Mister Romance by Amelia Simone (the reading list .txt) 📕

“Wasn’t it Christmas three years ago?” I asked.

Mom’s eyes brightened. “Yes. That was a great visit. I bet the kids have gotten so big since we last saw them in person. Video chatting isn’t the same.”

I nodded and conversation moved on to the things they’d seen and done in Colorado. We were wrapping up our chat when something acrid made my nose twitch. Oops. I never set that timer after all. I quickly ended the call with my folks and opened the oven. The rush of smoke wasn’t as bad as I feared, but my meal was no longer Pinterest-ready.

Virginia’s enchiladas had a beautiful brown crust of cheese on top, delightfully bubbly. Mine was more ... blackened. After scraping the worst of it off, the enchiladas themselves would probably taste fine. I sighed. So far, cooking was a bust. I took a photo of my finished result.

I dished up a couple of enchiladas on a plate, then peeled off the burned cheese and smothered them with more sour cream. I took a bite and let the burst of flavors roll around on my tongue. Spicy chorizo, the fresh tang of peppers, a little creaminess from the sour cream. Aside from the missing cheese, still delicious.

The conversation with my parents had left me feeling more lonely than ever, the impending wedding hanging over my head. After dinner I posted my fail in response to Virginia’s original post. Proving, at least to myself, that I was changing. Growing braver.

@VirginiaRothman I tried, but I might need lessons. Not quite picture-perfect like yours.

She must have been online, because it was only a few minutes later that she’d liked my picture and responded privately.

@TamraRN cooking is like life, you learn only when you make mistakes.

@VirginiaRothman I’ve learned that I need to remember to set my timer!

@TamraRN and I’ve learned that the secret to a good social media meal picture is sometimes remaking the meal. Not saying I’ve done it ... more than a few times. ;)

@VirginiaRothman now you tell me! I guess I’ll worry more about progress than perfection.

@TamraRN there’s truth there. I’ve been working on my kitchen skills a long time!

@VirginiaRothman maybe you should give lessons. I need them.

@TamraRN I guess it’s a second career idea if this whole writing thing doesn’t work out.

@VirginiaRothman no! Not what I meant. I love your writing. I need all the words. Back away from the kitchen!

@TamraRN never fear; you couldn’t keep me from the words if you tried. I’m compulsive at this point.

@VirginiaRothman glad to hear it.

@TamraRN hear, yes? Smell, not so much. I tend to forget things like sleeping and showering when writing is involved.

@VirginiaRothman so I should lower my expectations for sartorial elegance if we meet in person?

@TamraRN LOL definitely. Pretty sure the phrase sartorial elegance has never been used in my presence.

I smiled and tried to picture Virginia in my head. I had stalked, er, checked her Twitter account and website but both provided scant details and no photographs. Her avatar was her brand logo, and the blue butterfly didn’t tell me much. Virginia’s first contemporary romance featured a science teacher and a single mom who’d kissed for the first time in a butterfly garden. Based on how long I’d been reading her romance novels, I pictured an older woman who liked butterflies and gardening. She’d probably had her share of kitchen fails in the days before the internet.

Virginia was still waiting on my responses to her research questions. I reviewed my draft one more time. It was as good as it was going to get. Writing to any level of depth in an email was not my thing. Noting vitals in patients’ charts was usually my limit. Based on our chatting, Virginia seemed down-to-earth, and it gave me confidence that she’d overlook any embarrassing oversharing. With a final deep breath, I hit the send button.

Chapter 9 - Chase

Sunday, I rolled out of bed and gave the clock a bleary-eyed glare. I’d stayed up later than normal plotting my next story about a nurse and bartender. I still needed insight from Tamra to put the finer details in the outline, but I had too many ideas percolating and demanding I get them down on paper. As a result, I’d been up to nearly five o’clock in the morning, and it was now after ten.

I hitched my sleep shorts up on my hips and scratched my chest with a yawn. I strolled into the bathroom and turned the shower up as hot as it’d go, hoping that the steaming water would get my blood flowing.

Meeting Jimmy for a workout later needed to happen. I’d been slacking lately and skipping our regular workout days, and it was starting to show. Jimmy’s gym was intimidating; there were a lot of cops and firefighters who made that location their own. Some struggled to turn off the job and put out an intense vibe even when they were off the clock. Others worked out like their life depended on it, because it might. The ambient testosterone was strong enough to make your eyes sting. Even most of the female lifters at the gym were officers or firefighters, and I studiously avoided eye contact with them. By comparison, I was a lightweight. The women were clearly alpha to me, and I had no desire to challenge that.

Last month I had accidentally started a conversation with one of Jimmy’s female colleagues on the police force, and it had not ended well. I was pretty sure she ran a background check on me after our conversation, to make sure I was only misguided and not an actual threat to our fair city. Our interaction had started off innocent enough, when she asked me to spot her after Jimmy and I finished our set on the bench press.

She’d asked how I knew Jimmy, and I admitted that we’d known each other since we were kids. “Jimmy and I go way back. I used to spend all