Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

“Really? Because I kind of like someone, but part of me wonders if he’s too good for me.”

“Honey, don’t you even go there. You are gorgeous and funny and generous. Any guy would be lucky to go out with you.”

“Thank you, Emma. I don’t know what I’d do without your advice. Sunday night was so magical, I can’t even describe—”

“Advice? No can do. I have given you too much horrible advice in the past. I don’t want to mess this up too.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Nevertheless. I have seen the error of my ways and have retired from matchmaking for all eternity.”

“Oh… okay.”

“To prove to you I won’t interfere or try to influence you at all, let’s agree to not even say this guy’s name.” Even though I knew she was totally talking about Frank. Eeep! What an adorable couple they’d make. “As your friend, I completely support you and love you no matter what.”

She squeezed back my hand before turning her attention back to her lunch. As I watched her spread whipped butter all over a breadstick, I couldn’t help but wonder at her remarkable ability to compartmentalise. The questionably unsanitary objects on the table didn’t prevent her from enjoying her meal. It led me to wonder if she was perhaps too cavalier about jumping from one love interest to another. It was a mystery to me how Harriet could possibly be in love with three men in the course of a month. Therefore, I thought it best to offer her a word of caution.

“So, I know I promised I wouldn’t give you any advice, and I won’t… specifically. Think of this as general womanly wisdom.”

Harriet brightened and seemed perfectly at ease as she shovelled a forkful of greens in her mouth.

“I’m all for that,” she replied while chewing. “Does this have to do with…” She lowered her voice an octave. “…you know what? Because I’m extremely groomed, if you know what I mean.”

“What? No! Goodness, no.”

On that subject, I was certain she had more experience than I—even if she had absolutely no experience at all.

“What I want to say,” I continued, clearing my throat. “Has to do with guarding your heart.”

“Guarding my heart?”

“Yes. Be careful not to let your feelings get carried away.”

“Check myself before I wreck myself. Because it’s bad for my health. Got it.”

“Make him chase you. Pay attention to how he treats you. If he likes you, he’ll let you know.”

“Check, check, and check. I promise I won’t make the same mistake as before. I’m a new woman.”

“Indeed, you are.”

To what extent she was listening to me remained to be known. We ended our lunch date with a stroll along the pier, not far from the bistro. There, Harriet cast off her precious mementos and let go of her attachment to Elton. She didn’t hesitate a moment, tossing the pencil, the tissue, and the Band Aid right into the ocean without a thought about the poor fishies and sea turtles. We’d have to have a talk about our environmental responsibility another time.

As she watched the wind carry the objects into the waves, she inhaled new life into her lungs. It was as though she’d unloaded the burden of a thousand pounds. Her eyes sparkled as she watched the hurt disappear.

“Goodbye, Elton Wardlow,” she said on an exhale.

And I couldn’t help but silently add… Hello, Frank Churchill.

26

S’more Bad Jokes

Jaxson

Emma, distracted from the pings on her mobile, took a few moments to check her notifications and then got sucked in. Her windswept hair blew across her face from the wild sea breeze. I shook my head and laughed it off as I unloaded chairs and tables from the bed of my Ute, just happy she was there to help me set up for the bonfire. Oblivious to the flecks of sand in the salty air, she stuck out her tongue, pretending to barf at her phone. “Bleh. Elton’s Instagram grid is littered with disgusting kissy pics. What kind of name is Agnette, anyway?”

I wanted to point out there was nothing inherently wrong with the name Agnette, but since it belonged to Elton’s new girlfriend, I’d let Emma gripe all she wanted.

“I met her the other day, you know,” I said. “And she’s a ding dong.”

Emma returned to unpacking the grocery bag on the folding table and tore into a bag of marshmallows.

“Serves him right,” she said with her mouth full. “Elton got what he deserved, I say.”

“You can always unfollow him, you know,” I offered logically.

“Yes, but then what would I have to complain about?”

“You’re never in short supply, my dear.”

“Har har. Why do you think I keep you around, birthday boy?”

I threw a saucy grin her way. “To be the voice of reason.”

“Like Jiminy Cricket?”

“Exactly. I can already see you’re sprouting a donkey tail back there. Let me just check.” I snatched the first object I could find to give her a good smack on the rump, but she evaded my swat.

“Watch it,” she cried through a flutter of giggles. “That’s for the marshmallows.” She stole the roasting stick from my grasp and wagged her finger at me, returning to the task of setting up the impressive s’mores bar inspired by Pinterest.

This year, instead of a private dinner or late-night editing alone as I’d done the last few birthdays, I decided to invite the Field of Hearts team for a bonfire on the beach. Playa del Rey had plenty of open fire pits this time of year, and I thought it would be a good bonding exercise for everyone, especially after the setback in our schedule. I’d gotten there early to stake out a fire pit and lug the wood and supplies from my Ute, not expecting any help. But as I hauled the last load, there was Emma, waddling across the sand with two huge bags. She brought tiered dessert trays, galvanized buckets, strawberries, bananas, every type of chocolate bar imaginable, an assortment