Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection (Stark World 2.50)

When I'd finished flipping through the book for inspiration and had jotted down the author's name and the title for reference, I returned the large volume to its shelf. I snagged one last glimpse of the couple, huddled in an aisle between two long stacks, before I walked out the door and into the spring night.

I thought that would be the end of it. After all, I lived in the heart of the city--an enormous, frenetic place. Any chance of running into Hunk and Cherry again in downtown Chicago would be unlikely at best.

The problem, though, was that I couldn't seem to forget them.

They haunted me like an unsolved mystery. Like a mental puzzle my brain had to unravel. I found myself wondering what was going to happen to them next. Were they falling deeper in love and on to a greater commitment? Or, was that day the pinnacle in their short relationship and had things already begun to break apart?

Over the next several weeks, whenever I would pass by Between the Pages, I would stop in, head to the second floor, and meander down the aisles in partial search for one or both of them. Not intending to speak to either of them, of course, even if our paths should meet. No. I just wanted to observe and try to determine what had transpired in their romantic saga. Like Days of Our Lives, only in 3-D. But I never encountered them on those visits.

Clearly, the days of my life were lacking in excitement.

I'd been working diligently as a part-time magazine freelancer, a part-time closet novelist, and a full-time neurotic for over four years. I was long convinced my chance of breaking into big-market fiction was minuscule, but I devoured how-to books on writing a bestseller and drank gallons of coffee while composing my first full-length novel, with cursory notes for a sequel.

I primarily paid the bills, however, by writing regularly for about seven different publications of varying status, exclusively nonfiction. It was a dry existence--research, write, edit, send--with very little whimsical fiction to entertain me on those nights when I lamented my lack of both fame and any kind of love life. I did have a few short stories published in obscure literary journals, but it had been months since I'd had the time or the energy to attempt writing another.

Suddenly, though, I was inspired to draft something totally different. Something light and ... romantic. Pen, paper, and my own life intersected. Reality and fantasy converged on the page and within my mind.

The bookstore couple began to join me as I researched articles online or took the commuter train to conduct interviews in the suburbs.

They worked out alongside of me at the tiny gym in my apartment complex's basement.

They laughed and cried with me while watching the latest soap-opera intrigues.

They even ate next to me on my solitary park bench and returned with me throughout that May to my ant-infested studio apartment.

Before long, I knew everything about them.

Well, I imagined I knew, which--to a writer--was essentially the same thing.

Turned out, Hunk and Cherry had first met about six months before at a company basketball game. They were each cheering on players from the public defender's office where the guy (I named him "Neil") worked. He'd graduated from law school determined to be one of those good-guy underdogs. A man who toiled for humanity in a largely pro bono way, seeking justice for all. He'd been laboring as an underling at the office for nearly a year after finishing law school out East. He was from there--Ipswich, Massachusetts, specifically--and his family had made their money in banking and stock trade. He felt he was finally able to share his own good fortune by helping others.

Cherry (aka "Jessica"), well, she came from money, too, but it was of the alimony/trust-fund variety. Her mom had a habit of marrying wealthy older men and divorcing them before they could say "prenuptial agreement." It was a fifty-fifty asset split out in California, Jessica's home state, and her mom was on her fourth property acquisition there. No wonder the poor girl was so insecure. So weirdly possessive.

Jessica worked in sales at a cosmetic company, which was why her makeup always had to be perfect. Her best friend and colleague, Anita, was married to a guy named Bryan, another lawyer at Neil's office and a six-foot two guard on their firm's pickup basketball team. After several months of casually meeting up at various sporting and social functions, Neil heard through Bryan--who got the word via Anita--that Jessica had a crush on him. Neil, to be nice (and since she wasn't actually horrible looking), asked Jessica out. She, of course, nearly pole-vaulted at the invitation.

On their first date, Neil took her to dinner at an upscale Szechuan restaurant and then out to see a romantic comedy. He liked her, and Jessica worked hard to maintain appearances. A startlingly domineering streak and more than a hint of jealousy would find its way into her voice on occasion, but she did her best to minimize that and she scored a second date with him. That one culminated in a long kiss goodnight, which managed to erase--temporarily--the newly forming doubts from Neil's mind.

Then Neil was thrown a curve.

Bryan and Anita, wanting to promote the fledgling relationship, pressed him into service as a host. It started when they invited Neil and Jessica to their house. Even though the event had been billed as casual, the meal was lavish, since Bryan took great delight in the culinary arts. A few years older than Neil and a few levels up in the office hierarchy, Bryan was well versed in the evening's wine selection. He made the crab and scallion appetizer dip and had grilled the filet to tender perfection--even offering a delectable mushroom sauce as an accompaniment.

Anita did her part as well with an impressive seven-layer fiesta salad, sage-seasoned wild rice, and a homemade apricot torte.

Neil was floored by this. He usually microwaved his food or had it delivered.

Protocol, of course, required reciprocation, so he masked his reluctance and invoked a sincere-sounding invitation to the other couple for the following Saturday night.

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Nearly a week passed. Not yet frantic but feelings of worry escalating, Neil raced to change out of his work clothes, asked Jessica to meet him at the local bookstore, and together they spent the first hour of their Friday night in search of helpful information.

This was where I came in. Well, a character very much like me.

Neil bumped into me on purpose, and somewhat more dramatically than in the original scene, but instead of turning away when Jessica said, "You just want to see what she's writing," Neil replied spiritedly, "Yes. Maybe she's got the book we need."

I smiled, the epitome of warmth and graciousness, and said, "Perhaps another book will help you, but would you mind if I offered a suggestion?"

Neil agreed at once. Even Jessica, walking toward me with scorpion-like wariness, appeared politely attentive.