Authors: Caitie Quinn,Bria Quinlan

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Anthologies, #Contemporary, #Collections & Anthologies, #Holidays, #Romantic Comedy, #short story, #ro, #online dating, #New Year's Eve

The Last Single Girl (9 page)

There was a small joy in her frustration.

"I suppose you're all wondering why I called you here." Dessert was being set out, but the man at the front of the room was so good, he pulled everyone's attention to him. "You know we've had three deaths this evening. Now, I know you don't want to get involved, but let me make this as simple as possible—either you help me find the guilty party, or I call in the paddy wagons and shut this gin joint down. You'll all find under your plates a card for you to fill out letting me know who did it and why. If we make an arrest, you're all free to go. If not, we'll be taking you all downtown for questioning."

Oh. He was good. I got little shivers right before the lights dimmed back down.

I pulled my card out and glanced at it. No hints at all.

"Who do you think did it?" John looked at his card. Also blank.

I'd kind of expected there to be checkboxes to pick from, but these guys were hardcore.

Claire leaned in and whispered in Marcus's ear before grinning at the table. "We totally know who it is."

"Oh!" Becca set her card down and leaned in. "Who?"

"I'm not going to tell you. If you don't know, you're just going to have to guess."

Oh, yes. A fun night out with girlfriends.

John leaned in, his nose brushing at the tip of my fake bob. "Okay, we seriously need to kick her ass. She's on my last nerve."

"I didn't know you had a last nerve."

"Well, you're seeing it. So, who is it not?"

We weeded through the characters and realized the only person who'd been around for everything was the sweet, innocent daughter of the mobster. The one we'd seen dancing earlier who we'd almost bumped into.

"Wasn't she dancing with the first dead guy?"

"That's right. And he called her sugar."

"Do you think she killed him?"

"Why not. Jealous lover rage and a cover up? Maybe he was cheating on her with the woman who was killed next."

"Ohhhhh…" I liked how he thought. "Write that down. And what about the third one? He handed the woman the drink. Maybe he knew who poisoned her, so the daughter had to kill him off."

"Brilliant." John scratched it all down and handed our slip to the waiter.

The rest of the table finished theirs and handed them off. Becca, Angie, and John immediately started comparing notes as Claire sat off refusing to share.

"But we already put ours in. We can't change it." Becca always saw the best in everyone, even Claire. She'd assume Claire just didn't understand.

But Claire wasn't willing to share, and really, who cared? No one. Everyone else was enjoying the game and the brilliant chocolate cake with hazelnut ice cream and the company.

"Gents, ladies, I believe I've solved the crime. But it wasn't without your assistance. We have some really smart people in here. Maybe even fed level." He went on to explain that several people had gotten the answer right and they'd drawn winners for a dinner at the house's wine and cheese festival in a few weeks. "And the inspectors are, Sarah and John. Without them we never would have known Rosebud had killed Billy because he was cheating on her with Dolly. And that Sammy the Gun had poisoned Dolly then turned on Rosebud, who shot him. But we've got her in cuffs now folks, so there's no need to worry. Sarah and John, why don't you come up here and let us thank you properly?"

"You won!" Becca bounced in her chair. "That's so cool. I can't believe you guys came up with that."

John took my hand and led me to the front of the room. The detective gave us a bottle of champagne and a gift certificate for the dinner. I stood there grinning like an idiot, my hand clutching John's. When we got back to the table, John waved a waiter over to pop our bubbly.

"Looks like they gave us the good stuff. Perfect for a New Year's Eve toast." He stood and filled everyone's glasses, even Claire's and Marcus's. "To a new year and new friends." He smiled at Becca and Angie. "And to the best New Year's Eve party I've been to in a long time."

Just as we clinked glasses, the big countdown started. I'd planned to be in the ladies room… hiding. How was I going to get through this, that New Year's Eve kiss thing? John pulled me to my feet as everyone else jumped up, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me to him, the warmth of his hand sweeping above the top of my dress, scattering goosebumps across my skin.

"Three… Two… One… Happy New Year!"

Balloons fell from the sky.

Confetti flew threw the air.

People shouted all around us.

I stared up into those soft brown eyes and wanted nothing more than to go up on my tip toes and kiss him. Kiss him for all I was worth and hope it was enough. John's head dipped closer, his eyes slipping shut, as he brushed a kiss across my cheek.

"Happy New Year, Sarah."

FIFTEEN

DATING TRUTH #10: Not every Happily Ever After looks the same.

I SUCKED IN A deep breath and reapplied my Berry Dew lip gloss—which was obviously a total waste tonight. I was going to need to come up with a Survive Being In Love With John plan. It wasn't going to be easy. He'd become one of my best friends and favorite people. And it looked like that was all he was ever going to be.

eLove would have to find me Mr. Right after all. Just not until the gooshy place my heart used to be was all patched up.

Back at the table, people gathered their coats and bags, talking about the night and laughing at some of the guesses people had come up with.

"We need to do this again." Becca smiled at everyone, sweet dear. "John, you'll have to close up shop one night to come out and play again. Or maybe we could all just come to you."

Oh, dear stars. This was going to get ugly—or sad and depressing. Or both. I was already trying to figure out how I was going to live through the Wine & Cheese thing—let alone the rest of tonight.

"Name the date, and I'm there." John leaned down and gave tiny, little Becca a kiss on the check.

