Mister Romance Read online

  Mister Romance

  Amelia Simone

  Mister Romance Copyright © 2019 by A.N.S. writing as Amelia Simone.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover design by Qamber Media Designs

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Amelia Simone

  Visit my website at https://ameliasimoneauthor.com/

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: 2019

  Revised: 2021

  ISBN 9798707591242

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 - Tamra

  Chapter 2 - Tamra

  Chapter 3 - Chase

  Chapter 4 - Tamra

  Chapter 5 - Chase

  Chapter 6 - Tamra

  Chapter 7 - Chase

  Chapter 8 - Tamra

  Chapter 9 - Chase

  Chapter 10 - Tamra

  Chapter 11 - Chase

  Chapter 12 - Tamra

  Chapter 13 - Chase

  Chapter 14 - Tamra

  Chapter 15 - Chase

  Chapter 16 - Tamra

  Chapter 17 - Chase

  Chapter 18 - Tamra

  Chapter 19 - Tamra

  Chapter 20 - Tamra

  Chapter 21 - Tamra

  Chapter 22 - Chase

  Chapter 23 - Tamra

  Chapter 24 - Tamra

  Chapter 25 - Chase

  Chapter 26 - Tamra

  Chapter 27 - Chase

  Chapter 28 - Tamra

  Chapter 29 - Chase

  Chapter 30 - Tamra

  Chapter 31 – Chase

  Author’s Note

  Follow Amelia!

  Read More Amelia!

  To my fantastic beta readers - thank you! DeAnna, Linda, Dave, Stina, and Melena, I appreciate you accompanying me on this journey and sharing your feedback. Any mistakes related to the portrayal of nursing or writing are my own. A.

  Chapter 1 - Tamra

  My thirtieth birthday was ushered in with wailing and tears. Not the despondent tears of loneliness and regret, though I had shed those before. They weren’t ecstatic tears of joy either. These were the tears of newborn Miguel Delgado as I placed him in the loving arms of his mother, Haley, after delivery. She and her husband, Javier, were over the moon with their new arrival, but he seemed less enthused. They oohed and ahhed over the dark fuzzy down on his head and inhaled his sweet baby scent. Watching first-time parents meet and fall in love with their babies never got old.

  Dr. Truong and I wrapped up, trying to give the family quiet time with their new arrival. The older woman smiled indulgently as she took in the wilting curls in my ponytail and wrinkled blue scrubs. “Tamra, why don’t you take a quick break? I think Gina has something for you in the lunchroom.”

  Gina would be hurt if I escaped before her “surprise.” It was close to midnight and the official start of my thirtieth birthday. Yay, me. All I wanted was to go home and crash after a shift spent at the hospital, bringing new babies into the world. It was my job and I loved it, but I’d hoped to be doing something different on my thirtieth birthday. I should be married by now, or at least in a serious relationship. Instead, I was single. Always alone. Not a whiff of a boyfriend for years.

  I blamed my job. It was hard to meet eligible men as a labor and delivery nurse. Every male I met at work was either coupled up and having a baby or minutes old. My pickings were slim.

  Gina, my fellow registered nurse on shift, waited in the break room.

  “Ta-da!” She stepped to the side, using jazz hands to highlight a white cupcake sitting on the table with a single lonely candle.

  Single. Like me. I forced a smile for Gina’s sake. It wasn’t her fault I had nothing to celebrate.

  Gina and I had worked together for years, and I appreciated her cool head and calm demeanor in the delivery room. She was forty-something with short and spiky red hair. Curvy in all the right places. She managed to make the shapeless scrubs we all wore look feminine, which was truly a talent.

  “Thanks, Gina. I can’t believe you remembered.”

  Gina smiled and shoved the cupcake in my direction. “A woman only turns thirty once. It’s sad enough you’re spending it here at work; there had to be cake.”

  Sad. Accurate. I blew out the candle before smiling into her watchful eyes. “Thanks, Gina.”

