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Back First Comes Love Save as PDF
Chapters (92)
  1. First
  2. Love Connection
  3. Zero
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. One Month Later
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Six Months Later
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-one
  27. Twenty-two
  28. Twenty-three
  29. Twenty-four
  30. Six Months Later
  31. Twenty-five
  32. Twenty-six
  33. Twenty-seven
  34. Twenty-eight
  35. Twenty-nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-one
  38. Thirty-two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. I Have Never
  41. One
  42. Two
  43. Three
  44. Four
  45. Five
  46. Six
  47. Seven
  48. Eight
  49. Nine
  50. Ten
  51. Eleven
  52. Twelve
  53. Thirteen
  54. Fourteen
  55. Fifteen
  56. Sixteen
  57. Seventeen
  58. Eighteen
  59. Nineteen
  60. Twenty
  61. Twenty-one
  62. Twenty-two
  63. A Christmas Date
  64. One
  65. Two
  66. Three
  67. Four
  68. Five
  69. Six
  70. Seven
  71. Eight
  72. Nine
  73. Ten
  74. Eleven
  75. Twelve
  76. Thirteen
  77. Fourteen
  78. Fifteen
  79. Sixteen
  80. Seventeen
  81. Eighteen
  82. Nineteen
  83. Twenty
  84. Twenty-one
  85. Twenty-two
  86. Note from the Author
  87. Sneak Peek – To the Stars and Back
  88. Two
  89. Three
  90. Four
  91. Also by Camilla Isley
  92. About the Author

Good question. I don’t particularly enjoy being single, and the prospect of dying a crazy cat lady is not very appealing. But why does the anxiety get so much worse near the end of the year? I’m fine with my life eleven months out of twelve, but every December I promptly turn into a train wreck. Does Christmas make being a spinster harder? Or is it the judgment in Aunt Betsy’s thin-lipped smiles? The ill-concealed sadness behind my mother’s eyes for my “condition?” Or the well-intentioned-but-deeply-insensitive jokes everyone spins me back home?

It’s not me. It’s them.

“My family,” I tell Melanie. “They drive me nuts.”

“Well, but that’s an easy fix.”

“Really? How?”

“You’re an executive producer. Produce them.”

“What do you mean?”

“There must be a gay best friend—possibly with the looks of Rupert Everett—you can ask to go home with you and pretend to be your boyfriend.”

Sometimes I forget my assistant is still basically a child. At twenty-five, she’s not jaded enough about life to accept not everything can be solved “Hollywood Style” and end in happily ever after.

Pity happily ever afters don’t exist. Some genius in my profession invented them to sell romance to the crowds. That’s all.

“Sorry, Mel, but I’m not Julia Roberts and this isn’t a movie. No gorgeous gay besties in the picture.”

“A straight friend would do, too. Anyone you can ask?”

Ironically, the one male friend I could’ve felt intimate enough to ask something so embarrassing would’ve been Paul. Isn’t life funny sometimes?

“Not really,” I say.

“Well, then hire someone!”

“Are you suggesting I hire a male escort?” And we’ve moved from My Best Friend’s Wedding to The Wedding Date, maybe she has a thing for Dermot Mulroney. “Are you crazy? I’m not that desperate.”

“I was thinking more an actor.” She points at my computer. “You have a database full of them right there in front of you; you just have to pick and choose.”

“That’s even more absurd and unprofessional.” To signify that this conversation is finished, I bend forward and start collecting the scattered documents from the floor. “Break’s over,” I say, pushing up the pen holder.

“All right, boss,” Melanie says, getting up. She helps me clean the mess and places my office phone back on the desk, eyeing it meaningfully. “But your mom won’t give up, you know?”

Don’t I?

***