I WAKE on Saturday morning to the sounds of Lizzo and the vacuum cleaner roaring through the apartment. I drag myself out of bed and shuffle, bleary-eyed, into the living area to find my roommate, Jenna, dressed in a sports bra and pajama shorts, vigorously cleaning the rug.
"Whoa, Lizzo." I yawn. "Isn't it kind of early for that?"
"Have you seen the state of this thing?" she replies, still vacuuming furiously. "I think I found popcorn from last month hiding under here!"
Uh-oh. This can't be good. And judging by the immaculate look of our kitchen, she's been at it for a couple of hours already. "What happened?" I ask, bracing myself.
"Tyler broke up with me."
I wince.
"No, wait," Jenna corrects herself. "'Breaking up' implies we were actually dating, instead of just 'seeing each other'!" She puts down the vacuum long enough to do air quotes, then grabs the Windex.
I look at her, puzzled. "What do you mean? You've been together for three months now."
"Apparently not!" Jenna cries, swiping angrily at the window. "Apparently, when he said he wasn't dating anyone else, that didn't include hooking up with some girl at the art exhibit!"
"Ugh. I'm so sorry." I carefully take the spray bottle from her hands before she accidentally sprays us both. "And also, huh? Did he take one look at the modern art and get so unbearably inspired he had to go get some wild action?"
Jenna finally cracks a smile. "The gallery was our place," she says, collapsing onto our well-worn couch with a sigh. "Now I'll have to avoid it… and everywhere we used to go together."
"This is why I don't share my favorite spots until at least the four-month mark," I agree. "Or date anyone in the neighborhood. Sure, it's convenient to have them bring over takeout on a Friday night, but then you're stuck looking presentable just to run errands, because the one day you're in your most casual sweats is, of course, the one day you're bound to run into him and his stunning new girlfriend."
Jenna squeezes my hand. "I'm sorry."
"What? No, this is about you!" I insist. "And you can do so much better than Tyler. I never liked him," I add, supportive. "He always ate his fries plain. No ketchup, no mayo… Who does that?"
"A psychopath, that's who." Jenna smiles wider. "I know… He wasn't the one, but we were still having fun. Or so I thought. But I guess I wasn't fun enough…"
"Maybe you should have dressed up as a piece of modern art," I joke, trying to cheer her up. "Done some sexy abstract roleplay to spice things up."
Jenna laughs. "At least now I won't have to scrub myself down after every date. Note to self: don't date a guy with gluten intolerance again."
"Yeah, that should be a deal-breaker." I look around our apartment, which, sure enough, is overflowing with beautiful floral arrangements. Just one of the perks of living with a floral designer. Sometimes, I wonder if she picked me from the stack of roommate applications just because of my name.
"Anyway, much as I love the fruits of your stress-cleaning, you need to have some fun," I tell her, getting up. "And by fun, I mean mimosas."
"It's 9 a.m.!"
"It's the weekend!" I reply.
"Well… Sarah did mention something about press invites to some new rooftop bar opening…" Jenna offers, looking perkier.
"Perfect! I have a meeting, but I'll meet you guys there this afternoon," I say, giving her a quick hug. "And I promise, we'll find you a guy who loves condiments!"
I GET DRESSED and head out for the day, saying hello to Mr. Patel outside his market stall on the corner—and picking up some juicy mango for the ride. Our apartment building is nestled in a lively corner between Little Italy and the East Village; Jenna loves it because she's close to the flower market, and I love it because it's still affordable on my, umm, unpredictable income. Although, these days, business is really picking up—and not just because of my favorite client, Noah. Thanks to some hustle and word of mouth, I've managed to tap into a goldmine of wealthy but romantically challenged trust-fund guys. Now, most of my business is uptown… which is the reason I'm squished on the subway on a Saturday morning, wedged between two tourists.
I hold on tight to the pole and stare at the wall… right at a poster for Dapper. I wince. It's a men's lifestyle website where my ex, Jake, works. Also known as the guy who broke my heart.
Also, also known as the man who sent me spiraling into a dark five-month binge of cookies and reruns of my favorite reality shows. Also, also, also known as the man I may occasionally still google-stalk at 2 a.m., hoping to find a news report that he's lost his charm in a freak accident.
Ahem.
