The clock ticked over to a minute past ten, and Maybelle sighed, tapping her nails on her teeth as the front door remained closed. Will’s shop usually closed up at nine, and he would occasionally visit, strolling in smelling of garlic and cheese an hour or so later. Maybelle was itching for some company, and Momma was halfway across the state.
“Suppose it’s just you and me again, baby,” she sighed, running her hand over the top of her laptop before propping it open on her lap. She’d been on every dating site on this side of the Mississippi, including Belles for Beaus, which turned out to be more like a role playing match up than true love. One message from an interested party and she quickly x-ed out of that place.
There were a few seemingly successful sites, but her profile wasn’t very popular. She’d taken a great angled selfie, and perhaps that was a bad idea. During the few meet-ups she’d had the disappointment in those men’s eyes when they saw that she was a bit fluffier in the middle than advertised was so obvious she’d spent the entire date telling herself to suck in and not cry.
She tapped on her bookmarked profile in Cupid’s Victims and edited her picture. She loved that photo, but it wasn’t doing her any favors. There was a full body photo from Verity Taylor’s wedding that was accurate and still flattering. If she heard the sentence, “You look different from your profile” one more time, it would be one more too many. Like the men she’d met were exactly what they claimed to look like.
A click floated through the room, and her eyes shot to the front door, but after a few silent seconds, she supposed it was just another creak from the old house she shared with her Momma and her brother. Her dream of living in a three bedroom, two bathroom home with messy children and a husband who ate her burnt casseroles was fading in the distance, becoming less tangible with each passing year she remained single with absolutely no prospects.
“Good for you, hun,” she heard in her ears. The words rattled around her head, and she clenched her jaw. “Good for me,” she huffed. “You know what would be good? If I could walk down the street without all those judgy looks.”
Her finger slammed down on the mousepad, clacking on an advertisement pop-up she hadn’t meant to hit.
Looking for Love? A Success Story Every Week!
A snort got caught in her throat. She’d seen every ploy known to man on these so-called success sites. If there were successes, they weren’t happening to her.
The page took a while to load on her very slow connection, the site full of images that Maybelle wasn’t familiar with seeing on a dating site. Her brow furrowed and she flicked her gaze to the corner link that read Book your stay.
Oh, was this a vacation resort site? Great, the dating sites were now coordinating with hotels so hookups instead of matchups will be made.
The logo finally loaded. Frostville Mansions. She tilted her head at the extravagant castle-like place, clicking to take the virtual tour, even though her internet lag would try her patience. It was like taking a tour of a modern mansion with a nineteen-twenties twist. There was a pool inside, a pool outside on a terrace, a pool in the back surrounded by a maze of a garden… The kitchen alone would have Will fainting on the spot. The ballroom looked like one out of a Disney princess film, and the suites were the size of her entire house. If it weren’t a destination spot for couples, Maybelle would’ve booked simply for that Jacuzzi tub.
Her heart sunk into the pit of her stomach, and she sniffed. The nerve of that Parker, of him toying around with her like that. She refused to believe she’d read things wrong, and when Will stepped through that door, she’d ask him to confirm it.
It was easier—to be angry at Parker. Embarrassment rubbed her raw, which is why she rarely let herself feel it. But she couldn’t help the thoughts floating into her mind that while she was flirting, he was only being friendly. Did he laugh at her messages, poke fun at her small touches to his arms, gossip about the way she’d lean in while he spoke or how she’d compliment his humor, his physique…
She shook her head, her hand clutching her belly. No, it wasn’t her. She’d only followed his signals. He’d led her to believe she had a chance, even though it seemed ridiculous that a man of his stature and reputation would ever want anything to do with the likes of her.
“Gar!” she growled at the ceiling. Where was Will? He would keep her away from her own head.
She clicked out of the tour of the Frostville mansion and set her mouse over the X in the corner, stopping when she saw a testimonial flash onto the screen.
“Cupid got me good! Not two minutes into my stay and I locked eyes with my future husband. Frostville mansion did what no other dating site could do in thirty years: find my true soulmate! —Real life guest, Anna.”
“What in the blazing…?” she whispered, scrolling down to find more testimonials. After reading much of the same, Maybelle opened a new tab and typed WHAT IS FROSTVILLE MANSIONS? in the search. A slew of articles popped up, along with some forums on the subject.
She clicked on the one titled Haunted by Cupid? Frostville Mansion owner Winter Garland confirms the rumor.
Her heart thrummed in her chest, her eyes skating back and forth through the article. The place wasn’t for couples—it was for singles! Amenities included meals, activities, access to nearly all levels of the mansion, and lots of opportunity for mingling. A match had been made once a week since it opened. “‘Cupid seems to be alive and well in this place,’ Winter said with a laugh, ‘but we call him Eros.’”
The clock on the wall ticked over another passing minute, and Maybelle felt the urge to rush, to book this place before any more time was wasted. She tabbed back to her search, read the forum, a smile pushing on her face as she read nothing but positive amazement from visitors; even those who didn’t find a match ended up enjoying their stay immensely, the “spirit of Eros” making them better versions of themselves.
She clicked onto the main page and hit the booking link. “Please be available soon,” she prayed. “Let there be a room within the next week or two.” She needed out of this town, this place where she was gazed upon with sympathetic looks, where she took herself to dinner and was seen as some sort of hero for doing so.
A green availability flag appeared for two weeks from Sunday. Her fingers tripped over the keys in her haste to book it.
“Oh…” She deflated, pausing at the price and furrowing her brow. The week was seventy-five more a night than normal pricing and required the guest to stay from Monday through Saturday. On further research, Maybelle discovered it was the murder mystery theater week.
“Well, that could be fun,” she said, brightening. It was a bit steep for her savings, and Will would no doubt give her lip about it. Momma, however, would tell her to go for it, to get out of here, to have fun and take a chance. She decided to listen to her Momma this time—and prayed she wasn’t wrong about what Momma would really say.
The only room available was a two bedroom suite that was much too big, but she didn’t really have a choice. She bit her lip as she put in her information. Two bedrooms… maybe she could persuade Will to tag along. He’d never set foot outta Alabama and was perfectly content with that decision, but the thought of going on her first big adventure alone teased her stomach into a knot. It wasn’t so much the stay or the new surroundings, both of which sounded heavenly, as much as it was that if there was the chance she didn’t get shot by cupid’s arrow, she didn’t want to be left with only herself for consolation.
Oh, she would never admit that to Will. She liked putting on the independent and strong woman persona for her brother so he didn’t worry so much about her. She’d have to come up with some other reason for wanting him to go with her.
She nodded once. Yes, she’d get him to come along, even if he would be grumbling the entire time. That would no doubt be better than being alone.
“I’m tired of being alone,” she whispered, only half realizing she was saying it out loud.
She checked her email for the confirmation and shut her laptop with a smile. This was it—this was the moment she’d felt earlier. Something was going to change. She just knew it in her bones.
The front door clicked open and a garlic-smelling Will stepped in, his beard in desperate need of a trim.
His eyes met hers, and he stopped dead in the doorway. “Oh no,” he said, shaking his head at her grin. “What do you want?”