A Match Made by Cupid

He sounded so forlorn and, Melanie had to admit, genuinely sorry. A good amount of her annoyance fled. Deciding to let him off the hook—for the good of the article and their partnership, of course—she nodded. “I appreciate the apology. But all this proves is that my earlier statement was correct.”

Blinking, he said, “Now you’ve lost me.”

Like before, she tapped her forehead. “Your brain, Jace. In addition to reasoning, the frontal lobe is responsible for impulse control,” she teased, enjoying the moment way more than called for. “Something you’re obviously lacking in. I bet you eat whatever you want whenever you want. And if I had to guess, I’d say that you’ve purchased many a product from late-night infomercials. Tell me, how many ShamWows do you own?”

“Nice bringing that back around.” His mouth quirked. “For the record, I’ve never bought a ShamWow. But I own a Snuggie…or two.” He blinked again. “Maybe three. And here’s the kicker. I purchased the first one before they were available in stores.”

She tried to imagine Jace snuggled up in a Snuggie watching something manly on the television—like a football game or an action flick. A gurgle of laughter escaped. “One of Portland’s ‘sexiest single men’ in a Snuggie. A picture of that should go with your columns.”

His face contorted into a half scowl, half pout. “A man has a right to stay warm and comfortable in the privacy of his own home. And, I’ll have you know, the Snuggie is a genius creation! I can eat popcorn, drink a beer, work on my laptop, or read a book all without getting…um…a chill.”

She tried to regain her composure but couldn’t. “Jace Foster, the man about town, the man who cycles through women every time the wind changes, drinks beer while in his Snuggie. It’s just so at odds with your public persona.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m a man of mystery.”

“Hmm. Yes. A man of mystery who owns three Snuggies.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I really need to see a photo.”

“Not in this century.” His scowl became full-fledged. “And I do not ‘cycle through women every time the wind changes.’” Pushing an unopened bottle of water toward her, he said, “Feel like calming down so we can get back to work?”

He couldn’t really be upset, could he? She hadn’t lied. His dating escapades were discussed in some depth twice a month in his freaking column, “Bachelor on the Loose,” weren’t they? And that was another thing: she hated the name of his column. It made her think of wild animals running free in the city, creating havoc wherever they went.

Another bubble of humor crawled up her windpipe as the ridiculous image of a lion wrapped up in a Snuggie appeared in her head. She took a sip of water to combat the urge to laugh. When she was sure she had her laughter under control, she inhaled a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I somehow offended you. But come on, you know it’s a little funny.”

“Snuggies are nothing to laugh about,” he said in mock seriousness. “However, I get your take on it. You see me as the epitome of masculinity, so learning about my soft side disarmed you and made you question everything you think you know about me.”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

He regarded her silently for a moment. With no warning whatsoever, the air changed and a spark of something passed between them. A tingle teased along her skin, shimmied down her spine, and a crop of goose bumps exploded on her arms.

“Um…so…we should probably get back on track.” Her voice came out all weak and wobbly and breathy. Focus, she told herself. “Work. The article. My ideas.”

Jace sort of shook himself, as if waking from a deep sleep. “Absolutely. Back to business. What, exactly, are you proposing we expose in the article?”

She had to reorient herself, remember what they were discussing before the conversation turned a corner. “Valentine’s Day is the biggest con job going. It’s a gold mine for greeting card companies, chocolate manufacturers, florists and jewelry stores. If we go that route, focus on the monetization of the holiday instead of the lovey-dovey crap, we’ll be able to do most of our research from our desks.”

“How is that different from any other holiday?” Jace tapped his fingers against the surface of his desk. “They’re all a boon for the businesses you mentioned, and then some. Following that mentality, Christmas would be the worst of the lot.”

“You’re right,” she replied instantly. He had a valid argument. Luckily, so did she. “Partially, anyway. Every holiday is highly commercial, but you can’t really put Valentine’s Day in the same column as Christmas or Mother’s Day or Father’s Day.”

“Still not seeing the difference,” Jace said. The deep brown of his eyes darkened to a near black. If she allowed herself, she could drown in those eyes.

“It’s simple.” She dropped her gaze downward. She couldn’t look at him when he was staring at her with such intensity. “Mother’s Day is about celebrating mothers. Moms exist. They’re fact. Father’s Day is about fathers, so the same deal applies.” Not that she’d had a reason to celebrate Father’s Day for a couple of decades. “Both have a basis of fact. Valentine’s Day sticks out like a sore thumb.”

Jace let out a long sigh. “Maybe I should’ve eaten my Wheaties this morning, but I still don’t see what you’re getting at.”

