“And then finally, after a year, when it turns out that this person is real after all—to meet the guy you imagined but still not know why or how you knew him because he doesn’t remember ever meeting you? At first, I convinced myself that the answer to the puzzle was fate. Why else would I dream up a man who turned out to be real, if he wasn’t my soul mate sanctioned by the universe?”
I steal another glance at Perry. He’s holding very still, watching me so closely I feel it in every nerve ending. I refocus on the camera.
“But then something miraculous happened. I met someone else. Devin’s brother, Perry. Our connection wasn’t as cosmic or immediate, but the more time we spent together, the more I realized that this person, this stranger, might just fulfill me even more than the one I dreamed about. Not because I don’t like Devin—in fact, he’s an incredible person I’m honored to call a friend. But the workings of the heart are as mysterious as the universe itself. Is it chemical, the feeling of attraction we experience for another person? Is it emotional? A combination of pheromones and the brain recognizing an inherent compatibility with another person on a subconscious level? I don’t have the answer. But what I do know is that I’ve found that kind of soul-deep connection people dream about. And it’s not with Devin.”
With a sardonic smile, he shrugs and the crowd chuckles.
“It took me a while to recognize it, but Perry Szymanski is the man who speaks to my heart. His entire mission in life is to bring joy to others through the simple act of giving. He recognizes and celebrates the connection between people because he understands the fleeting nature of life and the powerful bonds we forge while we’re here. And even though his own father, Roger Szymanski of Szymanski Enterprises, is trying to use his power and influence with the city of Cleveland to close his son’s beloved business, Blooms & Baubles, Perry’s light still shines. He laughs easily, he makes the most beautiful flower arrangements you’ll ever see, and his trust is hard to earn, but worth its weight in gold once you have it.
“You said earlier that this story was one of fate bringing people together. I think you might be right, Charlotte. I don’t know if fate or God or forces beyond our understanding exist in the universe. But if they do, I believe they brought me to Devin so I would meet Perry—the man I’ve fallen in love with.”
Silence falls across the crowd. Even Charlotte is speechless for a full three seconds. Finally, she flashes her newscaster smile. “Well. That was quite a story.”
As soon as the camera stops rolling, the makeshift set erupts into chaos. “What the hell was that?” Charlotte screeches, but I’m already unclipping my mic. Pushing onto my toes, I search the undulating sea of spectators, but I can’t find Perry. My chest aches. Did he leave?
Brie scurries to my side. “Oh my God, Cass—”
“Where’s Perry?” Unfastening the mic box from the back of my skirt, I yank the wire out of my blouse and drop it onto my stool.
Blinking, she looks around, frowning. “He was just here.”
“I need to find him.” Before I can take a step, however, Charlotte Owens is in my face. Her blond, shoulder-length bob crackles with anger.
“How dare you blindside me like that. I interviewed you as a favor to Brie, and you—”
Brie inserts herself between us. “Shut up, Mother.” She’s several inches shorter than her mom, but her expression is so venomous Charlotte takes a hasty step back. “Quit pretending like you did me some big favor. You only agreed to interview Cass when there was a big, juicy story at stake. You wouldn’t even send your most junior reporter to cover the festival when I asked you about it weeks ago, and then again just the other day. So stop acting like you’re such a saint and be thankful that Cass probably just handed you a viral video.”
My throat constricts. “You think it’ll go viral?” I ask, horrified.
Wincing, Brie shrugs. “It’s pretty compelling stuff.”
“Excuse me. What is going on here?” A deep voice booms. The crowd in front of us parts, revealing Roger Szymanski. His hair isn’t as neat as usual, and his Lacoste polo is wrinkled on one side, like he tucked it in in a hurry. Nostrils flaring, he glares at the mural behind us, then at Devin. “My assistant called this morning to inform me that someone painted my warehouse, and that there’s some kind of festival going on associated with Blooms & Baubles. And now I find you here with a news crew? Explain yourself,” he hisses.