Part of Her Plan: Cupid's Cafe, #5

By Catherine Peace

An invitation to Cupid's Café will change your life.

Lydia Rossi has The Plan all figured out. A great job at Louisville's fastest-rising tattoo shop, a place of her own, and putting her heroin addiction behind her once and for all. So far, everything fits perfectly into the safety-focused life she's created, though she can't forget the one woman who made her want more.

 

Jenny Sloane's sole focus is on convincing her brother to let her come home. She's deceived him into thinking she's clean, but the truth is—she likes the way she feels when she drinks. If it takes a few white lies to make it happen, she will lie until the cows come home. She doesn't need anyone, except family.

 

A note from Cupid's Café reunites Lydia with her former therapy groupmate Jenny, sparking attraction, but a new complication arises when Jenny moves into the same transitional living house with Lydia. Jenny's presence threatens to unravel Lydia's plan, and for the first time Jen's family-only focus wavers. One moment and one mistake is all it'd take to destroy their futures, but the chemistry between them is undeniable. No strings attached becomes tangled. Can a relationship be part of The Plan after all?

 

Welcome to Cupid's Café, a place where missed connections meet. How the invitations find them, no one knows…except for the mysterious owner, Mr. Heart.

This multi-author series focuses on protagonists struggling with real-life issues that often get swept under the rug. With Cupid's Café, these issues find representation in the characters struggling to conquer their own problems while trying to carve a future for themselves.

 

From cops to artists, or social workers to photographers, Mr. Heart ensures these lost souls who believe themselves undeserving of love reconnect with their fated match.

 

Each couple embarks on their journey at Cupid's Cafe, but the rest is up to them: whether damage wins or they find true love in the end.

 

READ THEM ALL

Painting for Keeps (Cupid's Cafe #1) by Landra Graf

Exactly Like You (Cupid's Cafe #2) by Lori Sizemore

Captured Memories (Cupid's Cafe #3) by Katherine McIntyre

True Colors (Cupid's Cafe #4) by Landra Graf

Part of Her Plan (Cupid's Café #5) by Catherine Peace

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Jul 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781953335432

Book preview

Prologue

Lydia pulled in front of the nondescript beige building and threw the car into park. Facing it that day, she marveled at how far she’d come in such a short time—short compared to the amount of time she believed it’d take to fix her. The knowledge that she wasn’t broken gave her strength, and maybe, just maybe, she’d finish the program as a functioning human being.

Her mother would shit a brick if she found out. Therapy. How low-class.

Not like a bottle of wine, right, Mom?

After a deep breath—in through the nose, out through the mouth—she exited the clunker of a Subaru she loved so much, almost deafened by the silence after she cut the engine. The muffler still had to wait; her few online commissions helped buy the car, but she needed to pay the hospital, too. And as often as she was nose-to-sketchbook, she couldn’t crank out enough art to pay for both.

Taking commissions had started as a way to earn money—a Rossi never asked for a handout, after all. A few people stopped on the street for a terrified seventeen-year-old who’d draw you a picture for five dollars. She’d learned to speed-draw, and the looks on her patrons’ faces when she finished brought her almost as much joy as the money. Some paid extra, even. Until she’d gotten picked up.

Lydia greeted the receptionist and the faces she recognized from the other groups but didn’t fully relax until she claimed her spot from the right side of the room near the back window; during their first break, the window let in the perfect amount of light for sketching.

Man, I can’t wait to get back to the center. She ached to check for more commission requests. The website she’d joined had boosted her sales more than she’d dreamed.

Alone in the room, she turned to a dog-eared page in her personal Holy of Holies, and the first beginnings of a tattoo design waited for her to continue. She added a little more to the birdcage every time—not too much, or she’d get overwhelmed. If this was going on her body, it had to be perfect, and perfection required focus, patience.

Faith.

Pushing that thought away, she rough-outlined the broken door and filled in a pattern resembling the rose window in her mother’s church. She knew that window like she knew her own name—Lydia Olivia Rossi—and sketched it with such care and precision she forgot it’d been almost two years to the day since she’d seen it. She remembered the subtle shifts in the colors of stained glass and how the red part in the middle reminded her of a heart.

But that was over. Heart shattered, faith vanished like the Holy Ghost.

Another gay kid tossed out to the four winds.

With a heavy sigh, she closed the book and replaced it in the ratty backpack she still carried. Patched with pieces of fabric and a few strips of duct tape, it held her entire world, and she refused to part with something so loyal. Besides, new wasn’t in her vocabulary anymore. As long as hers held together, someone else could take a new backpack if one was donated.

At four minutes to nine, the rest of her small group filed in. She waved hi to each one, weirded out by the fact that the next day, after a year of shedding tears and sharing hugs with the others, she’d come in for the last time prepared to say her goodbyes, and two days after that, she’d move into her own apartment. The idea of being on her own unsettled her, but she remembered all those cold nights sleeping wherever she’d found a place, sometimes using her backpack as a pillow to protect the treasures inside.

