Cleo’s POV

Tiana was my best friend, my sister in everything but blood, and I loved her to death - but she was a stubborn woman. She had this idea that love was something that would just fall through her ceiling while she was reading a manuscript. In the real world, you had to go out and hunt it down. You had to market yourself. If I could win a case in a courtroom full of sharks, I could certainly find a man for my best friend.

I ignored her protests as I flipped open my laptop, the screen illuminating the dim room. "Instaconnect or Lovebomb?" I asked, my fingers hovering over the keys.

What's the difference?" Tia asked, her voice dripping with scepticism.

Instaconnect is for people who want to meet up in twenty minutes for something that involves very little talking," I explained. "Lovebomb, on the other hand, is for the long game. It’s got algorithms, personality quizzes, and a much lower 'creep' factor. That’s where I found Kyle.

I felt a little defensive about Kyle. I knew Tia’s 'red flag' comment about the photos came from a place of love, but she didn't know him. She didn't know the way he looked at me, or the way his voice dropped an octave when he talked about his family. Just because he wasn't an Instagram addict didn't mean he was hiding a second family. Probably.

If you aren't taking no for an answer, then let’s go for Lovebomb," Tia sighed. She reached for her margarita and took a long, resigned gulp. "But if I get murdered by a guy who collects human hair, I am haunting both of you for eternity.

Deal," I said, hitting the download button.

While the app installed, I took a moment to look at Tia. She really was stunning, though she never seemed to believe it. She had those big, expressive brown eyes - doe-eyes, really - and a mess of dark, bouncy curls that always seemed to catch the light. She had a natural, ethereal beauty that didn't require the layers of contouring I usually felt the need to apply. She stood 5’8”, with a presence that should have been commanding, but she often tried to shrink herself down. Not tonight. Tonight, we were making her visible.

Okay, it’s ready," I announced. "Username?

TastyTia!" Marissa shouted from the kitchen.

The room erupted. "No!" Tia cried, burying her face in a cushion. "Absolutely not! I am not advertising myself as a snack."

Okay, okay," I laughed. "You definitely are a snack though! How about just TiaRose?

Tia popped up from behind the cushion. "Hey! I am not a snack - I’m a whole damn meal!” she glared at me jokily. “TiaRose...I like that. It gives people enough to know who I am without giving away my whole identity."

TiaRose it is," I said, typing it in. “Oh, it’s taken. TiaRose98 will have to do!”

Next came the 'About Me' section. This was the part where most people failed. They either wrote a novel or said something generic. I needed something that captured the real Tia—the girl who cried at cat commercials but could also tear a plot hole to shreds.

What should we put for the bio?" I asked.

Loves books, hates spoilers, and is looking for someone who doesn't mind a girl who reads at the dinner table. Must love cats." Marissa joked, appearing with a fresh bowl of popcorn.

And she’s a publisher," I added, typing furiously. "So you better check your grammar before you slide into her DMs.

Mari slid down next to me and grabbed the laptop from my hands. “Hey!” I glared at her as she grinned smugly.

“My turn!” She smirked.

I leaned back, watching Mari take over. There was a frantic energy in Mari tonight, a desperation to be anyone other than "Mummy" for a few hours. I knew she loved Ben, and I knew Ben was a good man, but eight years was a long time. They had started in Fellsdello as kids and stayed in Fellsdello as adults. Sometimes, I wondered if the walls of their life were starting to feel a little too close for comfort.

Mari’s POV

I stared intently at the glow of the laptop screen, the blue light making the fine lines around my eyes feel deeper than they were. Being married for the last eight years meant I had never even glimpsed a dating website. The world had changed. Love was now a commodity you could swipe through while waiting for the kettle to boil. For Tia, though, I would do anything.

We weren't just friends; we were sisters in every way that mattered. My mind drifted back to the day she came to live with us - the small, wide-eyed girl clutching a tattered teddy bear after her mother’s funeral. My parents had been her godparents, a promise made in a hospital room years before that they never hesitated to keep. Technically, we were legal siblings, but the bond went deeper. She was the calm to my storm, the quiet my chaotic energy. Watching her wall herself off from the world for the last two years had been like watching a vibrant painting fade in the sun.

Okay," I recited, my fingers clicking rhythmically against the keyboard. "Username: TiaRose98. Age: 27. Job: Publisher at A Book Company - probablu best not to put the actual company there could be weirdos out there. Hometown: Fellsdello. Favourite colour: Violet.

Impressive," Tiana smiled, though her voice lacked its usual spark. She was curled into the corner of the sofa, hugging a cushion like a shield. "You remembered my favourite colour. I thought you’d say turquoise since you’re currently obsessed with it.

