A Date With Fate (49 page)

He closed his eyes briefly. Opening them, he sighed and nodded. “Christ, I’m sorry. I wish…” He stopped and his mouth tightened. “Listen, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but there was a lot I planned on talking with you about tonight.”

‘I knew there had to be a silver lining somewhere in all this.’

Holding my hand, he started walking over to the church pew where his jacket waited.

“Hold on there, Luke Bond. You are not going anywhere until you answer one question. Make that two.”

He smiled slightly, and let go of me to shrug into his coat. He placed the gift bag on the floor. “Shoot, Princess.”

“First, are you taking the little predator with you?”

Luke snorted. “Yes.”

I nodded in grim satisfaction. “Good.”

He patted his pocket for his keys. “Second question?”

I slid my arms up around his neck and widened the baby blues. I whispered, “I know I’m shallower than a wading pool, but I don’t have to wait until you are back in town to open my beautiful, black gift bag, do I? After all I’ve been through this weekend?”

Luke’s dimple appeared. “Yes.”

I smiled. “Yes, I can have it?”

“Yes, you have to wait.”

At my disgruntled pout, his mouth kicked up. “Think of it as a joint gift. You won’t appreciate it without me.” He slid it under the pew with his foot until it was tucked away.

His black brows met and he warned, “I’ll know if you peek, Anabel.”

“Yeah right, mean Santa.”

Leaning down, he kissed the pout off my lips while pulling me tightly against the full length of him. Our bodies touched from my head to my toe. He ran his hands slowly over my ass, up my back, and along my upraised arms. Taking my hands in his, he unclasped them from around his neck. He kissed across my knuckles on one hand, and then the other. He put me away from him.

“Now, no begging me or whining. It’s beneath you.”

He ignored my disgusted cry, kissed my cheek, and gave my ass a final squeeze before heading towards the stairway. Watching him walk away, I thought I heard a siren outside. Pausing momentarily, Luke turned back. Gleaming green eyes traveled over me while his fingers drummed along the top ledge of the half wall. He appeared to be having an internal debate. He looked so hot when he was so serious.

I blew him a kiss.

He held my eyes for a long moment. He started down the stairs.

I was just turning away when I heard his voice call back.

“Forty one thousand, five hundred, and thirty four.”

I cocked my head to the side. I ran to the ledge and saw only the top of his fast descending head, “Was that new with no trade-in, you demon bastard? If it was, I want to bow at your feet in eternal worship!”

“And eighteen cents!” His deep laughter echoed back up the stairwell to me.

Grinning most inappropriately considering the circumstances, I turned back to the foyer and went to rejoin my family and friends. The ambulance was here, and Chief Jack wouldn’t be far behind. Call my mean mommy voice uncaringly practical, but she was right. I know men and I know women. After all the excitement died down, they were going to be starving. I should get the apple crisp in the oven to serve warm later on, and make some coffee.

Passing the church pew sheltering the smug, shiny gift bag, I stopped long enough to say, “Oh, be quiet. That wasn’t me begging him. I was simply stating a fact.”

Chapter XXII

“Raise Your Glass” by Pink

Tuesday, 11/20/12

11:56 PM

I was aware of a vibrating, buzzing sound annoyingly loud near my ear. It continued relentlessly until I rose up on my elbow, grabbed my phone, and turned it off.

I felt a hand cup my bare shoulder, slightly shaking me. A muffled voice a little slow on the uptake said, “Bel, answer your phone.”

Confused, I glanced back and saw only a wide, masculine shoulder and a golden brown head buried in a pillow next to me.

I looked down at what I was wearing and groaned. I fell back on my pillow with a moaning curse. The evening came rushing back.

It was Tuesday night, and what had started out as Mike McClain coming to the store to talk over the details concerning his plan for Candy had turned into a Welcome Back party. Mike had been well-liked when he lived here, and Anna and Billy were excited to see him. Trent, Stella, and Eric George were there in the store, too. Stella remembered Mike a lot more than I thought she would. Tre J had stopped in for coffee and studying an hour before the store closed, so she joined in the partying. Crookie had been there until he left to go meet Tina. Mac and Diego, coming to pick up Stella and Eric George for a late dinner, had ended up staying and adding to the impromptu fun.

