Prelude
Prelude
Ronnie checked her phone again.
No new messages.
Two months later, and she still hadn't learned.
Her best friend, Autumn, glanced up from her drink—nothing ever got past her —and Ronnie quickly set her phone face-down.
Autumn checked her own phone next, saving Ronnie from having to explain.
That was one the best thing about Autumn; she knew when to stay quiet.
Two shot glasses clinked onto the bar, and Autumn grinned, sliding one her way.
Ronnie sighed and dropped her phone into the pit of her purse instead of the side pocket she usually used and picked up her glass.
“Here’s a toast,” Autumn said. “To no more being single. With the help of modern science, we will find our soulmate.”
Ronnie forced a smile. “Right. Science.”
“And just think,” Autumn said, her red hair shining under the low bar lights, “in one week we’ll be saying I do to the men of our dreams.”
“Come on, Aut. We won’t even lay eyes on our grooms until the altar.”
“My spirit guides led me here,” Autumn said matter-of-factly. “And I’ve seen it, Ronnie. I’ve had visions.”
Ronnie resisted the urge to snort, raising an eyebrow at her friend. It wasn’t the first time the visions came up, but she couldn’t help her skepticism when it came to Autumn’s supposed clairvoyance.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I saw it. Little flashes. You meet the man of your dreams here. And so do I. Besides, you know my guides never steer me wrong.”
Ronnie laughed, “You also saw me with blonde highlights, saying they’d bring out the hazel in my eyes.” She tugged lightly at a strand that caught the bar light. “Congratulations, you manifested my skunk phase.”
Though Ronnie wasn’t crazy about the stripes in her brown hair, the color had grown on her. Maybe blondes did have more fun… or at least, they looked like they did.
Maybe Autumn’s visions weren’t perfect, but Ronnie knew better than to question them.
The last time she’d ignored Autumn’s spirit guides, they’d ended up lost on the wrong side of Los Angeles—the exact detour Autumn insisted they’d warned her not to take.
“See?” Autumn had said afterward, all smug and glowing. “That’s what happens when you don’t listen.”
Ronnie laughed and shook her head. God, she loved her friend.
Still, she couldn’t shake the question spinning in her mind. What if this was just another disaster wrapped in optimism? Lord knew the traditional dating route hadn’t worked.
“It’s going to be great,” Autumn said, cutting through her thoughts. “Out of more than two hundred women and all those interviews, tests, and psychological profiles, it came down to us. How synchronistic is that?”
Ronnie smiled faintly.
That was Autumn—bold, bright, and entirely unshakable.
Her red hair, flowy skirts, and wrists full of crystals made her look like she lived at a music festival.
Meanwhile, Ronnie loved her jeans and T-shirts. A ponytail was her default. The two couldn’t be more different.
Autumn banged her fist lightly on the table, the butterfly on her forearm flexing with the motion as if it came to life, winking to Ronnie in triumph. “No more doubts. We’ve come this far. They’ve matched us with men who supposedly complement our personalities, likes, and values. Trust the universe, my friend. Time to let go of what no longer serves you.”
No longer serves you. She meant Gabe.
Ronnie’s chest tightened. Checking for his texts hadn’t done a thing except remind her that months had passed since the last time he hit her up.
Autumn was right. She needed to let it go.
They clinked glasses. The tequila burned, then warmed her from the inside out.
Ronnie raised two fingers for another round, earning a nod from the bartender.
“That’s her,” Autumn said suddenly, motioning toward the back table. “Number three.”
Ronnie turned slightly.
A woman with long blonde hair and perfect makeup sat alone, every inch of her polished.
“She looks familiar,” Autumn said. “She’s been on another reality show. I think Bachelor in Paradise.”
“Oh, so you think she’s here for exposure.”
“Well, I doubt it’s to find her happily ever after.”
As if on cue, the woman stood, tossed cash on the table, and walked out, her perfume trailing confidence in her wake.
Ronnie watched her go, jaw tight. Did she even finish her drink?
“Told you.” Autumn tilted her chin toward the door. “Here for the headline.”
Ronnie smirked, but the question stuck anyway. Was she any better? Was she here for the right reason? Did that even exist anymore?
Maybe her reason was heartbreak—the kind that never really healed. Gabe, her childhood sweetheart, had shattered her after high school. Then, just when she’d finally begun to move on in her junior year of college, he’d reappeared only to break up with her again.
On Christmas Day. Who does that?
And still, every time his name lit up her phone, she answered. Pathetically, Ronnie’s desperation for him left her open for booty calls. Talk about a lack of self-worth.
“Hey,” Autumn whispered. “Don’t look now, but handsome guy at ten o’clock.”
Ronnie stiffened. “You’re joking.”
“You’re not married yet. Think of it as your last fling.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Obviously.”
“Aut, no.”
Autumn grinned, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “It will take your mind off your phone. Besides, I have a feeling about this guy.”
The mention of her phone made Ronnie’s stomach twist. Not the phone itself. What she kept hoping to find on it.
A text that proved she still mattered.
She forced a tight smile. “Please…”
Covering her mouth, Autumn faked a yawn. “I’m exhausted. We have a big day tomorrow. You stay and finish your drink.”
Before Ronnie could protest, Autumn was gone, vanishing into the crowd in a flash of red hair and bracelets.
Great.
Now she could feel it: eyes on her. Ronnie refused to look. She was not about to chat up some stranger when she was about to marry another perfect stranger… that science had chosen for her.
She lifted the shot glass to her lips, intending to take it and dart out of there. What had her friend been thinking? Ronnie was not a girl who got picked up in bars.