I’m obsessed with turquoise for me, Ti. You’ve been a violet girl since you were five," I countered, not looking up. "Now, stay focused. We’re at the 'Preferences' section.

We scrolled through the standard list - hair colour, eye colour, favourite food, best qualities, worst qualities. It felt like we were building a character in one of the manuscripts she spent all day editing. We spent the next thirty minutes debating the nuances of her favourite movies and her stance on pineapple on pizza (she was against it, which I felt was a mistake, but I let it slide). It was fun - the kind of light hearted, giggly fun we hadn't had in a while.

I sat back, pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose, and folded my arms in my lap. I dropped my voice into my best therapist impression, the one I usually reserved for when Ben was being particularly dense. "So, Tiana Rose, tell the jury: what exactly are you looking for in a man? No more 'it doesn't matter' - give me the truth."

Tiana went quiet. The laughter that had filled the room a few minutes ago ebbed away, replaced by a rare moment of vulnerability. She looked out the window at the Fellsdello skyline.

I guess, most importantly, I want a man who loves me for me," she said softly. "Someone who sees my quirks - the way I have to organize my bookshelves by genre and then by spine colour, or the way I cry at the end of every 19th-century novel - and finds them endearing rather than exhausting. I want someone who sees my anxieties and loves me in spite of them. Someone honest, trustworthy, loyal. Someone I can bare my soul to.

She paused, a small, self-deprecating laugh escaping her. "Being attractive would help, too. I’m not a saint. Tall, handsome, well-built... maybe dark hair and deep, soulful eyes like pools of melted chocolate."

Girl, you aren't looking for a man, you’re looking for a chocolate labrador!" Cleo barked from the kitchen.

The three of us burst into fits of giggles, the tension breaking like a fever. "That man definitely does not exist," Cleo continued, walking back in. "But a girl can dream. In the meantime, the algorithm will settle for 'tall with a job.'"

Beneath the laughter, I felt a sense of mission. Tiana had been stuck in a rut. Todd had done a number on her confidence, making her feel like her 'quirks' were flaws rather than the things that made her special. He’d been a narcissist who drained her energy, and since then, she’d built a wall around herself made of hardcover books and cosy blankets.

I finished filling in the remaining boxes, describing Tiana’s love for old libraries and her secret obsession with spicy pizza. I uploaded Cleo’s candid shot - the one where Tiana looked surprised and ethereal - along with a few others I had on my phone from our last beach trip. My sister was naturally beautiful; even when she was caught off guard, she had a grace that was impossible to manufacture.

You look so... real, Ti," Cleo said, looking over my shoulder. "Not like those girls who use so many filters they look like they’re made of plastic.

Tia leaned in, looking at the screen. For a second, her guard dropped. I saw a flicker of hope in her eyes, a tiny spark of 'what if' that she’d been trying to douse for years.

It looks... okay," she whispered. "I guess.

Last chance to back out," I said slowly, my finger creeping toward the 'Submit' button. I looked at Tiana. I wanted her to be sure. I didn't want her to feel pressured, but I also didn't want her to stay in her tower forever.

Oh, just do it already so we can get back to the pampering," Tiana said, feigning annoyance. I could see the tiny, hopeful smile hiding at the corners of her mouth.

I double-clicked. The screen flashed a bright, celebratory purple. Profile Live.

Done," I announced. "Now, who wants pizza? I’m starving, and apparently, building a digital soulmate takes a lot out of a girl.

Me too!" Tiana replied, standing up and stretching. "Plus, it’s officially pamper time. I need some of those collagen eye patches. I’m so tired after all those manuscripts today.

Let’s get pampering!" Cleo squealed, reaching for the face masks as if they were a prize.

As the girls started laughing about which movie to put on and what pizza to order, I glanced back at the laptop. Tiana’s profile was live. Somewhere out there, her "perfect man" was swiping, too. I just hoped for her sake that he was a lot more reliable than the men from her past. I thought of Ben, sitting at home right now with the kids, and felt a pang of guilt for finding him 'boring.' Boring was safe. Boring was a husband who stayed home with the kids so his wife could go and get drunk with her friends.

I looked at Tiana, her dark curls bouncing as she laughed at something Cleo said. She was the best person I knew. She deserved the world. I just didn't know yet that the world - or rather, a ghost from the past - was already watching her from the dark car idling on the street below.

Tiana’s POV

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.

The vibration wasn’t just a sound; it was a rhythmic, mechanical intrusion that travelled through the wooden bedframe, up into the mattress, and seemed to rattle directly against the base of my skull. I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow, trying to cling to the fading remnants of my dream. It had been the same one again: the suffocating mist, the shrinking door, and that version of Ben with the hollow, terrifying eyes.

