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

Except me. Because that’s exactly what he’d done. Unless all those tender moments and stolen kisses were part of my overactive imagination. He never did declare anything to me. I should have taken him at his word. It was a goodbye kiss. Because he was in love with Harriet.

A new realization darted through me with the speed of an arrow. I then realized I didn’t want Jaxson to be in love with anyone… unless that someone was me.

I left Harriet’s completely and utterly despondent. And although the rain had subsided, it was thunderstorm city all over my tear-streaked face. I didn’t just love Jaxson as the friends we’d been all those years. I was in love with him purely and deeply. My love for him ripped my heart into shreds. And now it was too late.

30

Lessons From Uncle Hershel

Emma

I got in the habit of taking long walks along the beach in the several days that followed Jaxson’s departure. That’s what one does in such cases as these. I was like one of those sappy commercials for dejected females.

How quickly the tables had turned. And to think it was all my doing. I had to be the absolute worst matchmaker in the history of matchmakers. How could I be so blind to the truth? Now it all made sense. Jaxson’s odd behaviour over the past few weeks, how he’d grown distant, calling me less, scolding me more. How he told me he wasn’t going to the Oscars just so he could invite Harriet. And that night on the beach. The coldness in his expression when he turned from me to take a walk in the dark with Harriet. He was probably holding her hand as they searched for Grunions, tracing circles over her wrist like he used to with me. What sorts of things did they talk about? How long did he hold her gaze with his beautiful olive eyes? The tenderness in his smile. The more I let the scenarios pass through my mind, the more lethargic I grew. I just wanted to sleep forever. At one point, Rosario flipped me off my bed by the sheets. Caramel corn and pretzels flew all over the floor. She shut off the telly right in the middle of The Notebook and ordered me to get some fresh air. Or in her words, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, floja tragona. I need to vacuum.”

I took long walks along the beach like a cliché in a Hallmark movie. I got some work done, too. I went through the pile of scripts my agent sent me and narrowed them down to the most promising few. Then I cried because Jaxson always helped me pick the best screenplays.

When I was particularly in the mood to punish myself, I devoured some of the books Jaxson had previously read to me over the phone then brought back for my collection. In a moment of weakness, I took advantage of the key Jaxson gave me and drove to his house to retrieve my copy of Jane Eyre—even though I passed a Barnes and Noble and two libraries along the way. I justified the drive by telling myself only that copy had the bookmark where we’d left off in the story. Jax was a bookmark kind of guy. I found the book on his nightstand, and I may or may not have taken a nap on top of his soft comforter. It smelled like him, all citrusy and manly.

That night, I curled up on my sofa and immersed myself in the sad, sad tale as only Charlotte Brontë could write. I wound up starting over from the beginning, recalling how Jaxson whispered the story to me as I drifted off to dreamland. Would he read to Harriet from now on? Would she doze off to the lulling and dulcet tones of Jaxson’s sugary voice? And to think Jax would have never thought twice about Harriet had I not pushed her into our circle. How I wished time travel were possible so I could go back to fix this whole mess. Perhaps Harriet would be going out with that Martinez guy had I not interfered. After all, she was more suited for a chap like him. Not Jax. She wouldn’t have even raised her thoughts to Jaxson had I not encouraged it. She went from sweet humility to extreme vanity, and it was all my fault. I created a monster.

Ugh! Jax and Harriet? What a cringe fest. How awkward. And now everything would change.

I fell asleep on my sofa reading Jane Eyre. Even the memory of his reading made me sleepy. The doorbell woke me up sometime after nightfall. I quickened at the idea it might be Jaxson. Of course, that was a silly notion brought on by my drowsy state. He was still in Australia.

The crease from the sofa pillow must have marked my face. Also, I knew my hair was in a questionable disaster. When I opened the front door, Stella’s scowl was all the mirror I needed.

“You look terrible,” she said, walking in with a paper bag.

“Uh… thanks?”

She strolled into my living room and spun around to take in the empty carton of ice cream and discarded tissues on the floor.

“Rosario wasn’t kidding.” Stella whistled as she surveyed the room.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think I’m here? Rosario was concerned. She called me. Keep up, dear.”

“How did Rosario get your number?”

“Never mind that, poppet. You’ve got something sticky on your hair.”

I dragged my palm over my head. Yup. Dried up ice cream. How did I miss that bit? What a waste of perfectly good Chunky Monkey.

Stella sat on the chair next to the sofa and kicked some crumpled tissue with the toe of her designer shoe.

“I have something for you, love.” She reached into the paper bag and removed a jar full of cash, post-it notes, and sushi receipts. The wager money. Gloat much? She could have waited to rub my failure in