  “So, do you have anything wild and wonderful planned to celebrate this year?” I could hear the hope in her voice, and I hated to disappoint her.

  “Um, no. I’ve got a new book by my favorite author queued on my Kindle at home, but that’s about it for this weekend.”

  “Tamra Renee Shaw. Please tell me there’s more than that.” She sounded exasperated, but I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t her birthday that was going to be boring.

  “Nope, sorry.”

  She looked me in the eye, her blue eyes kind, but slightly narrowed, emphasizing the gentle lines of her face. Gina didn’t believe in bullshit.

  “Tell me truly, are you happy, Tamra? Fulfilled? Is your life what you envisioned when you got your nursing degree?”

  Not at all. “Not exactly,” I acknowledged reluctantly.

  “Is this the year that changes?”

  “I’ve been thinking about a few things.” I was hedging, and she knew it. I quickly took a bite of my cupcake. Coconut. My favorite.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Like what?” she asked.

  I chewed slowly, stalling to give myself time to think. “Well, I was thinking that this year I would try to break out of my comfort zone.” My expression darkened as I thought about my sister’s most recent email. “Prove that I can follow through. Push myself. For example, the book that I’m reading this weekend? I stalk, ahem, follow the author on Twitter, but I never comment. Maybe I could make it a goal to comment more, try to make friends online.”

  I could tell Gina wasn’t as enthused as I was over my first suggestion, but she still gave me an encouraging look. “I don’t think follow-through is your problem, but forcing yourself into uncomfortable situations does keep life interesting. That sounds like a good start. What else did you have in mind? Is there something else you’ve always wanted to do?”

  I bit my lip, unsure that I wanted to admit my next secret desire. “Dancing.”

  Gina grinned. “That sounds like fun. What kind of dancing? Are you thinking a class or just a night out? I know a country western bar in town.”

  I shuddered. I couldn’t imagine myself at a bar. I enjoyed the music, but the steps always seemed so complicated. And, double shudder, that type of dancing usually required a partner. Gina would have Vicki, and I couldn’t imagine a place I’d feel more of an outsider.

  “Um, no. Not western. I was thinking, um pole dancing.”

  “Like stripping? Tamra, I guess when you push yourself, you push it real good.”

  Me, who struggled to feel comfortable undressing in changing rooms at the mall, disrobing in front of others? I laughed. “Not stripping. I don’t think I’m quite that adventurous. Yet. But I was looking into a local dance studio that offers pole dancing fitness classes. I saw a few videos on their Facebook page, and it looks amazing. Very beautiful and athletic.”

  Gina nodded encouragingly. “Well, now seems like a good time to try it. I say go for it. So, you’ve got starting an online friendship and dan
ce classes. That’s two goals. How about making it three new things for big three-oh? Is there something else you’ve been thinking about?”

  “Not really. Those two feel like enough for now. Maybe I’ll come up with something later.”

  Gina seemed reluctant to let it go. We’d had enough pre-weekend chats where she bemoaned my lack of social life that I should have known she’d keep pushing. She looked at me closely before snapping her fingers. “I’ve got it. Get laid.” She folded her hands in front of herself and nodded. “That’s it—that’s my advice. Get laid. Now I’m your life coach.”

  I shook my head and swallowed the last bite of my cupcake. Gina blew out a sigh. She knew my hermit-like habits.

  “Fine, fine. Where’s your sense of adventure? I’ll go easy on you. You should take a romantic risk.”

  “Like what?” I asked cautiously. That sounded much safer.

  She shrugged and gave me a wicked grin. “Sometime this year, I challenge you to take a romantic risk and do something wild. Maybe look to one of your novels for inspiration. Find someone who makes you want to run naked and talk dirty. You’ll recognize what it is when you see it.” She nodded in satisfaction at her own suggestion. “You know; kiss a few frogs or something.”

