Page 11 of Fools in Love

“You know, April”—she jutted out her hip and smacked her lips together—“you can’t do all the matching and never get matched yourself.”

My smile dropped. I hated when people brought up my love life—or lack thereof—like it was something to be used against me.

I wasn’t in the market for a relationship, and everyone always acted like that was some kind of terrible mindset for me, of all people, to have. Like I was committing some horrific crime against humanity by denying myself love.

The truth was that I didn’t feel like my life was currently lacking in any capacity. Work fulfilled me for the time being, but I wasn’t naive enough to think that it would always be that way. I had enough self-awareness to realize that, at some point, I’d want a partner to share my time with. I just wasn’t there yet.

Work demanded all of my attention, and I gave it willingly, happily, with a grateful and full heart.

My phone pinged out a notification from an unfamiliar number, and I hesitated before clicking on it. I was not in the habit of giving my personal cell to strangers, but I had an idea of who it might be.

Holding my cell in the air so Meredith could see it, I said, “I need to take this.”

“Just think about what I said.” She gave me a soft smile, almost like she felt bad for me.

I hated pity. Especially when it wasn’t warranted.

“I heard you.” I placated her because it really wasn’t anyone’s business what I decided to do with my heart and when.

Pressing on the unread text, I rolled my eyes as I read the message, knowing that it could only be from one person.

Unknown: I’m doing this under duress. I am literally being forced to send you this right now.

Just as quickly as that message arrived, a picture came through. There stood Sheila with a fire hose aimed at Robbie, her hand poised over the lever that would turn it on and probably take his head clean off his shoulders. Those suckers were fierce.

Me: Okay, you did it. You texted me. Tell Sheila to back off.

The three dots danced in the left corner before stopping and then reappearing as I begrudgingly added his phone number to my Contacts. It felt like the smart thing to do, considering there was no way in hell Sheila was going to let this go.

Robbie: You have to do it.

Letting out an annoyedI don’t have time for thisgroan, I quickly fired off a message to Sheila, telling her that Robbie had made contact and to put the hose down.

Robbie: Thank you. She’s a little intense.

Me: And scary. Don’t get on her bad side.

I warned him even though it wasn’t entirely true. Sheila wasn’t scary; she was just pushy. She refused to give up when she had a thought or an idea. Like whatever it was she had conjured up in her mind about me and the fireman. She’d bought him as my date for a reason. One I couldn’t quite fathom or even remotely understand.

Robbie: Is it okay if I call you later?

Me: Sure.

I stared at the screen of my phone, waiting to see if he’d say anything else but nothing came. The dots never started dancing, so there were no thoughts he wanted to share but quickly took back. He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

GET THIS DATE OVER WITH

ROBBIE

Apparently, I’d broken some unspoken rule. Or hell, maybe it had been clearly written down, printed in black and white, and I’d ignored it. Too much time had passed since the night of the auction. At least, that was what Sheila implied when she stopped by the firehouse today, unannounced, looking for me, a stern expression on her face.

I needed to firm down an actual day for the date and inform the auction committee so that they could have everything in place. Including transportation. Limo, I’d been told. The over-the-top planning made me feel like I was back in high school, heading to prom.

Only I wasn’t a seventeen-year-old virgin anymore, going solo with my guy friends, pretending like we were too cool to bring actual dates. I was a grown-ass adult now with a career and my own condo.

“Give me your phone,” Sheila demanded before adding, “And don’t even think about lying and telling me it’s in your locker. I know it’s in your pocket.”

She pointed her finger right at my junk, and I begrudgingly pulled out my cell and gave it to her, wondering what she might do to embarrass me.

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