Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

that I was hopelessly cack-handed. I should have been banned from high heels and long gowns. But Jaxson was there to catch me, both literally and figuratively. Ever reliable and loyal Jaxson. Like a golden retriever.

Stella shut the door and pumped her fists repeatedly in a sort of geriatric victory dance.

“Okay, Stella. Challenge accepted.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

I pointed to the door. “That. The Darcybeth. I suppose you claim victory for that match.”

She straightened her posture and raised her chin. “Indeed, I do.”

She was gloating. I knew this woman and if there was one thing she liked, it was a friendly competition for making the most unlikely matches. I would have chalked Will Darcy up to a hopeless cause—a scrooge-like grump of a man figuratively shooing women off his lawn with a cane. He was the old man in UP slamming his door on visitors (in a hot action star sort of vibe). But Stella found her way in and brought a pretty little brunette to soften his heart.

“All right, then.” I strode right up to her, which was only two small steps, making the gesture a tad less dramatic than it played out in my mind. But I was taller than her and used that to my advantage. “I’ll take your Will Darcy,” I said, raising a brow. “And raise you one Jaxson Knightly.”

“Whaaat?!” Jaxson cried. “Leave me out of this.”

Stella peered back at me as though Jaxson wasn’t in the room. “I don’t accept. The day you find the perfect woman for Mr Knightly will be the end of your matchmaking forever.”

“Do I have a say in this?” Jaxson exclaimed. He was so cute when he tried to intervene with me and my aunt.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic, Stella,” I said.

“Yes, she does.”

I turned to look at Jax. My darling friend Jax. And I realized I was just too caught up in the challenge to think straight. Imagine me finding a match for Jaxson. HA! Laughable. Jaxson and I made an unspoken pact a long time ago. Single pringles never to mingle.

“I’m just kidding,” I said, patting his chest. “I know you’ll never get married. You’re too much like me.”

“Shall we make it interesting?” chirped Stella. “Let’s see if you can find a nut as hard to crack as Will Darcy.”

“A tenner to the winner?” I said, reaching for my handbag. “I think I have a Hamilton in here somewhere.”

“Are you two mad?” cried Jax. “A person’s love life is not a game.”

We snapped our heads to him in unison, regarding the serious frown on his features and burst into peals of uproarious laughter. We laughed and laughed, every so often attempting to stop but then one of us cracked up all over again. Poor Jax. He’d never understand us.

“We’ll place our wagers in here,” said Stella after the giggling wavered, pulling a dusty jar from a shelf. “Every setback, you add money to the jar. Every victory, I’ll add to the pot.”

I could practically hear Jaxson’s eyes roll behind my back. I decided I’d buy him a nice present with my winnings and tossed the first ten-dollar bill in the vase.

“Game on.”

3

Dog People

Jaxson

The Field of Hearts script and piles of sheet music fanned across my bed. I yawned, pushing myself to get through the edits before sleep overtook me. There was so much work. But then why did I answer the phone when it buzzed on my nightstand? Oh, yes. Because it was Emma calling.

“Morris Tomlinson and Elton Wardlow.” Emma’s voice reached my ear in a haze. “I’ll make it a two-fer,” she continued cheerfully.

I pulled the phone away from my ear to check the time. “It’s one in the morning.”

“Don’t tell me you’re asleep already,” she said. “We just got off the phone.”

I sighed, knowing she had very little concept of time when she had her mind set on something.

“That was three hours ago.”

“Oh.” No doubt she was shrugging. “Do you want me to let you go?”

Never.

“Of course not,” I replied. “What do you need?”

“Morris Tomlinson and Elton Wardlow.”

“What for?”

“They’re the most eligible bachelors in showbiz, and I’m going to find them soul mates.”

I sighed deep and long, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.

“My dear, Morris Tomlinson married his high school sweetheart years ago. Didn’t you google this?”

“Why do I need google when I have you?” she asked. The endearing thing was that she wasn’t trying to be funny or even lazy. She honestly preferred to talk to me rather than go on the internet. I couldn’t begrudge her for that. I kinda liked it.

“Does this have something to do with that asinine challenge with Stella?”

She remained quiet.

“Emma? Are you there?”

“Do you know why the philanthropic work I do is so important?” she asked.

It was too early in the morning for my brain to follow her—how shall I put it—singular way of thinking. Philanthropic? Really?

“Enlighten me.”

“People are lonely.”

“I don’t think Elton Wardlow is lonely,” I said.

It was her turn to sigh. I was a reluctant student to her odd philosophy class and right now, I was in danger of failing. She presented the lecture before me as she had done before. With slow syllables.

“A single man in possession of a good fortune—”

“Should buy more flashy cars?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t have to watch chick flicks?”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” I said. “You’re a philanthropist.”

“And you’re not helping.”

At this point, I was never getting to sleep. I sat upright, fluffing my pillows against my headboard. This could take awhile.

“What were we talking about before we hung up earlier?”

She thought for a second. “Puppies.”

That’s right. Dog breeds. We were filling a hypothetical house with hypothetical dogs. She said she’d like yorkies. I teased she was quintessentially English.

“Can’t we go back to that conversation?” I pleaded. “I vote for Siberian huskies.”

I loved our late-night phone conversations. Sometimes we’d talk until we fell asleep, and I’d wake up with drool on my phone. We’d usually talk about nothing significant. Food, music, which celebrities we’d cast in the