I should have seen the signs from the start. We met in line for a screening of an indie film at the old theater downtown, but I had no idea I was about to end up with the emotional equivalent of a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. Because he was cute. Seriously cute. And funny, and charming, and had actual furniture in his tiny apartment—which, let me tell you, after dating a string of guys with just a mattress and a broken chair, was no small feat. Plus, he could differentiate between Hemingway and Fitzgerald and would do this adorable thing where he scrunched his nose trying to figure out the crossword in the Sunday paper.
And did I mention how cute he was?
I was smitten. So smitten that I actually bought his lines about how our connection was so pure, we shouldn't label it. That monogamy was just a construct of society. That real love didn't need definitions or boundaries to thrive.
What can I say? I did some foolish things when I was twenty-five.
And twenty-six.
And twenty-seven.
We must have broken up and gotten back together a dozen times, but it was the nagging insecurity that finally did me in. Always wondering if I wasn't enough for him to want to settle down. Like he was just biding his time with me, waiting for the real love of his life to appear.
I finally broke free from that emotional rollercoaster a year ago, and (aside from the occasional late-night google-stalking) I haven't looked back. Because the great thing about my job is that I actually get to see what love looks like up close. The kind of love that prioritizes each other and is 100 percent sure they're The One—at least, sure enough to hire me to write heartfelt poems about their first date. It helps remind me what it is I'm searching for… and not to settle for just another guy looking to make the bare minimum of effort—while also expecting me to happily fall into bed with him when he shows up tipsy and unannounced at my door at 2 a.m.
Ah, the joys of dating.
"Fifty-sixth Street."
I snap out of my reverie just in time to make my stop on the Upper East Side. Five blocks from the subway, nestled on a quiet, tree-lined street, I find the brownstone building with an "office for rent" sign in the window. The moment I step inside, I want it.
I want it bad.
It's a small, basement-level suite, but it's bright and airy, with a large window and polished wooden floors. There's a small outer room, perfect for a waiting area, and the main office, with enough space for a big desk… some filing cabinets… my shelves of research materials… I can already envision myself here, meeting clients and maybe even hiring some extra help in time as I build an entire empire. Cupid's Corner. The language of love.
"It's a great location, close to the park," the property manager says, sounding bored. "We need first, last, and a credit check."
I glance at the listed rent amount and feel faint. "Is it negotiable at all?" I ask, hopeful.
"Nope."
"What about you?" I ask, changing my approach. "Perhaps I could offer some services in exchange?"
The man gives me a stern look. "I'm a happily married man, miss."
"What? No!" I blurt, blushing. "I didn't mean… that! Perhaps you'd like some help writing love letters for your wife? To celebrate a special occasion—birthday? Anniversary?"
"She's not the reading type," he replies. "Except for those mystery novels. She loves them. Can you write her a story?"
I think about it for a moment, but even I know my limits. "Sorry. Nope."
"Then the price is the price," he shrugs.
"THE PLACE IS PERFECT! And perfectly unaffordable," I tell Jenna and our friend, Sarah, when we're settled at the bar with some consolation margaritas. The rooftop venue has stunning views of the city—and a crowd of beautiful young people, all showing off their tans as they snap selfies and enjoy the summer weekend. "It would be great for business," I continue. "I mean, who would you trust with your romantic future: the woman fighting for a table at a café, or the one with real business cards and elegant lettering on the window…?"
"I'm a caffeine addict, so my vote doesn't count," Sarah says, giving me a sympathetic smile. "You'll figure something out."
"I know." I sigh and take a sip of my drink. "What about you? Thanks for getting us the invites, by the way."
"And miss out on some prime people-watching? Never!" Sarah grins. She spots something over my shoulder and blinks. "Handlebar mustache, three o'clock!"
We all turn. It's not so much a mustache as two enormous tufts of hair on his face.
"When did men think that was a good idea?" Jenna asks, sounding awestruck.
"Somewhere out there, a girl is saying, 'You look amazing, sweetie,' letting all of us down," Sarah agrees.
"How would you even kiss around that thing?" I ask, tilting my head.
"Never mind kissing, can you imagine that scratching up your thighs?" Sarah cracks, and we all laugh.
"Ouch!"
The guy looks over and makes eye contact with Jenna. "He likes you!" I whisper-shriek. "Go talk to him."
"What? No!" Jenna blushes.
"Why not?" Sarah urges. "You need a rebound after Tyler."
"A rebound? Seriously?" I blink.