At 9:02, Cara entered, apologizing every step from the door to her chair at the front of the room. A new person is joining us, she said as she shuffled materials, but until she gets here, we’re going to go on as usual.

Breaks to routine were abnormal and were handled efficiently. Lydia had seen it before with Curtis and Nancy, who slipped in during the group’s breathing exercises. Sure enough, by the time she reached maximum Zen, the door opened, then shut with a tiny click, and footsteps padded to the chair three down from hers. After Cara finished leading them, Lydia opened her eyes and found the she in question.

Over the last several months, Lydia had developed a decent sense of a person’s poison. Curtis had favored meth, Nancy cocaine. Philip enjoyed his pain meds while Antoine fucked with uppers, downers, and anything else he could ingest—afraid of needles, of course. She knew because she knew kids who’d used similar shit to forget how Mommy and Daddy bought their affection instead of giving them real love, and the ultimate Fuck You to the parental units was to smoke, snort, drink, or inject the money they were given. Poor little rich kids.

Lydia favored cocaine, too. Made her feel invincible, but damn, the crash hurt. The heroin treated her a little more kindly, but she hated the needle marks.

New girl, though? Alcoholic, and alcoholics she knew all too well. Too bad. She’s pretty. Even dressed like the loner from every 90s high school movie—oversized black sweatshirt, ripped jeans, Converse—New Girl’s eyes showed an old soul. A wary soul. Someone who needed just enough to get by, until enough became too much.

In her usual warm, welcoming way, Cara introduced their newest companion. Everyone, this is Jennifer Sloane.

Jenny, the girl squeaked.

As the rest of the room greeted her, she collapsed even further into herself until Lydia thought she might disappear into that giant sweatshirt. When the girl’s eyes met hers, she cracked the beginning of a smile, and Lydia didn’t think she was pretty anymore.

She’s gorgeous.

After going through the Monday-morning routine of discussing the weekend, Cara turned to her. And Lydia here leaves us tomorrow. Are you excited?

I think so. It’s weird, though, getting my own place. I’ve never lived alone. In an apartment, anyway. She chuckled, nerves turning her voice into a trill. I...I’m scared, but not enough to back out. It’s like, an excited scared, if that makes any sense.

Cara nodded. It does. But you’ve made a lot of significant progress, Lydia. You’ll get to make your own rules.

Right. With that, Lydia felt Jenny’s attention on her. Her arms and face heated. She hated being the center of attention, regardless of how long it lasted.

And Jenny, why don’t you tell us a bit more about yourself?

The girl shrugged, though it was hard to see. I, um, live with my twin brother. Our mom works all the time to help pay for his bills—he’s got lupus. So I take care of him.

Nodding again, Cara waited for Jenny to continue. When she didn’t, she asked, What’s that like for you?

I don’t know. I mean, he’s my little brother. I have to watch out for him.

How much younger?

About ten minutes.

Lydia stifled a giggle. Too bad she’d be finished tomorrow. She already liked this girl.

Cara continued a series of gently probing questions. Jenny, barely eighteen, used music to cope, but she’d found alcohol at a party thrown by her friend two years before. I liked being drunk. I liked not worrying about Jack for a little while. And I liked Liza, too.

A chill crept up Lydia’s spine.

How did your mom feel about all of that?

She never knew about the booze, and she mothered me as much as she could after Liza and I broke up. But Jack’s my best friend. He knows everything about me.

Including the alcohol?

She nodded. But not why I drink it.

As the session wore on, Lydia tried to imagine her mom offering comfort and advice instead of freaking the fuck out, and she wondered about Cass, the first girl she’d crushed on, the one she’d told her mother about, the entire reason she’d been thrown onto this road. In a way, Jenny reminded her of her friend—someone searching for a little bit of relief. After her parents’ divorce, Cass went wild, and her mom, too busy enjoying her new freedom, didn’t care at all.

Lydia stayed mostly on autopilot through the rest of the morning. After lunch she needed to get back to the center. Needed to work. Needed to stop thinking for a while. Out of habit, she tugged on the cuffs of her shirt, as if the track marks dotting her forearm would spell out her secrets. There was still so much she hadn’t fully dealt with, but Cara was right—she’d made a shit-ton of progress. The rest would follow, once she established herself in her apartment. Made her own life. Her own rules.

Yeah. This’ll be awesome.

Riding the high of her optimism, she followed the other ducklings in their straight line to the cafeteria. Jenny stayed to herself, arms wrapped around her middle. The more she opened up, the more closed off her body language became, until she got defensive. Lydia got it; she’d been the same way at first. Angry, scared, un-fixable in her mind, determined not to talk too much. It wasn’t until almost six weeks into the program she’d told the story of her mother and getting kicked out of the house for liking another girl. After that, she let everything out, crying more than once, more than ten times, probably. But her burdens lifted, and she breathed easy for the first time in a long while. She hoped and prayed the same for Jenny. There was a good girl wrapped up in all the bullshit.

