My eyes are on fire.
And I’m no longer dreaming.
The Meryl Streep of publishing has returned not only with her latest Valentine’s romance, Stupid Cupid, but also with her flaming hot matchmaker in tow.
Luka is shirtless, his torso flecked in gold, and he’s dressed in a white Greek god romper that wraps over a muscled shoulder that rises like Mount Olympus. He is sporting a rope belt with dangling hearts, a pair of golden wrist cuffs and Greek sandals, and a golden quiver of arrows is strapped to his back.
I may loathe and wax philosophical about the unfair expectations society places on women’s beauty, but I’m not sorry about thinking this: Cupid is hot.
“Holy Son of Eros, Batman!” Noah yells.
Desiree Delmonico—dressed in a red, flowing, sexy, Old Hollywood chiffon gown with feathers that I swear was once lingerie—laughs.
“Who wants to be shot by Cupid’s arrow?” Desiree asks the crowd who has packed into Sleigh By the Bay—despite the frigid temperatures—to see this spectacle. “I guarantee love with every arrow and book you buy!”
Noah nearly knocks a woman unconscious throwing his arm into the air.
We are sold out of our supply of two hundred books in under an hour and have online orders for fifty more. As the store clears, I pour Desiree a glass of rosé and bring her a stack of bookplates to personalize and sign.
“Thank you for keeping us going in the winter,” I say.
“Thank you for helping to keep me going in the winter of my career,” she says.
“Winter?” I laugh.
“Four books a year is a lot of work. I never have a day off. I miss sleeping in on a Saturday, or blowing off a Friday. Every day I must meet a personal and professional deadline. It’s totally rewarding and utterly exhausting.”
“I understand completely.”
“How’s your grandfather doing, by the way?” Desiree asks. “I hope he got the flowers I sent.”
“He did, and he’s doing very well. Back at home and nearly ready to return to the store.”
“Well, he’s amazing,” she says as she signs her name with a red Sharpie. “As are you.”
“While he was in the hospital...” I hesitate “...I took my grandma to meet Jordan.”
Her heavily mascaraed eyes widen. “Do tell.”
“Let’s just say there was a lot of forgiveness.”
“But not total forgiveness?”
I don’t answer.
Desiree returns to signing her heart-shaped bookplates and then stops and touches the steamy cover of her book, a shirtless Luka piercing a woman’s heart with a golden arrow. “So how’s your love life?” Desiree asks.
I look back at my staff checking out customers.
“You’ve heard.”
“The whole world has heard, Susan. In fact, I think you may have inspired my next holiday romance, The Single Kringle. It’s perfect.”
A slight twinge of jealousy quivers through my own heart, and I guess I’m not good at hiding my reaction because Desiree immediately adds, “It’s your life and idea, of course. Maybe we collaborate in the future?”
“If I survive.”
I fill Desiree in on the three men who’ve been selected to go out with me.
“Are you going into this with an open heart and open mind?” she asks.
Her question pierces my soul.
“Promise me you will.”
I look away.
“Look, Susan, I can write romance on the page, but I can’t write it for myself,” Desiree says. “I’ve been closed off and alone for way too long. And I’m happy and content in life, but a part of me late at night when I’m all alone wonders, ‘What if?’ I’ve been successful because I’ve turned societal expectations on its ear through my books. The men are the sex objects, and the women are smart, successful and in charge, never desperate. But the appeal is that every single character—deep down—is open to love, no matter how much life has hurt them.” Desiree’s butterfly lashes cast a shadow on her cheeks. “My heart’s had a Closed sign on it for way too long. One day, you wake up, and it’s frozen as solid as the bay outside these windows. That doesn’t mean it can’t thaw, it just means it takes longer and longer to do because so many layers get built up over time.”
“I promise,” I say.
Desiree nods and winks.
I then tell her my Pink Ladies are putting their hearts on the line as well.
“Who’s first in line?” she asks.
“You know what? I have absolutely no idea. They have been keeping it such a secret.”
I watch Leah check out customers while Noah wraps their books in pink tissue paper and Holly posts video to our website and social media channels.
“I think I know,” Desiree says.
My jaw drops. “You do? Who? Spill the beans.”
Desiree gestures toward the back of the bookstore.
I watch as Luka pulls an arrow with a heart-shaped tip from the quiver, inserts it into his magical bow and arcs it into the air. I follow its trajectory.
The arrow hits Leah directly in the heart and then bounces onto the counter.
“You missed me!” Noah yells.
As if in a trance, Leah moves from behind the counter and walks toward Luka.
“What is happening?”
I meant to think this, but I say it out loud instead.
Desiree laughs, hard.
“They’ve been texting and calling one another since my holiday signing event,” she says. “Seems they stayed for dessert and drinks at Chandler’s after we left, and really hit it off.”
Luka and Leah?
It’s the equivalent of Pete Davidson dating Kim Kardashian.
No, nix that.
It’s like a soccer mom and Zac Efron.
Or me with Luka?
What am I missing?
I jump.
Desiree has slapped a heart-shaped bookplate on my red sweater. I tilt my head to read what it says.
OPEN YOURS!
“It’s your own conversation heart,” Desiree says. “Have one with yourself.”
I watch Leah and Luka stare into one another’s eyes. She puts a hand on his bicep, and he whispers something in her ear. Leah laughs.
From across the store, I hear Noah start to sing the old ’80s song, “Poison Arrow.”
I can’t help but join in when he reaches the chorus:
Bow to the target, blame Cupid, Cupid.
You think you’re smart, stupid, stupid.