“Hi there.”
The sound of his voice brushed against her skin, rich and unhurried, like something meant to be whispered in the dark. It startled her, causing her to inhale wrong, choking instantly.
A man appeared at her side—dark hair, warm brown eyes, concern written across his face.
“You okay?”
She nodded, still coughing. Handsome, Autumn had said. Please. Try the kind of handsome that makes bad decisions sound like good ideas. No. Great start, Ronnie. Really nailing it here.
“Lift your arms,” he said, gentle but firm. “It’ll open your lungs.”
She half-raised them, and her purse promptly dumped its contents across the floor.
Phone. Compact. Hairbrush.
A mess of bobby pins, receipts, and strawberry ChapStick.
One very big, fat maxi pad.
Her cheeks flamed. Coughing like a doofus, spilling her life in front of this beautiful man—could she be any more awkward?
The mystery man bent down to help, but she waved him off. “It’s fine. Happens all the time.” Ronnie snatched up the tampons, the Midol, hoping he hadn’t seen them.
In twenty-six years of existence, she still hadn’t mastered walking without tripping over her own feet or banging into walls. How was her future groom supposed to feel about marrying someone who choked on air?
He smiled, stepping back. “Just thought you’d want this.”
He pointed to the floor, where her Meet You at the Altar badge gleamed under the bar light.
“Oh!” She scooped it up quickly, blank side facing up. “Thanks.”
“You here for one of the conferences?” he asked casually.
She hesitated. “Something like that.”
“Busy weekend here. I heard there’s a wedding, a medical conference, a hypnosis seminar, and some other secret event.”
“Is that so?” she said. “And you?”
He grinned. “I can’t say.”
“Okay.” The smallest smile curved her lips. Maybe he wasn’t hitting on her—just being kind. So why did that disappoint her a little? Thanks a lot, Autumn. “Thanks again,” she said, meeting his gaze.
Why should it bother her anyway?
His eyes held hers, warm and unwavering. The rest of the room faded.
“You’re welcome.”
Neither moved. The moment stretched, impossible and familiar all at once.
Something inside her stilled. It wasn’t just attraction—it was recognition, quiet and disorienting, as if her soul had leaned forward before her body caught up.
The air between them hummed, heavy with something unspoken yet achingly familiar.
He seemed to feel it too. His brow furrowed slightly, as though he were trying to place a melody he’d heard long ago.
The noise of the bar softened to a distant blur. The flicker of the hanging lights slowed. Even the rhythm of her own pulse shifted, syncing to something older—something that felt remembered.
“I…” she uttered. “Bed.”
The word hung between them, and her eyes went wide. Oh my God. Heat rushed to her cheeks. His lips twitched, amused and gentle all at once.
“I mean sleep. I’m going to bed. Long day.”
“You’re not from around here?” he asked, his tone low, each word deliberate, like he didn’t want to break whatever spell they were under.
“Flagstaff. You?”
“Pasadena.”
Just words. Just places. But the way they looked at each other made them sound like beginnings. She nodded, ignoring the part of her that wanted to keep him talking. Questions floated through her mind--too many to ask, all of them wanting answers.
How long had he lived there? What did he do?
Where had he been all her life?
Despite what she’d just said, something in her reached for him, silent and stubborn. Sleep had nothing to offer that his company didn’t already promise.
He hesitated, eyes searching hers. His voice was calm, like a song she almost remembered.
“They have gardens here,” he said after a pause. “Beautiful ones. Full moon tonight.” His voice dropped lower, almost reverent. “I’m not trying to pick you up.”
“That’s good,” she breathed, though her soul seemed to lean toward him before her body even dared.
Logic screamed no. Her heart whispered just a walk, and something unseen tugged at her like a thread she couldn’t break.
He hesitated, then smiled. “Still, if you’d like to see them…”
“I’d like that,” she said softly.
Side by side, they walked, their steps in unintentional rhythm. The garden lights shimmered, the air cool and faintly sweet. He named flowers and constellations, and something in her recognized the cadence of his voice—the way he lingered on words, the way he noticed small details.
Ronnie didn’t know him. Not really. And yet… somehow, she did.
By the time a yawn tore from her mouth, over two hours had slipped away. Moonlight rimmed him in silver as he turned to face her.
“It’s late,” he said softly. “Thank you for your company.”
She glanced at his bare left hand and nodded. Relief she didn’t understand swept through her. But her chest ached with something she didn’t have words for.
He took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles—a gesture so gentle it unraveled her completely. The warmth lingered even after his mouth left her skin.
Electricity danced up her arm.
“You’ve been hard to walk away from,” he said, his voice smooth, every word sinking into her like heat finding its way through winter air. “I’ve never felt that before.
Her breath caught. How could someone feel like both a stranger and a memory?
He brushed his thumb along her jaw, and the world fell away again. “Beautiful,” he said.
Her breath stilled as he leaned closer, staring at his lips and darting her eyes to his. An invitation. He met her halfway, though their faces were still inches apart.
She leaned in.
He did too.
“I wasn’t trying to pick you up,” he whispered.
“I know,” she said, and closed the distance.
Their lips met, both exhaling at once, as though they’d been holding their breath for the last hours. The kiss was soft, stunned, and inevitable—the kind that burned right through reason.
She melted fully into him, and he drew back slowly, his touch lingering like a memory that didn’t want to fade.
“Good night,” he said quietly.
She nodded, dazed. “Good night.” As Ronnie walked toward the elevator, she refused to look back.
Maybe because some part of her already knew she’d see him again.
Just not the way she expected.