Buzzzzz.

Oh, for fuck’s sake," I hissed into the duvet.

I jolted upright, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. For a confused second, I didn't know where I was. The room was bathed in the hazy, dim pinkish orange of the dawn filtering through the gap at the top of the curtains. My mouth felt like I’d been chewing on a woollen rug - a lingering souvenir of the "Margarita Senoritas" session the night before.

I glanced at the antique clock on the mantelpiece. 7:30 AM. Far too early for a Saturday. I sank back down into my cosy, warm bed, pulling the covers up over my head to create a fortress of silence.

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz.

Curiosity finally won out over the desperate need for more sleep. Sleep is overrated, I told myself, though my eyes felt like they were full of sand. I reached out a fumbling hand, grabbed the phone from the nightstand, and swiped down the notification tab.

My jaw didn't just drop; it stayed open. Sixty notifications from Lovebomb. Sixty.

The breakdown was even more overwhelming: thirty-six potential matches, twenty direct messages, and four requests for "additional photos." I stared at the screen, feeling small against the sheer volume of digital attention. It was a staggering amount of data to process before I’d even had caffiene hit.

Beneath the barrage of dating alerts, the "Margarita Senoritas" group chat was already a war zone of activity. I tapped into it to find a selfie of Cleo and Marissa. They were jogging along the avenue, looking suspiciously glowy and athletic. Cleo’s black braids were perfectly contained, those pink tips flashing in the morning light, and Mari’s icy blue eyes were bright despite the hour.

How? They had polished off the exact same amount of margarita as I had. I had watched Cleo do a shot of tequila at midnight while Mari danced to a 90s throwback. How were they currently upright and moving at a pace faster than a crawl? It was a betrayal of the highest order. I looked like a swamp monster with a bird’s nest of dark brown curls, yet they were out there conquering the pavement. I ignored their "Morning Sunshine!" texts; I couldn't handle their high-octane energy without professional intervention.

I hauled myself out of bed, feeling heavy and uncoordinated. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror - olive skin looking a little sallow from lack of sleep, and my dark brown curls standing in a chaotic, frizzy halo around my head. I looked less like a high-powered Publisher and more like a woman who had been dragged through a hedge backwards.

In the kitchen, I performed the only ritual that mattered. I measured out the slow-roasted Peruvian beans, the intense, nutty aroma already starting to heal my soul. The sound of the machine - the hiss and gurgle - was the only music I wanted to hear. I poured the dark liquid into my favourite oversized mug and leaned against the counter, inhaling the steam.

Right," I whispered. "Let’s see what the 'bombers' have to say."

I sat at the breakfast bar, and opened Lovebomb. The very first message at the top of my inbox was from a guy named Greg.

Ooh, he’s actually quite cute, I thought, feeling a rare spark of optimism. Maybe Cleo was right. Maybe the algorithm wasn't a total disaster.

I clicked on to his profile. He had a kind face and a slightly crooked, mischievous smile. His profile picture was simple - no gym selfies, no "alpha" posturing. Just him in what looked like a professional studio of some kind. I wondered what a guy like that had to say.

I tapped the message. My jaw didn't just drop; it practically hit the granite countertop.

Greg: 'Hey there Tia - how would you like to be Tia-bagged by these Greg big balls tonight?'

How... what... how rude!" I hissed, the shock making me nearly drop my phone.

Accompanying the text was a photograph of what I assumed were Greg’s testicles. To be perfectly editorial about it, they were rather average-sized and disturbingly hairy. It was the digital equivalent of being slapped in the face with a wet fish.

The audacity was staggering. The pun was terrible, the delivery was unsolicited, and the photography was amateur at best. I took a deep breath, picked the phone back up, and took a screenshot. If I was going to suffer this, the girls were coming down with me.

I fired the screenshot and the photo into the group chat with a caption that dripped with sarcasm.

Tiana: 'Hey girls, if this is what dating apps are all about, I’m done before I even begin. My eyes need bleaching.'

The response was instantaneous. The chat suddenly filled with laughing-crying emojis. Cleo, never one to miss a beat, sent a series of gifs showing people dunking biscuits in cups of tea.

Marissa: 'Just give it a chance, Ti! There might be some ballers among those ballsers. Maybe he just has a very... specific sense of humour?'

Tiana: 'Specific? It’s unsolicited anatomy, Mari! I’m deleting the app. I’m moving to a cabin in the woods. I’m becoming a nun.

Cleo: Don't you dare. Just block Greg-the-Baller and move on to the next one.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. I looked back at Greg’s profile. I scrolled past the... scrotal incident... and looked at his face again. He really was handsome. And the pun - as much as I hated to admit it - was so phenomenally bad that a tiny, traitorous giggle bubbled up in my chest. It was bold. Horribly, disgustingly bold.

