The Love Project, page 4
to choose the perfect individual. This wasn’t about finding
someone who needed advice. It was about selecting a person
who could shine like a star by the time they’d reached the end
of their transformation. A diamond in the rough.
She glanced down at the grainy photo of her next
contender, Hopeless in Massachusetts. Not a lot of star power
there, she feared. To be honest, the poor quality of the photo
alone had almost been enough to set the woman aside, but
something in her letter had struck a chord with Joni and made
her want to find out more.
Her eyes swept the fresh, youthful faces of the college
students who packed the popular gathering place, wondering
whether she’d even recognize Hopeless when the time came.
Other than being a thirty-year-old Latina woman with the
usual two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, her photo didn’t give Joni
much to go on.
“Oat milk chai!” the barista hollered.
Just as Joni hopped up to retrieve her drink, the glass door
swung open. Joni’s pulse raced, and her throat went dry as a
woman stepped through, directly into a shaft of sunlight that
made her dark locks shine like obsidian. She wore a white
cotton dress that served as a perfect complement to her deep
bronze skin. Even though it hugged her rounded breasts and
hips in a way that left little to the imagination, there was
nothing vulgar about it. Quite the contrary. There was an air of
innocence about her that was refreshingly appealing.
Could that be Hopeless?
Joni pushed aside that little gem of wishful thinking the
instant her brain suggested the possibility. Sure, the woman
was about the right age and had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth,
but no way could that be her girl. Uh-uh. If that woman
couldn’t find a date, there wasn’t a chance in hell for the other
ninety-nine percent of the population. Game over. The whole
species might as well plan on going extinct.
And yet, as Joni returned to the table, her chai wobbling in
her unsteady hand, it seemed the woman was heading in the
same direction, her own hand clutching a tattered copy of a
newspaper with a publicity photo of Joni and her mother, the
one that accompanied every Help Me Henrietta column. It was
a terrible picture of her, and Joni immediately wished it would
burst into flames. Nevertheless, dark chocolate eyes landed on
her with a questioning flicker of recognition.
“Knock me down with a feather,” Joni whispered to herself
before setting her cup on the table. She made full eye contact
with the beautiful stranger and prayed her knees wouldn’t
buckle before she had a chance to sit down safely. “You’re not
looking for Joni Fisher, are you?”
The woman nodded, her eyes almost immediately
dropping to the floor.
Holy shit.
With supreme effort, Joni shoehorned her brain back into
the strictly professional box and made an off-the-cuff
assessment. Confidence was definitely an issue. That should
be easy enough to manage. She wondered what else she might
find out as they got to know each other better.
Strictly professionally, she reminded herself one more
time.
“What would you like to drink?” Joni asked.
“Oh, I don’t need anything.” The woman’s voice was so
soft Joni had to lean forward to hear her over the hustle and
bustle around them.
Joni added lack of assertiveness to her list. It was clear she
didn’t like to ask for things, which would make dating more
complicated. Would she go to a restaurant with someone and
not want to order anything? Simply sitting there looking glum?
“Please,” Joni urged. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Chai, then, if it’s not too much trouble.” The woman
flashed a broad smile that almost made Joni forget what she’d
ordered.
“Chai. Got it.” Joni marched to the counter, returning
moments later with the drink in hand. “Here you go. I hope
you don’t mind. I ordered it with oat milk. Force of habit.”
“T-thanks,” the woman stuttered. “I prefer oat milk, t-too.”
Did she always stutter, Joni wondered, or was that a sign
of rattled nerves? She’d have to plant all these details into her
brain to take notes later. She didn’t want to start jotting it all
down like this was a therapy session or something. As much as
possible, she wanted the woman to be at ease. Not an easy
task.
“So, Hope—” Joni froze as she realized she’d started to
call the stranger by the pseudonym from the letter. “I’m sorry.
I don’t actually know your real name.”
“That’s funny because you guessed it correctly.” The
corners of the woman’s mouth twitched, leaving Joni
mesmerized as she watched her lift the tall mug to her lips.
“Huh?”
“Hope.” She blew into the steaming liquid while Joni did
her best not to fixate on her luscious mouth. So much for
strictly professional. “My name is Hope.”
“Ah, I get it. Hope. Hopeless. Clever.” Joni bonked her
head. “Where are my manners? I’m Joni.”
“I know.” Hope’s gaze once again slid to the floor. “I
recognized you from your picture.”
“So, are you actually from Massachusetts, like your name
said?”
Hope nodded. “I live in Springfield. Or, at least, that’s
usually where I live when I’m not—well, never mind that. It’s
where I’m from. I don’t get to Amherst, much, though.”
