Page 9 of Never Been Matched
My gaze shoots back to her.
She’s frowning at my costume.
Of course. I meet Vivien Hart, the Vivien Hart, for the first time, and I’m dressed in a unitard covered in hearts and kisses like toddler pajamas.
She’s even more gorgeous in person. Even though she’s frowning, and she has handcuffs on.
Wait. Handcuffs?
Chapter Three
Vivien
* * *
There is something wrong about being attracted to a man in a sheet with a red halo bobbing above his head and white wings strapped to his back.
It’s got to be because it’s the first man I’ve been this close to in years other than the mail guy, my dentist, and teenage Noah, lover of gourds.
Oh, and the cop, Jerry, who just arrested me. Can’t forget about him.
That’s it. It’s absolutely not because of his tumbled dark hair or whisky-brown eyes or the slight flush on his cheeks or the fact that the unitard he’s wearing like a second skin outlines his lean, athletic frame. I’ll just ignore the hearts and red lip marks dotting the ensemble.
“This lady says she has an appointment with you,” the cop says. “She says she’s Vivien Hart, can you believe it? I watched that show she was in, and that girl was a child. This lady has got to be thirty.”
My mouth pops open. “Thirty?” I’m twenty-nine. But still. I look at least twenty-seven.
Hot angel-man speaks. “You’re right. Looks nothing like her.” Then he winks at me.
Is he kidding? I would laugh if I could remember how to interact with someone who makes my heart beat a little faster.
This whole situation is jarring and surreal. My first foray outside of my little bubble of reality without a disguise, and I get arrested and taken to a school to be judged in front of a man in a cupid-themed unitard while children shriek in the background.
Are they always this noisy?
Jerry keeps going. “She conveniently doesn’t have any ID on her.” He chuffs out a disbelieving laugh.
I’m too shocked to react. This whole night has been one bizarre incident after another.
When the cop pulled up behind me at the inn, I thought for sure I was saved. Jerry has a head full of white hair, thick white brows, and a white beard and mustache.
He’s basically Santa Claus in the flesh.
But when I tried to explain about my car, the appointment, and how I didn’t have my ID, none of it mattered. It didn’t help that I was stuttering and stumbling over my words the whole time. Being mostly reclusive for years doesn’t prepare you for reasoning with authority figures. He handcuffed me, put me in the back of his crazy, golfcart-like vehicle that’s equipped with track tires and a blade attached to the front like a snowplow, and took me here to “confirm my story” with Mr. Montgomery.
Mr. Montgomery, who is apparently dressing like the angel of love in the local elementary school play.
“Jerry.” He takes the halo off his head and sets it in a cubby behind him. “Where did you get the handcuffs?”
“Aren’t they great? I bought them at that new costume store down on Vine with this.” He gestures to his dark blue long-sleeve button-up and slacks.
Wait a minute . . . I peer closer at the star affixed to Jerry’s lapel. Does that say The Fun Police?
I take in the rest of the outfit. Does it have Velcro tearaway sections?
Was I arrested by a stripper?
It’s a bridge too far. “Why are you dressed like that if you aren’t the police? And why did you arrest me?”
