Introduction

Prologue

When I was in elementary school I wanted to be Molly Ringwald. Specifically, I wanted to be her character Andie in the movie Pretty in Pink. I adored her! I wanted to make my own clothes, though I’d have picked another color besides pink, probably blue or green. I wanted to work in a music store, have cool friends like Iona and Duckie, and have a gorgeous crush named Blane.

I was mildly disappointed when my life didn’t turn out like Andie’s. I buy most of my clothes from Target or JC Penney, my best friend’s name is Winnie, and I work for a dating service and a local paper. It’s not so bad – I get into certain venues for free or reduced rates and get the best seats at just about any concert I want with my press pass. Said press pass was currently collecting dust on my kitchen counter, so I was relying more heavily on the dating service job at the moment.

Monday morning I had an appointment with a client who was striking out and needed my help. I didn’t see things ending well, so I took my time getting ready. I took an obscenely long shower, bothered with blow drying and flat ironing my hair, did the makeup thing, and put on my practically worn out jeans, a royal purple button down shirt, and my favorite little black shoes that I swear go with everything. I grabbed my purse and keys and locked up my apartment.

I live on the east side of Potter’s Falls, a wannabe suburb of Albany, New York. Potter’s Falls is busy in its own right; urban enough for the country folk in the hill towns but slow enough for the city dwellers. My two-story building on Owens Drive is a five minute jaunt from Bagels and Lox, a new bakery-plus-coffee-shop where I was supposed to meet my client. My name is Loretta Frank and my official title is Relationship Specialist at Love Me Tender, a dating service that prides itself on being as good or better as all those online services you see on television only with more personalized service and we swear you’ll find someone locally or we’ll pay for one month to sign up with any of the bigger companies.

I grew up in Potter’s Falls and remember when Love Me Tender first opened. I was in the seventh grade and thought it was pathetic that people would need such a service. And then I became the relationship disaster and applied to work at Love Me Tender in hopes of learning what I was doing wrong. I’m still a disaster when it comes to my relationships with men and Love Me Tender thinks I do a fantastic job. Clearly I don’t take my own advice.

I parked at the curb outside Bagels and Lox and went inside. The room is spacious with a coffeehouse feel. There are couches and club chairs for people wanting to really relax and there are café tables for those only pausing briefly. There is also free internet access, making Bagels and Lox the ultimate nerd hangout. I went to the main counter and placed my usual order: a large cinnamon-hazelnut cappuccino, with whip, and toasted plain bagel with veggie spread.

When it was ready I found a café table in a fairly conspicuous location so that my client could easily find me. I was almost finished with my bagel when Barry Tupelo arrived. Barry was what we referred to as an ALC, or A Lost Cause. He was at the far end of 50, 5'4", overweight, and nearly hairless except for three or four forgotten strands holding on at cowlick length at the crown of his head. At our consultation meeting a month prior I had to stop myself from mentally playing connect the dots with his emerging liver spots.

This meeting was a routine follow up with Barry to check his progress. Clients could come in to our office or go online and browse our client database to find potential matches. For the first month we allow clients to be unassisted. After the one-month consultation, if the client feels unsuccessful, he or she can elect to have us screen for better matches. Barry was one of those clients and he pleaded with me in his nasal voice quite loudly for the better part of an hour.

I spent 20 minutes trying to get in a word edgewise with Barry but I was cut off at every attempt so I scanned the room. I can be a notorious people watcher and public places like Bagels and Lox that had a constant stream of traffic were my downfall.

That's when I noticed Dylan. Or rather, I noticed his order, a large cinnamon-hazelnut cappuccino, with whip, and a toasted everything bagel with veggie spread. I smiled slightly as that was my order, only substitute a plain one for the everything bagel. Until now Dylan had had his back to me. He didn't seem to be in a particular hurry, since he only got the cappuccino as a to go order. He kept most of his weight on his right foot, so either he had a left foot injury or just liked to lean. I guessed he was 5'8" or 5'9", which was a plus for me since my latest boyfriend trend had been a handful of pipsqueaks. It’s tough finding height-appropriate boyfriends when you’re 5’7”. I smiled again, thinking I could finally wear heels again.

Barry was oblivious to the fact I wasn't paying attention and was now emphasizing his argument with exaggerated hand and arm gestures. I kept hmm-ing and nodding to give the illusion of attentiveness.

I silently pleaded for Dylan to turn my way so I could get a look at his face. Not that I was complaining; I could have looked at Dylan's butt all day, every day. That's when he turned toward me and scanned the room for an empty table. I noticed his brown hair curled at his temples and his equally brown eyes were soft. His mouth turned up at the ends, giving him a perpetually amused look. I quickly scanned my immediate area and saw an empty table a short distance away. Please let him see it, I mentally begged every deity I could think of. I caught his eye and nodded toward the empty table. Dylan smiled and I instantly turned to goo. I lightly touched one of my knees and it felt like Jell-o, not a good sign.

"So, Miss Frank," Barry's voice penetrated my reverie. "You really need to help me. Is that possible? Because joining a monastery isn't out my scope of possibilities." He looked at me with his version of puppy eyes. Crap.

I tried to compose myself. It wasn't easy with Dylan sitting in view just over Barry’s left shoulder.

"Mr. Tupelo, here is my suggestion. Come in to the office and retake your personality profile surveys. I will enter your data myself this time. My guess is it was incorrectly entered before and that's why you haven't been successful." Can I lay on the bullshit or what? That was standard office code for give up, buddy.

Barry thanked me profusely and paid for my coffee despite my protests. When I was sure he was gone, I buried my head in my arms on the table.

