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I glare at the marshmallow snowman floating in my mug before taking another sip of my latte. Like maybe it’s his fault that I’ve found myself in a café in a village that looks like Christmas threw up on it. I have only been in Christmas Cove for a few hours, and I am already regretting listening to Charlotte’s advice. My broken heart can’t handle the festive atmosphere.
It is too much like being slapped in the face every time I turn around.
I got my mammogram yesterday, which ended up not being quite as humiliating as I imagined it would be. Not that it changes my distinct lack of excitement around needing to get one every year for the rest of my life. Luckily, they didn’t find anything, so I have that going for me. The rest of my life is a disaster, and quite frankly, I am descending into a level of hot mess that I am not sure I am going to be able to extricate myself from.
With the medical procedure out of the way, I had nothing holding me in Victoria. So, I wrangled my three disgruntled cats into their carriers, dropped them off at the kennel, and hit the road early this morning. I arrived in the delightful Christmas Cove just after noon.
The drive up here wasn’t bad, even with the rainy weather that started basically the same moment that Greg pulled out of my driveway on Sunday, stealing my son away to a fairy tale wedding.
The road to Port Alberni—the last piece of civilization before Christmas Cove—winds through an old growth forest with cedar trees so giant it defies logic. And despite the constant drizzle, I stopped to explore Cathedral Grove, where the really colossal trees are. But walking alone amongst the giant sentinels only served to prove that I am not ready to face the world solo. It was the kind of place that is better shared with someone.
Sure, I technically haven’t been in a relationship since Greg walked out two years ago, but there was always the hope that we would get back together. Now I don’t even have that to cling to.
After the disaster of tree-sightseeing, I grabbed a quick lunch in Port Alberni before tackling the narrow, winding road that follows the Alberni Inlet until it dead ends in the village of Christmas Cove. The road is dodgy at best and scary at its worst, a strange combination of pavement and gravel that must be a nightmare on the few occasions that it snows.
I didn’t even make it past the village sign before I recognized that there isn’t the slightest chance that I am going to be able to avoid Christmas by hiding in Christmas Cove. I am a bigger fool than I figured, because I kind of thought that maybe the name was ironic. Or that everyone would be so tired of the Christmas theme that they would avoid it at all costs.
Whatever I thought, I was wrong.
Christmas is everywhere. The buildings surrounding the village square are draped with garlands of evergreen boughs and mini gold, silver, green, and red ornaments shaped like gifts hang from wire crisscrossing the central square.
I found the resort we are staying at easily enough. At the main desk, they gave me the key to the cabin Kelsey rented. And despite everything, I have to admit that under different circumstances, it would be perfect. Especially if I was here with my husband and not just a pack of lonely, middle-aged women.
The cabin is isolated, set away from the rest of the resort. It perches on a cliff overlooking the wild waters off the west coast of Vancouver Island. Running along the back is a wooden deck with a hot tub. Below, the waves of the Pacific Ocean crash ceaselessly against the rocks.
I didn't want to leave. I wanted to figure out how to light a fire in the stone fireplace and curl up with my book. But I was hungry and couldn't figure out the Wi-Fi—which I need both for the client call and to check in with Jake—so I headed into the village proper.
Which is how I ended up at Kay Kringle’s Cup O’Christmas Joy, which is right next to the drugstore called Sugar Plums & Drugs, drinking a peppermint latte with an actual snowman floating in it, walking Frank through his orientation.
“It's been a really long time for me,” Frank says, his voice booming through my headphones. “I don't know where to begin. That's why I contacted Love Notes.”
I drag my eyes back to my laptop screen. I seriously need to block out all the Christmas noise buzzing around me and focus on what Frank is saying. I can’t screw up another client orientation. Charlotte is depending on me.
“It's totally understandable. We have lots of clients just like yourself. They’ve come out of long-term relationships—often marriages—and aren’t quite sure if they’re even ready to take the next step. That's what we're here for.”
“I know it's the holidays and probably not the best time to start looking for love. My ex always said I never had the right timing. But everywhere I look, all I can see are couples...”
