Chapter 7

Amelia

On Monday evening, I sink into the high-back booth at Sip, our other favorite hangout. Isla and Stella are already here, armed with colorful cocktails that promise to dull the edges of a long day. The happy hour special beckons like a siren call, and I motion for the bartender to bring one my way.

"Today was…a disaster," I confess as soon as the words can find space between my lips. "Adam Bishop practically gave away our services in a pitch to a large law firm. It's like we're screaming desperation."

Stella reaches over, squeezing my hand while Isla shakes her head. "That bad, huh?"

"Feels like I'm balancing on the edge of a knife," I tell them. "If things don't turn around and we lose Mercy Hospital, the whole firm will shut down."

"Adam's screw-up is on him, Amelia," Stella says firmly. "He's the one who let the other clients go and put all the eggs in Mercy's basket. You're the best they've got. And you always know, if you need work, I have plenty of clients looking for good temps while you find a new position."

"Right," Isla chimes in, her voice bright. "They'd be fools to let you go."

I manage a half-smile, grateful for their support, but worry gnaws at me as my drink thankfully arrives. I was happy at Creative Seed for so long. It's like this current mess snuck up when I wasn't even looking. I can't get my mind around having to start over somewhere else.

"Okay, enough about work. Let's talk about disasters of the heart." Isla shifts gears.

"Disasters?" I quirk an eyebrow. "Do share."

"Get this," Isla begins, waving her straw like a conductor's baton. "This guy I met on Swipe Right wants to take me sailing for our first date."

"Sounds charming," Stella muses with a smirk.

"Charming or the perfect setup for a murder mystery," I interject, only half-joking. "What if he's a creep? You're literally adrift with the guy."

"Exactly!" Isla points at me, her earrings swaying with the force of her movement. "It could be the most romantic thing ever or a scene straight out of a thriller."

"You're not a strong-enough swimmer if you needed to exit quickly. Stick to coffee dates on land," I advise, taking a sip of my drink. "At least until you know he won't throw you overboard."

"Romance these days." Stella sighs, leaning back against the leather seat. "It's navigating through a sea of potential horror stories."

"Or just navigating," Isla adds with a laugh. "Let's hope he's more Prince Charming than Captain Hook."

We raise our glasses, a silent toast to surviving the modern dating scene, each of us silently hoping for smoother waters ahead.

The neon glow of Sip's happy hour sign flickers, casting a dance of blues and reds over our table. I nurse my drink, trying not to add a hangover to my list of challenges to face tomorrow.

"Men," Stella scoffs with a wry grin as she fishes an olive from her martini. "They're hunting for one thing and one thing only." Her voice dips into mock sultriness, causing Isla to snort into her mojito.

I lean in. "And what might that be?"

"Sex," Stella deadpans, rolling her eyes dramatically. "But who needs them when you've got Dirty Jeffery?"

"Dirty Jeffery?" Isla's brows knit in confusion.

"Or DJ for short," Stella confirms with a nod. "You know, my selfie stick, Buzz Lightyear, Mr. V."

Isla still isn't getting it.

"My vibrator," Stella cries, and the tables around us stare.

My laughter erupts, loud and unabashed. Theirs joins it to ricochet off the walls, joining the cacophony of noises that fill the bar. My belly aches after a moment, and I can almost forget the sting of today's work fiasco.

"Speaking of disasters," Isla says, wiping a tear from her eye, "Amelia, you definitely win the award tonight."

"An award?" I clasp my hands together.

"Yup, the Biggest Loser in Love award," Stella chimes in, plucking a sugar-substitute packet from the condiment holder and sliding it across the table to me with a flourish.

"Congratulations." Isla giggles, lifting her glass in salute.

"Ouch." I feign a hurt expression, but a smirk tugs at my lips. "Thank you, I guess?"

"Come on," Stella urges, her eyes glinting. "Tell us more about your knight on a two-wheeler who left you in the dust."

"Jason," I grumble. With a theatrical sigh, I recount the tale, the memory of abandonment still fresh. "He rode off into the sunset without me, literally, on his bike. And he had the nerve to delete me from his contact list while I was in the emergency department. He dumped me before I could dump him!"

"Scandalous!" Isla exclaims.

"Truly," I reply. "But wait until you hear about Kent."

