Rules of Engagement by J.T. Geissinger

Author:J.T. Geissinger [Geissinger, J.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: J.T. Geissinger, Inc.
Published: 2020-01-27T16:00:00+00:00

That day comes and goes. I force my temporary insanity over Mason to go with it. Bobby drives me back to the office after lunch. We part on good terms, and I wish him good luck.

When he brings up the marriage idea again, I tell him it’s not going to happen.

He reminds me how much my mother loved him and how much his mother loves me, and I tell him it’s still not going to happen.

Then he gives me another dry peck on the cheek and says he’ll be there for me when I change my mind.

The confidence he has that I won’t be getting any other offers of marriage leaves me feeling like wilted lettuce. I go home and stare at myself in the mirror until I can’t tell if I’m pretty, plain, or as ugly as a donkey’s behind.

It never mattered much to me before. Mainly, I try to look professional. My father used to tell me I was pretty as a peach, but boosting a child’s self-confidence is right up there on the scale of parental responsibilities.

This was also a man who thought fried banana and peanut butter sandwiches were the height of human achievement, so his opinion is obviously suspect.

I know I’m not a beautiful sex bomb like Bettina, but I’m not a garbage can, either.

I also know that most of my clients are what would generally be considered attractive, but not gorgeous. Not even close. They’re somewhere in the middle, like me. Like most people, I suppose.

So if all these nice people of average attractiveness can find love and get married, why does Bobby think he’s my only hope?

The worst thing about it is that he knows me better than almost anyone.

Which means he might be right.

Which is more depressing than all the memories of how I’ve behaved with Mason combined.

“The matchmaker can’t make her own match. That must be awkward for business.”

Over the next few days, Mason’s words come back to haunt me with such irritating frequency, I start to wonder if he had a point.

I’m at my desk late on Friday afternoon, having spent most of the day in meetings with new clients, when Auntie Waldine wanders in, eating a dill pickle. She settles into the chair opposite my desk and smiles.

“How you doin’, child?”

“Peachy keen, thanks for asking.”

Staring at me with an air of contemplation, she crunches on her pickle while I tap on the keyboard, trying to will her away. The woman has to be the world’s loudest eater. She could be snacking on a marshmallow and somehow make it sound like she’s grinding her molars on a mouthful of rocks.

Finally, she says lightly, “Oh, I nearly forgot.”

It sounds like she really means, “I’ve been thinking for days of exactly the right way to say this.” With a sigh, I settle back into my chair and wait.

Smacking her lips, she swallows the last bite of pickle. “Did you see there’s a Harry Potter marathon goin’ on over at the AMC?”

I jolt upright, almost knocking the jar of pens off my desk in the process.

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