Ignoring Hope’s awkwardness, Joni perked up in her seat.
“Good, good.”
Hope’s brow wrinkled. “It’s good I don’t get to Amherst
much?”
Joni laughed. “No, it’s good that you don’t live very far
away. It’ll make it easier for filming. If you end up being
chosen, that is.”
“Oh.” The spark that had lit up Hope’s eyes when Joni
mentioned filming extinguished just as quickly, and Joni
regretted having added that caveat. “You don’t think I’d be
right for the series?”
“It’s…” Joni searched for the right words to express her
doubt. “The thing is I’m having a hard time picturing you not
being able to get a date. I mean, God, you look like you could
be a model.”
Clouds gathered across Hope’s face. “What, do you think
I’m doing this to get famous or something?”
“Of course not.” Geez, way to totally blow it, Joni. “I
figure, you know, human nature being what it is, people must
fawn over you all the time.”
Hope shrugged. “Not really.”
“Come on. I have eyes.” As she said it, Joni realized her
eyes were roving all over the place in a way that was
bordering on inappropriate, and it was her turn to stare at the
floor.
Nice tile.
“Okay.” Joni refocused on the task at hand. “Let’s see if
we can get to the bottom of this. What do you do when a guy
hits on you?”
Hope stared at her with a wide-eyed expression that gave
Joni the impression the woman’s brain had blue screened and
needed to reboot.
“Or maybe when a girl hits on you?”
Hope remained frozen, and Joni wished she could kick
herself in the shin for asking such a self-serving question. But
damn. For a second there, she’d really hoped for a better
reaction, one that would put a big green check mark in the
queer column. Wishful thinking.
“Hope?”
“Sorry.” She blinked, shaking her head. “I was trying to
think, but like I said, it simply doesn’t happen.”
“Never?” Joni was as inclined to believe this as she was to
deem the tooth fairy to be real.
Hope chewed on her straw some more, leaving the top
ragged. “Or, it might be that I don’t pick up on it. That’s what
my cousin Alicia tells me.”
Now that sounded intriguing. “What do you mean,
exactly?”
“Well, sometimes I’ve sort of accidentally ended up on
dates.”
“Dates, plural? You make it sound like it’s happened more
than once.”
Hope nodded earnestly. “Several times. Like when I went
to a Super Bowl party that was actually a date.”
Joni put her elbow on the table, propping up her head with
her hand. “This I’ve gotta hear.”
“So, Mitch—he’s my roommate—had a friend over one
time, and he mentioned me coming over to his place to watch
the Super Bowl. Now, the Pats were playing, so naturally I
said yes.” Hope plunged the straw in and out of her drink.
“The day of the game, I made enough nachos for an army, but
when I showed up, there wasn’t a party at all. It was only
Rick, and he didn’t understand why I’d made so much food. It
was awkward.”
Joni held in a laugh at this understatement of the year.
“Tell me about another time.”
Hope drew a deep breath while Joni willed herself not to
stare at the woman’s suddenly very prominent breasts. “There
was a different friend of Mitch’s who showed up on
Valentine’s Day with flowers and balloons. Again, I thought
we were hanging out. I had no idea he planned to take me back
to his house, where he’d cooked me dinner. Do you want other
examples?”
“I think I get the picture.” Joni was almost speechless.
How could such a gorgeous woman be so adorably clueless?
Communication seemed to be another area where Hope could
use assistance. Good thing Joni had been a communications
major. “When they asked you out, what did they say? And
how did you respond?”
“Uh, I don’t remember. It went something like: You like
football. Great, I like football. We should watch football
together.”
“I guess that could happen to anyone,” Joni offered,
though she wasn’t convinced she believed herself. “That Rick
guy, the one who invited you over to watch the big game—did
he say he was having a party?”
“I don’t think so. No.”
“Then why did you make nachos for a party?”
“Why else invite me over for the biggest game of the year?
I’m sorta known for my nachos.” Hope sounded completely
sincere. Had she been raised in a house without mirrors and
had no idea what she looked like?
“You mentioned Mitch twice already today, and in your
letter, too. It sounded like you might’ve been in love with
him,” Joni prompted. “Could you tell me about that?”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Hope tossed out, not completely
hiding her bitterness.
Joni zeroed in on this, her years of therapy telling her it
was the key. “Why doesn’t it matter?”
“He’s engaged, and things kinda got weird between us. It’s
uncomfortable being around him, so I need to find a new place
to live, or I’m going to be spending my entire summer
vacation couch surfing.”
