Chapter 1: Fay

“Oh my God!” I said. “Don’t do that kind of thing to me, Courtney! You know I hate it when you do.”

“That’s right.” Courtney grinned at me from the space where she’d suddenly inserted her face in between me and my book. “I do. Which is probably why I do it. You realize that, don’t you?”

I rolled my eyes at her and pushed her head out of the way, gently enough so as not to hurt her but hard enough so that she knew I meant business. Or at least, hopefully she knew I meant business. Courtney Paige and I had been best friends for literally as long as I could remember. Such a long-lasting friendship was mostly a good thing, but it also had the unfortunate effect of giving her the ability to see right through me. She knew when I was actually angry and when I was just kind of annoyed, like right now.

Courtney knew I was just mildly annoyed, not actually pissed off at her. She allowed herself to be physically moved, but she showed no signs of actually leaving me in peace so that I could continue reading my book without interruption.

That was really too bad because I had a feeling the story was starting to get to a really good part, where the hero would finally tell the girl he’d been pining after how totally in love he was with her, and had been for years and years. I was a sucker for that kind of thing.

I probably would have gone right on reading for the rest of the day if I hadn’t been so rudely interrupted. Courtney, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. She had never been much of a fan of reading, and she seemed to have a particular hatred for the romance books I completely loved.

Courtney frowned at me, pretending to be stern. “Um, little lady, you do know that we’re at work, right? I mean, technically, that is?”

“Right,” I said. “What’s your point?”

“Well, I guess my point is that this is a diner, not a library. Do you really think you should just be sitting there at the counter, reading a book like you don’t give a shit who sees you?”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked, laughing. I grabbed a napkin to use as a bookmark before shutting my book. “You’re actually drinking a beer right now. We’re at work, as you so lovingly reminded me, and you’re drinking a beer. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Totally different.” Courtney grinned before taking another long swig off of her longneck bottle. “Not even in the same ballpark.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you figure? I mean, how do you justify that drinking a beer on the job is more professional than reading a book while we wait around for even one customer to come in? I would really love to know.”

“Hmm, beer is part of the food industry? So at least I’m sticking with the correct genre? Sure, let’s go with that. Besides, it’s time for you to stop reading that crap anyway. You’ve got to know that by now, Fay. You aren’t a dreamy little girl anymore. You’re twenty-six years old, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you think it’s time to grow up some?”

And there it was. The thing at the heart of this recurring fight about my voracious reading. It wasn’t the actual reading Courtney had a problem with so much as the subject matter. She made no secret about objecting to my choice of entertainment. She hated romances. She didn’t just dislike them, but hated them. She hated them as if they had somehow managed to personally offend, even though they were only inanimate objects.

They were just stories. Just things I used to pass the time and add a little magic to my life. But to look at the scowl Courtney wore on her face now, you would think I was reading about Hitler.

She hated them like someone would hate the mean girl who bullied them in high school. I had never really been able to understand her hostility toward romance novels, despite her loud explanations for it. Explanations she was going to offer up all over again, by the look of it.

“Fay, you’ve got to stop filling your head with nonsense, okay? I mean, for real. What do you think it’s doing to your brain, filling it with so much crap?”

“But it’s not crap,” I insisted.

“Oh yeah? How do you figure? You aren’t telling me you think those stories are all realistic, are you? Because if that’s the case, we’ve got bigger problems than I thought. Like, ‘call the men in the white coats’ problems.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Of course not. But stories don’t all have to be one hundred percent realistic to be worth reading.”

“But they aren’t worth reading. That’s my point! It’s all crap because life doesn’t work that way.”

The ringing of the little bell over the front door of the diner interrupted the momentum of Courtney’s impending tirade. At least, for the moment. We both looked up, mildly surprised at the intrusion, seeing as how people rarely ate in our little hole in the wall. Courtney took the man a menu and got him started, leaving me to mull over the things she’d been saying to me once again.

She kept trying to dissuade me from continuing my love affair with my romance novels. Over the years, she’d told me how stupid my fascination with these love stories was so many times, I couldn’t possibly have kept track. Not even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. I couldn’t think of a more depressing thing to keep a tally of.

Her basic argument was always the same. What was the point in getting myself all worked up and moony over a concept that didn’t exist it real life? What was the point of getting attached to the idea of happily-ever-afters when I was never going to get one of my own? In short, Courtney thought I was setting myself up for failure, and her constant nagging at me was her way of trying to protect me.

She meant well, and because of that, I never got angry at her about this old argument. It was the reason that I didn’t get angry with her right now. She was trying to look out for me. Her heart was in the right place. After the death of my mother, who’d raised me all by herself, Courtney was the only one who was willing to step up to the challenge.

“See, here’s the thing,” she said in her always just a little bit too loud voice, as if there had never been a break in the conversation. “You’re setting these expectations, Fay. You’re setting these expectations for yourself, and they’re never going to be met. You don’t know what it’s like out there, sweetie. Men aren’t walking Prince Charmings. Not even close. The sooner you get that idea out of your head, the better off you’ll be. And hey? Maybe you’ll finally be able to get rid of the V-card! God knows you need to before you hit thirty. Can you imagine?”

“Courtney!” I hissed. My cheeks flamed up a hot, bright red immediately at her mention of my lingering virginity. “Come on!”

“What?” She laughed, hopping up on the diner’s front lunch counter and swinging her legs nonchalantly. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to listen.”

“Um, aren’t you forgetting about something?” I asked in a whisper, cocking my head in the direction of our one customer.

“What, that guy? He’s not listening. Old guys don’t give a shit about the kind of stuff people like us talk about. Anyway, don’t try to change the subject. The point is, the sooner you get this fairytale idea of love out of your head, the better. We live in Ashville, Alaska, Fay. There aren’t millions of men walking around just waiting to sweep us off our feet. And there aren’t a bunch of things to amuse us everywhere we turn. Smoking, partying, those are the only things here to help pass the time, and they aren’t bad things, either. That’s all I’m saying, lady. The sooner you get rid of this romanticism of yours, the sooner you can come join the land of the living. And I’ll be right there waiting for you when you do, ready to throw you a fucking party!”

Courtney hopped back off the counter and headed to the back, presumably to take inventory or some other equally tedious thing. I smiled and shook my head, opening my book back up in spite of everything Courtney had just said. Almost instantaneously, I was caught up in the drama of the story again. So caught up that I didn’t even notice when our one patron approached the part of the counter I leaned up against. It was only when he cleared his throat bashfully that I looked up with a start, letting out a little gasp of surprise when I did so.

“Oh!”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, his face bashful and as red as mine had been at the mention of my virginity. “I didn’t mean to startle you, miss.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s quite alright. Is there something I can get you?”

“Um, well, no. Not exactly. It’s just that I overheard your conversation with that other one, the one who’s trying to convince you that love is bullshit.”

“Oh, you heard that, did you? I’m sorry about that. I’ll make sure that our silly conversation doesn’t interrupt your meal again.”

“No, it’s not that. I just wanted to tell you something. I wanted to tell you that true love isn’t what she says. It’s real, and it’s out there. Take it from an old man who’s lived through it himself. That’s all.”

I thanked the man profusely. I was strangely touched by both his words and his willingness to go out on a limb and say them to me. I tried to go back to my book, but I found that it was now all but impossible. Whether I wanted them to or not, my thoughts traveled back in time, back to the only boy I’d ever loved. Back to the moment all those years ago when I’d offered my heart up to him, and he’d chosen to walk away instead of taking my simple and all-important gift.