Look at him just handing those cheek-kisses out like they were candy.

John held out my wrap. As I shrugged into it, he ran his hand down my arm and clasped my hand. I smiled up at him, trying not to be all girly and start crying. This was
John
. Sweet, smart, funny, thoughtful, rescues-me-from-my-own-absurdity, John.

Tears would just be a red flag to his soft soul.

"Ready to go?"

"Um, yes?" I wasn't sure where we were going. Was he going to fake going home with me? That was definitely above and beyond the call of duty. Of course, the whole darn night was the definition of above and beyond.

John waved to the group and pulled me along, my hand still wrapped in his.

"The door guy said they have a deal with a cab company. We should be able to get one pretty quickly."

"Great."

John glanced down at me. The tone of my voice must have put
not so
in front of the
great.
I offered him up a smile, trying to move things along.

Luckily there was a cab left when we got to the portico. John opened the door and I slid in, only half-surprised when he joined me as I gave the driver my address. The driver asked lots of questions about our night and our outfits and whodunit. He seemed thrilled to hear we'd won, like we'd become local celebrities.

I listened with half an ear, trying to mmh— in the right places. When we pulled up in front of my condo, John paid the man and slid out behind me, not asking him to wait.

I have never felt so awkward in my life. So divided. I didn't want him to leave. I wanted to just keep being with him, enjoying that smile and humor. But what I really, really needed was to just be alone for a little while.

"Did you want to come up?"

"No." He grasped my hand again, sliding his fingers between mine and giving them a squeeze. "I was just going to walk you to your door and head home."

"Oh. Okay." Wow, well said, Sarah.

At the front door, John pulled my hand, forcing me to turn me to face him.

"I had a lot of fun tonight. Your friends are great. I really do like Becca and her guy."

"Yeah. He was surprisingly nice. I was a little nervous about the whole met-on-a-plane thing. And she's so sweet, I wouldn't want to see her end up with someone taking advantage of that sweetness. I mean, she's just so able to like everyone. She even likes Claire. Not that Claire is horrible. She just has this ridiculous competitive streak that seems to really come out around me. And she's never mean to Becca. Kind of almost mothering sometimes. So, I guess that explains that. Angie is the one who—"

"Sarah."

"—hardest to peg down. She's the one who balances them ou—"

"Sarah."

"—and keeps the peace."

"Sarah."

"I mean—"

John's hand rose and wrapped around my cheek, pulling me up toward him as his mouth settled over mine. His kiss was everything I'd want in the perfect kiss. More powerful than I'd expected from him. Where I'd thought his kiss would be sweet and soft and comfortable, it was powerful and strong—overwhelmingly so. I felt it down to my toes and then back up to my knees just as they gave out. His other arm came around my waist and held me to him, keeping me there in his warmth as if I'd try to escape.

Slowly, with little brushes across my lips and down my jaw, he backed away. Still holding me to him, he blinked.

"Sarah—"

"I—"

"Don't start babbling again. As endearing as it is, I need to get this said." He brushed my hair back out of my face, that soft smile lying about what those lips could really do. "I don't want you dating anyone else. Not at The Brew, not anywhere else. This isn't about you being the last single girl—unless it's about being
my
last single girl. I've been trying really hard for weeks not to throw out every single man who walked through the door. I'd been considering implementing a policy that if you weren't accompanied by a woman, you weren't allowed in."

"Oh." That was perfect. But… "Who's sweetheart? The girl you talk to on the phone?"

John looked confused a moment before he started laughing. "Sweetheart would be my goddaughter, Emmi. Emmi calls me weekly to tell me about kindergarten."

"Emmi?"

"Right. Emmi. Goddaughter." He brushed another kiss across my cheek. "You've driven me to insanity. And I kept waiting—hoping—you'd come in one day and say,
John, I don't want to date any of these eLove guys.
I realize after watching a parade of tall, wealthy suits that I'm not your type, but I want to date you. I don't want you dating anyone else."

He stopped and gave me that
look
. That look he gave me when I was doing something he thought was going to get me in trouble. I couldn't help but wonder if he thought dating him would get me in trouble.

I looked up into those brown eyes, the crinkles in the corner etching out as he looked down at me.

"Well?"

"Well, I
was
worried about being the last single girl…"

"Sarah, I'm not joking."

"I…" I was trying so hard to play it cool, but I had no idea what someone who was playing it cool said when they were being offered exactly what they wanted. "When you walked in tonight, I was more than relieved. I was ecstatic. But I thought you were seeing someone. And before that, I didn't know… I'd been miserable thinking about seeing you again and having to just be friends. I was already coming up with reasons—"

His mouth came down on mine again, softer this time, less urgent, but still so, so very sweet.

"Again with the babbling."

"Babbling equals kiss. I'll keep that in mind." I grinned, too happy to do anything else. "Did you know that in the twenties, the art deco movement that was so popular here actually originated in France when—"

That's as far as I got before he kissed me again.

THANK YOU!

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The Last Single Girl
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Caitie Quinn
loves to laugh, has been told she smiles too much, and honestly believes that Jeeps… the vehicle and the guy…. are better with the top off. If you like her stories, you need to thank her two grandmothers, Grammy M and Nana, for passing on that wonderful (hereditary?) storytelling gene.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Last Single Girl

Cover by Humble Nations

Edited by Harris Proofreading

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