A sarcastic retort sat on the tip of her tongue, but she resisted. “Okay, let me try it this way. Valentine’s Day is a holiday based on an intangible emotion. Not a fact.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting the fact that Valentine’s Day—St. Valentine’s Day—began as a celebration for a saint, and was—”

“Right. I know the history,” Melanie interrupted. “But that isn’t why the holiday is celebrated today. At least,” she amended, “by the majority of people.”

“Fair enough.” Jace cleared his throat. Twice. “So, should I take this as your way of saying you don’t believe in love? Or in…I don’t know…the idea of celebrating love?”

“I love my mother. I have friends I care enough about that you could say I love them. But,” she said slowly, “romantic love is a whole different animal. I mean, you don’t believe in that type of love, do you?”

“Actually, I’m a card-carrying member,” he said in complete seriousness. “I’ve seen how love can heal, how it can survive incredible odds. And I hope to experience it myself someday.”

She stared at him in stunned silence. A minute passed, maybe two. Finally, she said, “Even supposing romantic love is real, Valentine’s Day is a forced celebration. The media hype is so overwhelming that men and women are suckered into spending money for gifts to prove their love. I…guess I think that’s ridiculous.”

“Wow, Melanie. Some guy must have done quite a number on you.”

Her mouth went dry. She took another drink of water, gathered her thoughts and said, “Gushy, feel-good articles about everlasting love are expected at Valentine’s Day. Why can’t we cater to the readers who prefer to be single and are sick of the happily-ever-after mentality being shoved down their throats everywhere they look?”

“I’m curious,” Jace said softly, but with an edge that made her sit up and take notice, “about what happened that soured you on the idea of love. And I’d like his name and address, please.”

Her throat closed and her heart picked up speed. The nonsensical urge to walk around the desk, to smooth away the rigid line of Jace’s jaw came over her. In an attempt to make light of the matter, to ease the overwhelming tension saturating the air, she joked, “Why? Are you going to show up with a baseball bat and knock him over his head?”

“Nah,” he said, holding her gaze with his. “Violence doesn’t solve anything. A conversation isn’t a bad idea, though. Point out he’s an idiot for…doing whatever he did to you.”

“Well.” A wave of heat, strong and scorching, radiated through her body. This was crazy. They were having a conversation about an imaginary relationship gone bad. “Sorry to say, there’s no one to talk to. I’ve never suffered from broken-heart syndrome.”

Disbelief lit Jace’s expression, but he didn’t press the issue. She counted her lucky stars for that one. “Here’s the thing, Mel. We can’t really change the article so drastically. Kurt’s approval is based on the way I explained it. But feel free to tangle with him if you want.”

“Wait a minute. You let me go on and on knowing that nothing I said would make a difference?” Tossing her pencil on the desk, she said, “Why? You could’ve said that right off and saved me the hassle and us the time.”

“That wouldn’t have been fair. We’re partners. Your viewpoint is important.” Damn him for making sense when she wanted to be mad. “Besides, until I heard your thoughts, I had no way of knowing if we could work them in or not. But maybe we can do a short lead-in about the monetization of the holiday, and play that against the rest of it.”

So she was stuck working hip to hip with Jace with no means of escape. She didn’t want to like him. She didn’t want to think about him. God, she was so screwed. “I guess all that’s left is to decide how we’re going to find the lovey-dovey couples to interview.” She rolled her eyes. “Talk about finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Love,” Jace said with a smug grin, “is everywhere. It certainly will be easier than finding a needle in a haystack.”

“No. We’ll find couples who profess they are in love, but none of them will be honest with us about their relationships.” Melanie was getting a headache just thinking about it. “We’ll hear how their lives are like a fairy tale, how life without the other would be painful and empty. They will probably be gooey-eyed and hand-holding and all of it will be fake. Bleh.”

Jace chuckled. “I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”

“Won’t happen. Impossible.”

“You never know. You might walk away a changed woman with a completely different opinion on Valentine’s Day and love.” He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

Her mother’s romantic disasters made even the possibility of that nil. “Sorry. What you see is what you get,” she said, mimicking Jace’s earlier statement. “Accept it, Jace. Otherwise, you’ll only end up disappointed.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jace gave her a considering look. “Feel like gambling on that, Mel?”

What was he up to now? “What do you mean?”

He squeezed his fingers together. “A little bet between coworkers. I’m willing to gamble that your mindset on love—romantic love, that is—will change at some point during the course of this project. If I’m right…you’ll agree to go out on a date. With me.”

She almost laughed. There was a greater chance of the weather turning wonky and snow falling in mid-July than there was of her losing her marbles and jumping on the I-will-love-you-forever bandwagon. Especially in a six-week timeframe. “Um. That’s not a bet, Jace. Not when there is zero possibility of that happening.”