"You know, when you cook a batch of pancakes, that first one is always all greasy and limp," she explains.
"Now you're really making him sound appealing." I smirk.
Sarah laughs. "I'm just saying! She needs a good rebound to help her forget all about that jerk."
"Because when I look at that guy, I don't think 'art gallery' at all?" Jenna asks.
Sarah pauses. "Good point. What about him?" She points to a different guy, this one shirtless and waxed within an inch of his life… and his groin.
"He's so slippery!" Jenna laughs. "Like a seal!"
"Another round?" I ask, finishing my drink.
"Yes, please!"
I leave them sizing up potential rebounds and make my way to the bar, which is crowded with thirsty patrons. I'm trying to figure out my best approach—elbows, or the pogo move—when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
"Coconut mojito or acai spritzer?"
I turn. Noah is strolling over, looking annoyingly handsome—and effortlessly cool—in another crisp white shirt and stylish sunglasses.
Does the guy ever sweat?
"Or maybe a matcha ginger mule," he suggests.
"What language are you speaking?" I ask, only half-joking.
"The drinks menu," Noah explains, holding up a piece of parchment. "Everything here is organic—even the cocktails."
"Just what I need, a health kick with my hangover," I quip. "Whose brilliant idea was that?"
He grins. "A friend of mine, actually. I have a stake in this place too."
"Whoops." I laugh. "Well, good luck to you. It seems to be a hit with everyone else," I add. "Clearly, I'm not in tune with the cool crowd."
"Or hip to the latest trends," he replies, teasing. Noah gestures to the bartender, and of course, the girl comes over immediately, despite the fact that she's got a dozen other customers waving for attention.
"VIP treatment, huh?" I ask.
Noah smirks. "I was going to buy you drinks, but if you don't want to take advantage of my status…"
"No!" I yelp. "Trade away. Three margaritas, please—hold the health stuff."
Noah orders and then turns back to me. "So what are you up to today?" he asks. "Out fishing for new clients?"
"You make it sound so seedy," I protest, remembering the property manager's response. "Why does everyone think I'm some kind of hustler today?"
"And it's only 3 p.m.," Noah smirks.
I hit him lightly on the arm. "For someone who relies on me to smooth out his romantic life, you should be kinder. Otherwise, I'll send someone a poetic eulogy and you'll never know the difference."
"You're right," he agrees, the corners of his lips still curled in a grin. Damn, the guy is handsome. Why is it I've never really noticed before…?
"Jasmine might not like that," he continues. "Or Chloe. Or Sophie."
Aaaand that's why not.
I roll my eyes and grab my drinks, but just as I'm about to make my escape, Noah goes completely still beside me, as if he's seen a ghost. "Wait," he says, grabbing my arm. "I have a new job for you."
Of course he does. I'm tempted to turn him down, but that office isn't going to pay for itself, so I put on my game face and bite back my snarky retort. Almost. "Who's the unfortunate girl this time?"
"Her." Noah nods behind me. I turn to see a woman posing for pictures with a friend by the pool. She's stunning in a radiant, effortless way: dark curls and full lips, wearing a flowing sundress that hugs her curves perfectly. Just looking at her makes me feel like I should be doing yoga three times a week and sipping green smoothies.
Couldn't this guy go hit on a shy, bookish nerd for once?
"Fine," I sigh. "What do you want: the usual sonnet to message her? Surely you have enough old ones to just copy and paste at this point."
But Noah shakes his head. "No. Jasmine is different. I'm going to need something special. Pull out all the stops."
"Stops, pulled. Got it." I nod, pulling out my phone to make a note. "You said her name is Jasmine?"
"Jasmine Michaels," he says, and I swear his voice gets almost reverent. "I'm serious, Poppy. You need to win her over for me. Whatever it takes."
And then, before I can ask anything more, Noah turns on his heel and bolts for the exit, leaving me staring across the rooftop at this latest vision of beauty. Jasmine is already surrounded by guys hanging on her every word. And I'm pretty sure I even recognize one of her handsome admirers as an actor from my favorite TV show.
And, perhaps, a few personal daydreams…
Clearly, I've got my work cut out for me. But that's what I'm here for, right? Making strangers swoon with just the power of my pen… and a few well-chosen quotes. I've done it for Noah half a dozen times already.
The only thing I'm wondering is, what makes this woman different from all the rest?