all the other teachers at Morrison Grade School out of the water, education-wise.
Harrison was highly intelligent, too. His parents were both professors as well (his mother a sociology professor and his father a history professor). Like me, Harrison had a Ph.D. in history. He couldn’t be more perfect than that.
He also kept his apartment tidy. Even his bathroom was clean. Believe me, I’d checked. I was far too much of a neat freak to abide a potential husband who would leave a ring in the tub.
My hatred of gambling also stemmed from my dad. When he wasn’t painting, he was taking my mom’s tips from the diner where she worked and gambling them away. It had made for a very unhappy marriage.
As for being funny, Harrison and I had a whole string of inside jokes mostly relating to Dr. Holmes and the early nineteenth century. Who else would laugh at those? I mean, a cravat joke is only gonna play for certain highly specific audiences.
When it came to sharing a vision of the future, Harrison and I had a talk early on in our relationship about marriage and kids. I wanted two. So did he. We agreed that marriage would be a precursor to such an arrangement.
Then there was the no-cheating requirement. Having been cheated on a time or two before being dumped, I was adamant about item number seven. It was the proverbial deal-breaker. I asked Harrison early on about that too, and he’d indicated that he’d never cheated on anyone nor did he believe in it, which was why I did truly trust him with Lacey Lewis, even if I didn’t exactly trust her. Well, that and the fact that Harrison had never given me a reason not to trust him. He told me once that as far as he was concerned, cheating was the refuge of an unintelligent mind, too stymied to be forthright with one’s partner about being unfulfilled. Hey, it sounded good to me. Plus, I loved to think of my past boyfriends (all three) who’d cheated on me as stymied and unintelligent.
As for attractive, well, that went without saying. Harrison was tall, blond, and had heavenly blue eyes. He was super fit and looked like the all-American, clean-cut boy next door. Cute, but in a super nerdy way, which was the male equivalent to me, or so I’d been told before.
On top of all that, Harrison was never rude to waiters, or to anyone. He donated money to charity and participated in the monthly volunteer day at the college, where he did things like read to the elderly and serve ice cream to kids at the local Ronald McDonald House.
He definitely shared my values too. We agreed on politics and religion. He understood that I didn’t need doors opened for me, and we both agreed that public displays of affection were unnecessary. And yes, of course I loved him. Luke’s earlier comment still rankled. Harrison was terrific and I loved him, so there.
Sure, he sometimes informed me I was a bit dramatic and too competitive, but no one was entirely perfect. Besides, he was right on both counts, so I couldn’t exactly blame him for it. Plus, he didn’t seem to mind my hobbit feet, or the possibility that our future children might end up with them.
I closed the planner and slid it onto the bedside table. Then I snuggled back down into the duvet, rewound the movie a little bit and pushed play.
“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,” Colin Firth said again.
Harrison and I had rehearsed those lines a hundred times for the talent portion of the competition. I hugged the pillow close and sighed, my eyes closed to fight back the tears I still hadn’t allowed myself to shed. For the time being at least, my own Mr. Darcy was gone.
Chapter 4
Saturday morning
“I found a Mr. Darcy for you.”
Those were the first words my brother said to me when I saw him in the kitchen the next morning, where I was fumbling around like a blind person in search of my Keurig.
“What?” I turned and blinked at him.
“I found a guy for you. He’s available and willing and everything. If you’re still willing to pay five thousand bucks and all the fees and whatever.”
I eyed Luke with the sort of skepticism inherent in the uncaffeinated. “Just fell out of a novel, did he?”
“Nah,” he replied, pouring himself a bowl of Cheerios. “It’s Jeremy.”
I rummaged