"I'm guessing he's not with you," Dylan said, startling me. He took Barry's spot at the table and smiled. I turned to goo again.

"Definitely not," I said when I found my voice. "He's a client." I immediately had to explain when Dylan raised his eyebrows. "I am a relationship expert."

"Interesting career choice," he said, sipping his cappuccino.

"Beat selling Betty Lou cosmetics door-to-door," I said, wishing I could be a little less dorkier. "I'm Loretta."

Dylan extended his hand. "Dylan. Nice to meet you. So you’re a relationship expert? How did you get into that field?” Dylan asked.

“Well, honestly, poverty pushed me to it,” I replied, slowly spinning my mug in my hands. “I went to college for a degree in English, which translated into unemployment in the real world. So I did what any girl would do: I pouted and went into retail.”

Dylan chuckled. “Sounds fair.”

“I’m also a freelance writer for the Falls Sentinel. I had dreamed of being a writer ever since I could remember. I don’t get called often so I tried my hand at retail. That didn’t work out well.”

“Let me guess: the hours sucked.”

“Exactly! Spoken like someone who’s been there.”

“I worked at Radio Shack for six years,” Dylan said. “So what does a relationship expert do exactly?”

“I match clients with potential love interests.”

“I see. So you must be pretty good then?” No innuendo there.

“Professionally, yes. Personally, I’m a train wreck. Ironic, no?”

Dylan laughed at that.

“So how about you? What does Dylan do?”

“I’m a CPA over at Foster and Associates on Fillmore Street. Nothing too exciting.” Dylan was dressed in either Eddie Bauer or some other high end designer, so he clearly wasn’t hurting for money.

“No way!” I lied. “I envy people that can get their finances in order! I’ve been known to pay for a tank of gas with loose change. You seem to have things under control.” Man, that was stupid to say! I mentally slapped myself up side the head.

“Not really,” Dylan said, casually glancing out the window. “See that silver truck parked across the street?” I looked where he indicated and saw a brand new Honda Ridgeline and it looked nothing like what one would find in a showroom. “That’s my baby. I’m working on making, err, improvements on it.”

“Improvements?”

Dylan sighed. “I’m souping it up. The best of everything. I just got the paint done and it goes into the shop next week for custom graphics.” He tore his gaze away from his truck and met my eyes. “Want to go for a ride?”

My stomach turned to butterflies. “I really can’t. I have to get back over to the office and see if any other clients have come in for me. Rain check?” It wasn’t completely bullshit. I was required to check in with my office manager, Kathy Lee, at least once a day. I preferred to phone in from the beach or the hairdresser, Kathy preferred I made a personal appearance.

“Dinner tonight. I’ll be by your place at seven.”

I gave Dylan directions to my apartment and let him walk me to my car. After seeing Dylan’s truck I was a bit embarrassed by my ride, a maroon 1988 Monte Carlo SS. I had wanted this car ever since my dad showed me one when I was little. The Monte was a tank and guzzled more gas than a tractor trailer, but she was in perfect condition and I loved her dearly.

“Nice car,” Dylan said, appreciating the vintage.

“Thanks. Meet Shamu,” I said, half joking. I had given her the nickname the day I test drove her. Sitting at the wheel all I saw was hood. Looking out the back window, all I saw was trunk.

I drove over to Love Me Tender in a dazed reverie. I’d just met a very attractive, funny, interesting guy and he had asked me to dinner. This wasn’t a normal occurrence. None of the jerk alarms were going off for me. I promised myself I’d call Winnie as soon as I left the office. But first I had to check in with Kathy.

“Loretta! It’s about time you showed up,” Kathy said, leaning against the front counter when I walked in.

I looked at my watch. It was a little after one. “I had a client meeting. Barry Tupelo is having problems.”

“That’s because Barry is a Grade A loser,” Kathy said dismissively. Kathy is six years older and about thirty pounds heavier than me. In her three-inch heels she had to look down at me but I knew that barefoot we’d be eye-to-eye. Kathy’s aunt Myrtle had started Love Me Tender to help out her friends having trouble meeting significant others. Myrtle was Potter’s Falls’ resident matchmaker and her niece had taken over the throne when Myrtle passed away ten years ago. Kathy had conveniently just graduated from college with a psychology degree, leading to rumors that Kathy had offed her aunt to take over the business. Kathy always asserted that Aunt Myrtle had a heart problem and the family agreed and didn’t have an autopsy performed so I guess we’ll never really know.

Kathy handed me a folder. “I’m assigning this one to you. Don’t screw it up,” she said before teetering off to her office.

I looked at Sheila, our receptionist and raised an eyebrow. Sheila is married to Charles Moore of the infamous Moore family of the Falls. Charles is a Don Corleone type tied to a gun-running  circuit in New York. He swears to anyone that asks that he’s changing his life and living clean – Shelia and their two kids are his proof – but there’s enough suspicion to the contrary to fill Madison Square Garden. Twice.
“Any messages?” I asked Sheila.

“Barry called to set up an appointment to retake is personality surveys. He’s coming in Thursday at noon,” Shelia replied. Sheila had graduated high school the year before me. I hadn’t known her all that well then or now; I just knew that she was working for Kathy part-time to get away from the house. I guess living with a mobster and his kids could be stressful.

I thanked Sheila and decided to go back to my apartment to relax a little before starting to get ready for my date with Dylan. Love Me Tender was on State Street, five blocks from my apartment on Owens. I made an illegal U-turn at the intersection of State and Western Avenue and headed home.