After she got through the line, she scouted for an empty spot. Usually she’d hang out with Philip and Antoine, but catching Jenny sitting alone, looking like a cornered animal, she found herself taking the seat in front of her. The other girl glanced up, eyes a little too wide, but then she went stone-faced, a practiced reaction, no doubt.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, nibbling on spaghetti and garlic bread.

I don’t even like spaghetti, Jenny said, finally.

What? Who doesn’t like spaghetti? Italians everywhere are clutching their rosaries right now.

Jenny giggled and uncoiled. Not liking pasta is a serious offense, huh?

The worst. Right up there with preferring grape juice to wine.

Ugh. I’m not that bad.

For a moment, Lydia sized her up. They were close to the same age but had led completely different lives and still ended up here. Something in Jenny’s blue eyes made Lydia want to take her hand and never let go. Those gorgeous lips didn’t hurt, either. You strike me as more of a tequila girl.

I’m an anything girl. Well, I was. Setting her fork down, Jenny rested her head in her hands. This is fucking bullshit.

I felt that way at first, too. Understatement. It gets better, though. Not easier, because what’s the fun in that? But better.

I don’t know about all this. She pushed her tray to the side and stared a hole through where it had been. I mean, my life’s not perfect, but I don’t really think I need to be here.

Then why are you?

Taking a breath, she glanced up from beneath dark black eyelashes. Damn, those blue eyes were entrancing.

Jack.

Gotcha. Lydia considered her next words carefully. Well, kiddo, the best advice I can give you is to commit. Even if you’re here because of your brother. I’m here because the state decided I was too fucked up for gen pop. And I hated it at first, too, swore I’d never say a word. But after the dam broke, I gained a lot of insight. She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts from the vortex whirling around in her brain. There’s such a thing as doing right for the wrong reasons, but I think you still get something out of it. So...try. Okay?

Why are you in the chem group?

Without thinking, Lydia pulled up her sleeve, revealing the series of tiny red marks lining her forearm. I’m designing a tattoo to cover them.

Never would’ve picked you for a junkie.

No one would’ve, trust me. But anybody can fall. Some of us just fall a hell of a lot harder. Overachievers.

Laughing again, Jenny shook her head. True that.

So...you gonna try?

Yeah, Jenny said. I’m gonna try.

7

Chapter One

Ten years later

Lydia hated how she stuck her tongue out when she concentrated, and even more how Colby and Bellamy made terrible faces at her while she finished up the outline of stars making up a constellation she’d forgotten the name of. Presented with Taylor’s perfect tanned and toned back, her thoughts evaporated; the woman on her table lay on her stomach, shirt and bra off, while Lydia transformed her back into...the fox one. Vulpecula. That was it.

After she outlined the actual fox, she’d be done with Hot Girl—an affectionate nickname—until she came back for color. This tattoo would be sick.

You’re gonna love this, she said. It’s gonna be amazing.

Hey, I was sold on the drawing, Taylor replied, her husky voice slightly muffled by the table, so I trust you. Besides I won’t know if it looks like shit.

It won’t. If there’s one thing I kick ass at, it’s this.

The day Lydia came in for her birdcage tattoo, Jude had taken one look at the detail work in her picture and offered her an apprenticeship on the spot. Working under him, and at the grocery store, had left her little time to herself, but she wanted to learn tattooing. All her life, she’d fantasized about creating art that people took with them everywhere they went. And she was getting there, slowly. Taylor’s fox was her biggest work to date. The design itself took up most of Taylor’s mid-back, with the fox looking up at her left shoulder blade and the tip of its tail brushing her right. The constellation was worked into the fox’s body. With the galaxy color palette they’d talked about, the tattoo would pop like gangbusters on her tanned skin.

After her client dressed and left, Lydia sank onto the nearest sofa and willed her back to relax. Thank god she didn’t have anywhere else to be after shift.

Jude lifted her legs and settled on the sofa, letting her heels bounce against the arm. She barely felt the impact. You still like it?

Wouldn’t trade it for anything. Her tired face slid into a smile, and she opened one eye to see her mentor’s grin. You still glad you hired me?

Wouldn’t trade you for anything, kiddo. He glanced at the birdcage taking up her entire left forearm. How long did you work on that?

Like, two years. And it’d been worth every second of effort. Still one of my favorite pieces.

Mine, too. I don’t know if you can top this one.

Lydia smiled. Challenge accepted.

Some of the detail had been lost in the transfer to skin, but Jude made up for it with exquisite colors and shading that brought the entire design to life. After being at this for twenty-something years, he had color work down to...well, an art. The rose-window cage door was a masterpiece in and of itself, but the escaping raven was her favorite part. She imagined the glint of happiness in the bird’s eye as it broke free. She’d always loved ravens, and in her mind, God favored ravens even more than doves.

Thus the additional joy of the bird’s flight to freedom, escaping from a cage that resembled