at my thirteen-year-old Maltipoo, who tilts his head like he’s pondering the meaning of life, then offers a big, fat “yes” with his soulful eyes.
“Alright then, hop in.” Without a fuss, he slips into his bag, and I zip it up before heading toward the cabin. I catch DJ’s double thumbs-up from the ticket counter, assuring me I’ve got the right cabin.
I secure Captain Lick’s bag to the safety bar, looking around at the mostly empty cabins. It’s still a few minutes before we take off, so I close my eyes and inhale deeply. As the fresh air fills my lungs, of course—my thoughts land right on Raymond Teager.
Because only in my private mental space will I ever admit that the guy is annoyingly attractive. Handsome like a fallen angel, one who didn’t quite stick the landing. And despite the constant scowl, he managed to snag the attention of every waitress who passed our table at La Bella Vita like moths to a flame.
But can you blame them, Wills?
The media has aptly dubbed him The Shark, and not just because he’s good at getting what he wants. He reminds me of a lurking monster, his true intentions masked behind that signature grimace, ready to strike when you least expect it.
My mom says impatience is my biggest weakness, and Raymond seems to be sent by the gods to test it at every turn.
How I managed to sit there and listen to his condescending tirade without throttling him is beyond me.