What the hell, I thought. Maybe it was the remnants of last night’s tequila talking, or maybe I was just tired of being the 'safe' girl who never took risks.

I navigated back to his message and started typing.

Tiana: 'For a first impression, that was certainly... ballsy. But for the record, I prefer my tea without the extra baggage. Try again, Greg. Without the anatomy lesson this time.'

I hit send before I could chicken out.

Tiana: 'Are we still on for lunch today? I need fajitas to forget I ever saw that man’s pubic hair. Fandangos at 12:00?'

Cleo: 'I’m out! Kyle invited me for lunch. He’s starting a run of night shifts this week over at the firehouse, so I won't get another proper chance to see him for a few days :( sorry babe!'

I rolled my eyes. Hmm, yeah, okay Cleo. Ditching your besties for your new firefighter boyfriend. I loved her, but she was already in that "new relationship" fog where the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Marissa: 'Yes, yes, and yess! Ben is looking after the boys for a few hours so we can have some grown-up time. Took a bit of encouragement, but I’ve managed to convince him to "babysit" until at least 3.'

My blood pressure spiked.

Tiana: 'How many times, Mari? It’s not babysitting when it’s your own kids! It’s his damn responsibility too. He needs to grow up and grow a pair.'

It made me so mad. They were his kids - Henry and Harry were his flesh and blood - and Mari was the C.O.O. of a major publishing house, the breadwinner who had been stuck at home for the last eight months. He could pull his bloody weight for three hours while she had lunch with her sister.

Marissa: 'Maybe he can borrow Greg’s?' She followed the text with a shoulder-shrug emoji and a string of crying-laughing faces. I snorted into my coffee. At least she hadn't lost her sense of humour.

Tiana: 'Touché. See you at 12:00. I'll be the one wearing dark sunglasses and looking traumatised.'

I put the phone down and moved to the lounge to finish my coffee. I sank into my favourite armchair - a soft, fluffy velvet piece that usually made me feel safe. I tried to shake off the morning's chaos, but it lingered.

I decided to flick through a few more of the messages, hoping for something - anything - that didn't involve unsolicited anatomy. I swiped past a "Hey" and a "Nice eyes," and then, a name stood out that made the coffee turn to lead in my stomach.

Todd: 'Hey beautiful, how’s things?'

I deleted it immediately. Not today, Satan. Not today, not tomorrow, and not even if hell froze over.

Todd. The man who had managed make being a "sociopath" all his own. He had spent two years making me feel like my olive skin was too dull, my curls were too messy and my career at Masemann Books was "cute." He was a disaster I had barely survived. Seeing his name pop up on Lovebomb felt like a glitch in the universe.

I leaned my head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling. Sixty notifications. One pair of balls. One witty comeback. And one ex-boyfriend from hell. And it wasn't even 9 AM yet.

I checked the window. The grey, dreary morning was settling over the city of Fellsdello. I felt that prickle on my neck again - the one from the dream. I looked down at my phone.

I decided a slow morning waz in order. I headed to the bathroom and turned the stainless steel taps on my oversized cast iron bath to the hottest setting. I slowly moved over to the shelf and began opening and sniffing bottles of bubble bath. What did I fancy today..... the sharp, grounding seasalt and bergamot, relaxing lavender and chamomile, the sickly sweet marshmallow or the energising orange blossom, grapefruit and amber. I settled for the seasalt and bergamot, pouring a decent amount under the tap and swirling the water as it foamed and a thick sea of bubbles emerged. I dried my hands and walked to my closet, opting for a pair of ripped black jeans and a frilly white blouse with a red, lacey matching lingere set. I grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom.

I climbed into the bath and slid dowm underneath the bubbles, the burning hot water relaxing my tense muscles and washing the hangover away. I picked up my bottle of face mud, smothered my skim with the thick pink clay and laid back ready to relax for an hour.

By the time I had gotten out and dressed it was gone 10 o’clock. I checked my phone to see a message from Mari.

Mari: Hey babe. Can we meet at 11 instead? I’m famished! X

Great that gives me half an hour. Well, I suppose it’s dooable.

Tiana: Sure chic not a problem x

My phone buzzed frantically in my hand. Greg had replied.

Greg: 'Message received. Baggage-free zone from here on out. How about we start over? I’m Greg. I like spicy food and I promise to keep my trousers on for at least the first three messages.'

I smiled, a real one this time. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

I stood up. I had a lunch to prepare for, a sister to support, and a very strong feeling that this "TiaRose98" experiment was going to be a lot more complicated than a few margaritas and rude messages.