His voice trails off before he finishes his thought. But I don't need to hear the rest to know exactly what he is experiencing, because it is hitting me smack in the face.
Even this remote café seems to be filled with happy, laughing couples. My chest squeezes, stealing all my oxygen at the stark reminder of what I have lost with Greg. I can just imagine him rolling his eyes and accusing me of being dramatic when I complain that all the drinks have mint in them.
Everything is hard during the holidays when you are single. Unless, of course, you want to be single. But that has never been me. I was born to be part of a couple.
“Let’s talk about what you're looking for in a partner.” I need to change the course of this conversation before we both end up depressed. “What are the kinds of things that you enjoy?”
I am trying to concentrate on Frank and walk him through the Love Notes New Client Orientation checklist. It is a critical part of the process because it helps us get a sense of what the client might need from us—an introvert needs a different type of help than an extrovert, for example—also, it’s a good time for us to assess if the person is actually ready for a relationship. If they are like me and still hung up on their last relationship, there isn't much we can do.
Except I can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me.
I slowly turn my head, trying to check out the room without Frank noticing, then I snap it right back to my screen. I pick up my snowman latte to cover my movement, taking a deep swig, coughing as the peppermint burns my throat.
Someone is watching me.
And it is Simon.
Simon from the mistaken identity debacle. Simon whom I confessed my heartbreak to. Simon, whom I was never meant to ever lay eyes on again.
My face heats as I cough and splutter, trying to recover from being attacked by a marshmallow snowman, who now sits staring innocently at me from the mug, while at the same time trying to maintain my focus on my client.
“Are you okay?” Frank asks.
“Um... Yeah...” I sputter. “These Christmas themed lattes are dangerous. I'm so sorry, Frank. This isn’t normally how we do this.”
“It's fine,” he says kindly. “Charlotte explained the situation to me. I know we can't really move ahead until the new year anyway, but I felt a strong urge to get things started. I'm pretty methodical, preferring to plan things out. Which, according to my ex, is a negative thing.”
“Well, it’s always good to be prepared. You never know what you might encounter.”
I surreptitiously cut my eyes to the left to check on the Simon situation, even as I make a mark on my checklist to indicate that Frank seems to be hung up on his ex. Simon is sipping some kind of festive drink with what I think might be a reindeer floating on top. His eyes meet mine, and he raises his eyebrows questioningly. I flick my eyes back to the screen.
“Sheila didn’t see it that way.” Frank shakes his head, like he is trying to clear an unpleasant thought. “It’s been three years, but everything still comes back to her.” The pain in his voice is clear.
This is my least favourite kind of client. Frank is clearly a nice man whose ex-wife ripped his heart out. He desperately needs to move on, but he might never be able to. Mia makes me want to rage, but Frank makes my heart break.
“Not everybody is ready on the same timeline,” I reassure him.
Frank and I converse for a few more minutes, finishing off the checklist. Then I end the call, promising him I will fill out his worksheet and let him know by the end of the day which Love Notes plan I think would be best suited to his situation.
I close my laptop, then take another sip of my drink. It is a stall tactic. My latte has cooled to a point that the mint has gone from irritating to cloying, but I need to buy some time. If I delay long enough, then when I look over at his table again, Simon will be gone, and I can get busy freaking out about running into him in the middle of nowhere.
“You need to be careful with those holiday themed drinks,” Simon says wryly.
Startled, I slosh my latte over the table. I snap my gaze over to him, fixing him with a glare. “What are you even doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.” He raises his eyes at me, and when I don’t answer, he shrugs. “My family comes every year for the holidays.”
“Must be nice to have traditions,” I mumble into my latte.
“It is. We’re as close to being residents as you can be without actually living here.” Simon takes a sip of his reindeer drink.
I turn back around, determined to ignore him. Running a finger along my laptop lid, I debate opening it to call Jake. Tomorrow is the wedding, but I don’t want to have the conversation with Simon watching.
