“Yes.”
“Crap. That’s when I’ll be in Nashville.”
My heart plummeted into my slippers. I’d completely forgotten about his audition. It was a big deal for Luke. A very big deal. There was no way I could ask him to skip it for my revenge fantasy in England. I rubbed the back of my hand across my forehead and slumped against the wall. “Oh, right. Yeah. I forgot.”
“I’m sorry, Meggie. Really, I am.” Luke looked truly disappointed. And a little guilty.
“No, you were right. Two weeks isn’t enough time to teach you anyway. It was a ludicrous idea.” I didn’t mention that it would also be far too pathetic of me to show up with my brother to a competition that my boyfriend would be at with my super-hot replacement. Not only would we probably lose to two people who knew exactly what they were doing, but it would be a pathetic, take-your-brother-to-the-prom type of loss. At least if I didn’t even go, I wouldn’t be humiliated. Still. I hated to think of Harrison winning the competition I’d worked so hard on. Without me.
Luke wrapped the towel around his neck and tugged on both ends. “Do you want me to blow off the guys tonight? Stay home and hang out with you?”
“No,” I said firmly. “Go.” As much as I’d love to keep Luke from gambling for once, I wasn’t about to ruin my brother’s plans because of my ridiculous work problems.
“Are you sure? I usually win. They’d probably be glad to see me bow out.”
I had to smile at that. “Yes. I’m sure. Go. Win.”
“I could head over to Harrison’s place and punch him for you instead. Just say the word.”
“Tempting, but no thank you.”
Luke put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll figure something out, Meggie. Don’t worry.”
“Me? Worry? Pssshshaw.”
Luke snorted at that, then pointed a finger at me. “Do not spend the night writing down goals in a day planner.”
“It’s Friday night. That would just be pathetic,” I said, knowing full well I’d spend at least a good hour with my day planner later. And enjoy it.
Luke tossed the towel on the back of the couch. I quickly retrieved it. Then he headed for the door. I turned back to continue cleaning the living room.
“By the way, Meggie,” he said from the front door. “Your underwear—or something—is sticking out of the back of your skirt.”
The door slammed and he was gone.
After Luke left, I spent the next four hours unpacking, doing laundry, and obsessively cleaning. Anything to keep my mind off Harrison and Lacey and the bloody Jane Austen Festival and Games. Then I spent some quality time with my journal and day planner. And yes, I did enjoy it. Finally, I snuggled up in bed with my fluffy lavender duvet and a pint of Häagan Daz.
I decided to watch the Colin Firth version of Pride and Prejudice because it closely follows the book and when it doesn’t, Colin Firth is all wet. A heavy sigh shuddered through me when Mr. Darcy said, “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
I sat up and pressed pause on the TV remote, then pushed the duvet to the side and slid out of bed. I padded over to the closet and pulled opened a drawer in my fancy closet system. An organized closet is one of life’s greatest joys. Along with my journals, the drawer contained my day planners from years past. I flipped the first two forward until I came to the planner from three years ago. The year I’d met Harrison.
I grabbed the planner and got back into bed where I turned the pages to the very last one. I knew precisely where it was. My Future Husband Checklist. I’d written it in grad school, but had transferred it to this particular planner after meeting Harrison and deciding that he might be the one. He had to match all of the items, I’d told myself. And he did. That was something else my college shrink had told me. “Look for someone who has the same attributes that you do. It’s not too much to ask that your partner have the same level of success as you. If you write a list of what you’re looking for and stick to it, you’re sure to find the perfect mate.”
She was right, and stick to it I had. Through all these years. My gaze scanned the familiar words. I rubbed my thumb across them and smiled.
Gainfully employed with no history of being fired or quitting often (flaky) or similar.
Intelligent. Master’s degree or higher. (Ph.D. preferred.)
Organized. Clean. Well-kept. Pays bills on time. Not a hoarder. No trash sitting around living space and/or car.
Not a gambler. Doesn’t even play cards recreationally. (except for whist at JA Festival, obvi)
Funny (because of course).
Growth-oriented and shares my vision for the future. Kids, etc.
Has never cheated on anyone in the past, i.e., trustworthy.
Attractive (to me). Doesn’t have to be any better-looking a man than I am a woman, but both of us must feel physical attraction on some level. (Must have good teeth too.)
Kind. Not rude to waiters, etc.
Shares my values. No religious zealots or anti-feminists.
Harrison met every single one of those criteria. Not just most of them. All of them. Thanks to my list, I’d known he was right for me from the start.
He was an unabashed nerd like I was. We could talk for hours about the proper use of an eyeglass and the mourning rituals of the early-nineteenth-century English. I’d never met a man who knew as much about the things I loved as he did. At least no eligible men my age. It turned out Harrison hadn’t had many girlfriends either. A lot of his friends in high school had just assumed he was gay. He said his mother had even asked him a time or two. He wasn’t gay, though he did know how to tie a cravat and dance a waltz. But he also knew all the details about the battle of Waterloo and way too much about both the Duke of Wellington and Admiral Nelson. What wasn’t hot about that?
With his permission, I even checked out Harrison’s credit score, and it was higher than mine. Impressive. He was funny. The man could do a Napoleon impression that had our grad students (and me) in stitches. Harrison was committed, healthy, and had never played poker in his life. He’d also never been to Las Vegas, which is where my dad, the “artist,” had ended up, perhaps inevitably. Dad claimed the art scene there was great for rich buyers, but Luke and I knew the real reason he was there. Anyone who knew him did. Harrison was nothing like my dad. Perfect husband material.
I scanned the list again. The gainfully employed thing was a result of my dad having a string of jobs he’d been fired from. He preferred to paint, which never earned him much. Harrison was not only gainfully employed, he was employed in my same profession. We could empathize with each other on a level many couples couldn’t. I couldn’t love anyone who didn’t value education. Not only was it important to me, but it was my job.
I’d grown up in a trailer park with a mother who should have gone to college but had ‘accidentally’ gotten pregnant instead. She’d had to wait tables and spend her spare time in the library. Both of my parents had told me since I was a kid that I would go to college, but I had been the one to want to go all the way. Getting a Ph.D. had been important to me since I was a kid. To me it symbolized being smart, something not often associated with kids from my trailer park. The day my new fourth grade teacher had looked at my address on the orientation paperwork and said she wasn’t sure if I was on a “college track,” I vowed to myself that not only would I be on a college track, I would blow her and all the other teachers at Morrison Grade School out of the water, education-wise.