  With my romantic history, I could probably count sitting at the bar by myself as a romantic risk. Arriving at a bar after work meant it would be near closing time, which would make me an immediate target for the drunk and desperate. At least until they realized I was stone-cold sober and not ready to go home with one of them. Though the grizzled older man who’d once asked if I had an inhaler because I took his breath away at least made me smile.

  But nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? What would it hurt to accept Gina’s challenge? I’d prove to myself that I wasn’t a quitter. Hobbies. Friends. A life outside of work. They could be mine. And maybe I’d surrender my long-standing single status in the process.

  “Sure, Gina. I’ll take a romantic risk. I’ll reach out to my favorite author, and I’ll take a dance class.” I ticked off a finger for every item on my list, like a pledge.

  Saddest. Pledge. Ever.

  She smiled in delight. “I can’t wait. I can feel it, Tamra. This is going to be your year to bloom. Trust your life coach.”

  I held back my groan. There was no backing out now. Life coach. At the time I was naïve enough to not dispute her claim. I knew Gina was teasing ... mostly. Was it too late to trade her life coaching advice for a bottle of wine? It was a toss-up which would help me make better decisions.

  Chapter 2 - Tamra

  My townhome complex near the hospital was dark when I pulled into my spot. Aside from a dog barking, everything appeared peaceful. Quiet. My workday usually started at three in the afternoon and ended a little after eleven thirty. I loved working second shift, but working odd hours meant that I leaned into my night owl tendencies, going to sleep around three a.m. and waking in the late morning. It was another reason my love life had been less than stellar since graduating from nursing school. Most socializing seemed to happen in the evenings, and I often volunteered for extra shifts to help pay off my student loans, which meant my opportunities to spend time with anyone outside the hospital were rare. Most of my free time happened mid-day when everyone else was at work.

  I loved the convenience of my apartment’s location, and during the summer months, I spent a lot of my afternoons reading by the pool. Being free to enjoy the mid-afternoon sun was the one biggest perk of working second shift. Just thinking of the pool’s turquoise water had me aching to soak in it.

  “Hey.”

  My heart seized. I’d been so focused on pool time, I’d lost track of my surroundings. A tall, dark-haired and dusky-skinned woman stepped out of the shadows on the next porch. Eva. My shoulders relaxed. So, not an axe murderer. Only my beautiful, domestic goddess next-door neighbor.

  “Eva. You scared me.”

  “Sorry, Tamra.”

  Eva stepped out from under her porch. She had a fluffy robe on to ward off the evening chill, but it did nothing to disguise her lithe figure and the long, deep brown hair that framed her face. “Just needed a little ‘me’ time. Maddy is teething. It took forever to get her to sleep.”

  Judging from Eva’s haggard look, I was glad to have missed it.

  “Well, at least you’re free of the little monster now.”

  Eva’s eyes widened. Right. Don’t call kids “little monsters.” I mentally added that along with sharing gory birth stories to the list of things that should not to discussed outside of the hospital. I ran a tired hand over the strands coming out of my ponytail. Blundering comments like that were why I was alone. Relationships were all fun and games until I said something too blunt. Other women (and men) expected something more refined to come out of my mouth—not the uncensored truths that fell out, splatting like a hot mess into the conversation.

  Eva laughed awkwardly before wishing me a good night and escaping back inside. It was clear which “monster” she preferred.

  I ate a quick dinner of grilled cheese. I was too tired to cook anything complicated and nothing much was open in town after my shift ended. As birthday dinners went, it wasn’t fantastic, but I promised myself a fabulous meal when I had more time. While I polished off my dinner, I checked my social media feeds and smiled at the happy birthday wishes from extended family and high school friends. I was yearning to start the new Virginia Rothman book I’d downloaded to my Kindle, but I knew if I did, I wouldn’t sleep at all. #ReaderProblems. I was the queen of ‘Just one more chapter.’