“What made you decide to move your office to Christmas Cove? Is it the amazing Wi-Fi?”
What the heck? Was he listening to our chat? “Eavesdrop much?”
He chuckles. “It was hard not to hear you. Frank seems like a nice guy. I hope it works out.”
“You couldn’t even hear him.”
Simon shrugs, and my cheeks flame.
I frantically think back over my part of the conversation, trying to remember if there was anything too shocking. “Not that it is really any of your business, but it was a New Client Orientation. I work for Love Notes Matchmaking Service.”
I purse my lips to stop the flow of words. Why am I telling him any of this? I have already revealed more than enough of my life to ever be able to look him in the eye. This is just one more of those situations where I should get my butt up and bolt. I have a beautiful cabin with a hot tub that looks out over the wildest expanse of ocean I have ever seen, and I have it all to myself. I don't need to be here dealing with this crap.
“I don’t know. I feel like we are at the point in our relationship where you tell me everything,” Simon says, winking. Before I can sputter out a response, he continues. “So, you’re a matchmaker, huh?”
“No. I’m not.” I put my hands on my hips and renew my glare. “Charlotte, my boss, is the matchmaker, and I’m her assistant.”
I brace myself for his response. He would not be the first person to make fun of me for working at Love Notes. For some reason, people seem to think it is hilarious, and their comments range from references to the Dark Ages to suggesting that I am cashing in on the emotions of vulnerable women. Little do they know that just as many of our clients are men.
“You can laugh if you want, but it fills a need that dating apps can’t. We don't find love for people. We help people learn how to find love. Most people just need a little help.”
He nods his head thoughtfully. “Sounds kind of amazing, actually. I was a little concerned that you were running a prostitution service.”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me?”
He chuckles sheepishly. “A little. Although, when you sat down at my table in Maude Hunter’s, the thought did cross my mind.” He holds up his hands defensively, like I am going to launch myself at him in some kind of crazy hormonal woman attack. “Hey, I quickly realized my mistake. No self-respecting call girl would leave a drink she paid for.”
I purse my lips, trying not to smile. “I guess that's fair.” I fiddle with my cup. Simon actually has a pretty amazing sense of humour. One that I could get used to. “I'm sorry about that.”
“It’s all good. Have you thought about using the service for yourself?”
I leap to my feet, narrowly avoiding spilling the rest of my latte all over my laptop. “What makes you think that I need a matchmaking service?”
He holds his hands up again. “Hey. It was just a thought. You know, after Greg pulled that dick move with Julia.”
I groan as my indignation drains from my body, letting myself flop back down on my chair. Why doesn’t the snowman latte have Bailey’s in it? “I still can't believe I told you all that.”
“My lips are sealed.” Simon swipes his finger across his lips like he is closing a zipper.
And despite the fact that he is the last man I want to run into ever again, my eyes snag on his finger as it drags across his very kissable lips. Before my brain can even register what I am doing, my eyes dip lower. By the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, I know without a doubt that it hides a muscular chest.
“Hey, my eyes are up here,” Simon chuckles, wrenching me out of my fantasy. “I know you matchmaker types are probably used to sizing up men, but...”
My eyes snap back up to his, and he winks playfully. My stomach does a strange flip as my cheeks burn.
“I’ve got to go,” I blurt, shoving my laptop into my bag along with all my other stuff. I can’t believe that he just caught me ogling him. Can it get any worse with this man?
“Wait. Ruby, I was kidding.”
I ignore him. I need to get out of here before I do anything else humiliating. “I would say it was nice to run into you, but I honestly hope I never see you again.” No. I didn’t just say that. “I mean... I don’t mean it like that.” Oh my God, can I just shut up? I swallow hard. “You know why.”
I bolt for the parking lot, and the safety of my minivan, praying that Simon Ascot is not staying in Christmas Cove for the entire holiday week, because I can’t hide at the cabin forever—there isn’t even any food—and this place isn’t big enough for me to avoid seeing him again.
And I just might die if I do. A girl can only be so much of a fool in front of a man, before she can never be in his presence again.