“Is that right?” Joni wrapped her fingers around the
ceramic mug as a million lightbulbs went off in her head. “I
think I can help.”
Hope’s face brightened. “With Mitch?”
“No, not with Mitch. With the living situation.”
“Oh. Does that mean you don’t want me?”
“I absolutely want you,” Joni declared on impulse, despite
having three more interviews lined up the next day. It didn’t
matter. In that instant, she knew she’d found her girl. For the
show. Not for herself. That would be so unprofessional. Oh
God. She should probably make that clearer, or Hope was
going to think she was some kind of perv. “I want to bring you
on board for the show.”
“You do?”
“What’s more, I want you to live with me. I mean, not with
me, with me. I want you to live in my place. My apartment.”
Joni’s face burst into flames. The more she talked, the worse
this was sounding. It was like she’d never spoken to a female
human before. Miraculously, Hope didn’t seem to be noticing
her massive faux pas.
She took a sip of the all but forgotten, very lukewarm chai
and tried again. “My original idea for the web series was to
film it like an old school reality show, like Big Brother or
something. My parents have a guest house above the garage.
That’s usually where I live, but it’s perfect for setting up a
camera area to film each day, and I could live in the main
house while you stay there. You said you’re off for the
summer?”
“I’m a teacher,” Hope confirmed, “so I have a break until
the end of August. If I could stay at this apartment you talked
about, it would be a godsend. I really can’t face Mitch right
now, and I’d rather not have to explain this to my family quite
yet.”
Joni sensed there was a lot more to that story, but now
wasn’t the time to dig in. Instead, she pulled papers out of her
bag. “Here’s the contract. Feel free to have your lawyer look it
over before you sign.”
“No need for that. I trust you. I grew up reading Help Me
Henrietta, so I feel like your mom helped raise me.” Hope
reached in her own bag for a pen, scrawled her name on the
line, and handed the contract back.
Joni clapped her hands together and let out a little squeal.
“The fans are going to love you.”
But just the fans. Definitely not Joni. Oh, and whatever
guy Hope ended up with. He’d have to love her, too.
Joni bit her lip. She’d forgotten about that part. Whatever.
It was fine. She had no interest in love or relationships and
was much too dedicated to her job to screw things up by
falling for her own… client? Patient? Well, whatever Hope
would be to her, she was strictly off-limits.
This wasn’t about Joni, anyway. This was about saving
Help Me Henrietta, no matter what she had to do. She needed
to stay focused, eyes on the prize. Not Hope’s ta-tas. Stunning
eyes. Or luscious lips.
THAT WEEKEND, JONI STOOD IN FRONT OF THE DRESSER IN HER
bedroom, tossing the last of her T-shirts into a bag while her
friend, and her father’s former student, Kimberly, looked on.
“Well, that’s it.”
Kim eyed her over the top of her round glasses. “Are you
sure this is a good idea?”
“Which idea? Me moving in with my parents for the
summer, or doing this web series in the first place?”
“Well, now that you mention it, both.”
“It’s only for a few months, and the main house is plenty
big enough for three people,” Joni pointed out. “As for the
web series, with a licensed therapist on retainer, what could go
wrong? I mean, why do you think I brought you on board?”
“Same reason you always come to me,” Kim said darkly.
“To get your dad off your case.”
“Touché.” The only thing that had finally shut her father
up about potential lawsuits was agreeing to ask his most
talented former student to advise on the show.
“Just tell me one thing, Joni. This girl you’re bringing
here, Hope. She could’ve commuted from Springfield every
day, no problem. Why bring her into your home? Why give up
your sanctuary?”
“I like to eat and need to pay my bills.” Joni let out a sigh,
as frustrated by her own financial situation as she was by what
her friend’s questions had left unsaid. She knew Kim well
enough to know what she was insinuating. “This has nothing
to do with Hope being an attractive single woman.”
“You forgot straight. An attractive, single, heterosexual
woman. Or do you think I don’t remember your three-year
obsession with Espy?”
“I was practically a kid when that happened. Besides, you
aren’t here to deal with me and my issues this time, Dr. Chen.”
Kim rolled her eyes. “You pined over that straight best
friend of yours until your sophomore year of college, and
don’t try to deny it.”
“Time honored tradition of my people,” Joni joked, doing
her best to downplay a chapter in her life that had left more
than a few scars. “Come on. If you haven’t been in love with
at least one straight best friend in your lifetime, are you even a
real lesbian?”
Kim’s expression grew thoughtful. “I remember seeing in
the file you sent over that Hope had a similar situation, minus
the gay piece.”
“Her best friend, Mitch,” Joni said. “She wanted to marry