  Since I was saving her new book to savor on my day off, I scrolled Twitter for updates. Virginia Rothman frequently posted recipes with photos of the delicious looking results or writing tidbits and excerpts. I’d never done more than “like” what she posted. I felt a little stalkerish for never being more engaged, but wasn’t that what social media was for? Feeling like you’re involved and part of the “in” circle, without leaving the comfort of your home?

  Virginia had posted a picture of an amazing meal along with a link to the recipe. Asian turkey burgers with hoisin mayo. It looked divine, and I regretted my grilled cheese mediocrity.

  Maybe I did need a life coach. “Dull” described the tenor of my last few years. I went to my ordinary job and home to my uninspired apartment. I hadn’t even bothered to spice up the place by painting, though my lease agreement allowed it. I’d left it vanilla. My life had turned beige. Not the cool greige, beigey-gray combo that was currently all the rage in decorating, but plain, boring beige. I’d made no effort to change my surroundings or challenge myself. Looking at my apartment with fresh eyes, it was clear Gina was right to push me to change.

  “Every change starts with a single step,” I murmured to myself. Trite but true. I’d drafted and deleted so many social media comments to Virginia and others over the last few months without posting any of them. Something about submitting my thoughts for ridicule or replies felt like too much exposure, even with a semi-anonymous username. The anonymity of an online persona should have made me feel secure, but if anything, I felt even more anxious. Any response would be based purely on what I’d written. 280 characters wasn’t much to convey context or intent, and I’d seen comments blow up in people’s faces. No way did I want to become the next Main Character on Twitter.

  I navigated back to Virginia Rothman’s dinner post. I took a picture of my sad white bread crusts. Navigating to the replies, I posted my picture and wrote, “Looks divine. Wish I’d had that instead of this birthday grilled cheese. Birthday grilled cheese should not be a thing. At least not with processed cheese. #Regret #BirthdayGirl”

  There. Gina would be proud. After months of lurking, I’d broken the seal and responded to one of my idols. My phone didn’t implode in my hand. No one jumped out from behind my furniture to point and laugh because I’d made a stupid comment. Trolls weren’t responding to my tweet. It was fine. It was easy. I could do this.

  The notificat
ion that someone liked my Tweet caught me by surprise and sent a little thrill racing through me. Opening the app, I realized that Virginia Rothman had liked my Tweet. At best, I’d expected commiseration from my fellow followers. Not a response from the woman herself. Such a small moment probably didn’t mean much to others, but I took it as a sign. She might as well have sent me a dozen cupcakes, a bottle of wine, and her entire signed backlist. Happy birthday to me.

  I HAD THE NEXT DAY off to enjoy my birthday, and I indulged in my favorite things. My toenails were a sassy shade of purple after a relaxing pedicure. I treated myself to lunch at my favorite sandwich shop and picked up the ingredients to make the recipe I’d seen on Virginia Rothman’s post, humming along to the 90’s soft rock at the store. My high had nothing to do with Gina’s text of encouragement, and everything to do with my progress, though Gina’s text did make me smile.

  Gina: Don’t fear failure. Fear being in the exact same place next year as you are today. – Unknown

  Apparently, she was taking her role as my new life coach seriously.

  Back at my condo, I took full advantage of the sunny summer afternoon, pulling on a tank swimsuit and bundling my brown curls up in a poufy ponytail on top of my head. Dark sunglasses shaded my brown eyes, and I liked to think I looked like a darker haired and eyed Keri Russell when she was rocking it curly.

  I examined my figure in the mirror. The tank suit was a nice shade of blue with a paisley pattern, and it kept my “bait in the bucket” as my dad liked to say. I frowned, looking at my cleavage. Maybe that was the problem? Should I be trolling for big fish instead? I rolled my eyes. Pretty sure there was a catch and release metaphor in there somewhere.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent languishing by the complex pool with Virginia Rothman’s new book and a bottle of iced tea. The awkward heroine temping as a QA analyst may not have my work schedule, but I could relate to her challenges finding love. I got side-eyed by some of the mothers at the pool, but they soon realized it either wasn’t liquor, or I was the quietest drunk ever.