"Kent?" Stella leans forward.

"Remember the grocery store incident the week before last?" My cheeks flush. "I got kicked out of line because some guy was too busy sexting to hear me excuse myself for a moment?"

"Right, the sexting!" Isla bursts out laughing. "Classic."

"Turns out, he's not just any guy." Heat rises in my cheeks, but this time, it's not embarrassment fueling it. "He's…different."

"Spill," Stella demands, her eyes dancing.

"Let's just say…" I begin, pausing for effect. "He was my doctor in the ED, and he took me out to dinner after, which concluded with a very steamy kiss."

"What?" Stella snorts. "Sexting and kissing? A modern-day Renaissance man."

"Exactly," I agree, the corners of my mouth quirking up. "He did say the photo I saw was an unsolicited Swipe Right message, and that he felt ridiculous for having the app open in the grocery store." The thought of Kent sends a flutter through my chest, an unexpected thrill at the memory of his stumbling charm.

"Sounds like a keeper," Isla teases.

"I don't know about that," I retort, though a part of me certainly wouldn't mind spending some time with him.

"Wait!" Stella nearly shouts. Isla and I jump. "Kent is a doctor at Mercy Hospital."

I nod. "That's where you dropped me off and where I met him."

"Exactly." Stella fiddles with her cocktail straw, eyes wide. "Mercy Hospital, as in, your biggest client."

I tilt my head, not sure what's she's getting at.

"The hospital that's trying to fire your company."

I nod, feeling a knot tightening in my stomach. "Exactly that one. But Kent's not in marketing. He's in the ED. It's got nothing to do with him."

Stella seems lost in thought for a moment. "But doesn't that make it…complicated? Like, ethically?"

I take a slow sip of my drink, the cool liquid doing little to quell the heat rising within me. The thought had crossed my mind. Starting anything with Kent could be like playing with fire. And yet…

"Stella, come on," Isla says. "This is Vancouver we're talking about. How many employees does the hospital have? Thousands? And he's not in marketing. I say you're in the clear."

"That's true," Stella agrees after a moment. "And let's be real. We could all use a little more excitement in our lives."

I let out a laugh. They have a point. Maybe I'm overthinking this. Then again, when do I not?

"Anyway," Isla says, leaning back in her chair, "tell us about him. He must be quite the character if he managed to get you to go to dinner after he got you kicked out of the grocery store."

My cheeks flush at the memory. "Well, he's British, for starters. And that accent…" I trail off, the sound of it echoing in my mind like a melody. "It's to die for. And he looks like he could double for Superman."

"Ooh, British and brawny?" Stella says playfully. "We need to see him in a cape, stat!"

Laughter erupts from my throat, as I—again—picture Kent in a Superman costume. The image sends a delightful shiver down my spine. "Trust me," I say, pushing aside the vision of a caped hero, "he's something else." I fan the heat rising to my face.

They don't press for more because they know me well and probably realize I'll talk myself out of any possibility with him if we keep on too long. We move to lighter topics, but Kent lingers in my thoughts, a tantalizing question mark at the end of the sentence.

I'm not looking for Mr. Right or even Mr. Right Now. But a steady guy to go out with and tangle in the sheets with would be a welcome change from being home alone.

As we settle our tab and exit Sip, the question remains in my mind. The streetlamps cast long shadows on the sidewalk, and I pull my coat tighter against the evening chill. Is this a good idea since he's at the hospital? Maybe not. Is Kent a playboy? Likely he is. He had boobs on his phone in the grocery store. But what harm is there in playing the game if I know the rules? I'm not looking to settle down.

With each step toward my apartment, I reason with myself. Things at work are teetering on the edge of uncertainty, and Mom is another giant question mark, as always. I deserve some fun, don't I? A distraction from the spreadsheets, the pitches, the endless cycle of bad news.

I imagine Kent's chiseled jaw, that accent that could melt butter, and decide right there on the rain-dampened pavement—he'll be my escape. Nothing serious, nothing lasting. Just two adults enjoying whatever this fling has to offer.

By the time I reach my doorstep, the decision feels like freedom. Kent could be a chapter in my story, maybe not a pivotal one, but definitely entertaining. And for now, a little light reading is exactly what I need.