It had snowed double digits on Monday, but tapered off by the evening. This was great. I got a day to recoup from the weekend with very few inquiring minds in the store. By Tuesday morning all the roads were plowed. By early afternoon most people had dug themselves out and it was business as usual. Mike had been over to Reggie’s to grill steaks on the deck before coming to meet me at the store. Reggie had tagged along with him to meet up with Anna.

On Sunday night, Anna had stayed with Crookie and I at the apartment after the ordeal with Aunt Lily’s death was over. To distract them both from their individual doom and glooms, I’d hooked them up with a big dish of apple crisp ala mode. Then I told them about Mike’s visit and Candy’s nefarious deed. I kept the possibility of the pending civil suit action to myself. Since these were the friends that had been the stalwarts in my life back then, it seemed like fate they were the first people I told all these years later at a sleepover.

It worked as a distraction. They were blown away by the news. Anna thought it was incredibly romantic for Mike and me to reconnect after all these years. In a weepy state anyway, she tearfully demanded to be part of the posse to help me hunt Candy down. Passing her tissue after tissue, I hurriedly agreed she could drive. Crookie thankfully shed no tears, but was truly incensed and offered me several good ideas on how to get Candy’s face wet. Boys truly do think different than girls. I never would have thought of the toilet.

By the time I crawled into bed Sunday night, I was drained completely dry from my weekend off. I didn’t let myself dwell on the fact I had co-killed a man that day, even if he had tried to kill me first. You start thinking about the right or wrong of being responsible for ending a life, and it becomes a slippery slope. So I didn’t start. I slept like a baby all night. Not even one selection from the menu of nightmare possibilities from my weekend off surfaced to deny my exhausted brain and body their much needed rest.

My brother had hung around Sunday night. After Crooks and I went to our rooms, he and Anna had their talk. Word is they’re seeing each other again.

Earlier tonight at the store, Anna was giddy with running the full spectrum of emotions over the last couple of days. From losing her only known relative to death and facing she most likely had killer blood running through her veins, to finding her way back to Reggie and worrying if they ever had children what the Axelrod/Johnson gene pool could produce—she’d been through the wringer. She decided breaking out a couple bottles was the ticket. The shots were flying. When someone turned on some music, our last minute party really got going. I was soon feeling no pain. I’d passed my normal, one drink limit several shots ago.

Watching Mike laughing and joking with Anna, Mac, and Reggie was cathartic. It wiped away any lingering pain lodged in my heart until it disappeared completely.

I never dreamed it would feel so wonderful to be able to reclaim the lost years we’d been a couple. I’d done too complete of a job erasing from my mind any of the fun and romantic memories of that time. I was getting back an important piece of me and I could be whole again. Listening to them all reminisce about those times was bittersweet, but in a lovely way.

I could see Mike is an impressive man. He’s everything I always knew him to be years ago, only more. He is the total, mature package of what I admire and respect in a man--smart, confident, and funny. He has an easygoing, open and affectionate personality. Mike is refreshingly real and unaffected despite being so desirably good-looking and built. Every time our eyes met, I smiled in secret happiness to myself. I could almost feel the healing taking place inside me. Or maybe that was the vodka. Either way, he’d never been the dishonorable man I thought him to be all these years. Like mine, I’m sure his feet are made of clay up to the knees, but that was a fact I was never in doubt about. It was always the damn disloyalty showing the true lack of character that was my deal-breaker.

After a couple of hours, my cheeks were rosy hot, a sure sign I was beyond tipsy. Starting to see double was the second clue, and way past time for me to cut myself off. Amongst everyone’s boos of me being a spoilsport, I laughingly kicked everyone out and rounded up the grinning Mike to go upstairs to the apartment. Crookie had left only a short time before to meet with Tina after her late shift at her job. He would probably be gone for hours yet. If Mike and I were actually going to talk in private--now was the best time. My revenge on Candy took precedence over anything in my mind these days, even when smashed and smiling like a goofball.

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t one of my better plans.

My mind stopped there when the ringing of the doorbell penetrated my muddled thoughts.

All the lights were on in my bedroom, so it was no problem seeing my phone. Being able to focus was a different story. Pushing the waves of hair back off my face, I held my cell away from my eyes and then brought it closer. The time was 11:58 PM.

I stared at the short text. Then read it again. I stared over at the man sprawled next to me in my bed.

My apartment doorbell kept shrilly buzzing.

I read the text a third time. It finally sunk in.

Open the envelope

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tracy Ellen wishes she could tell you she has super-impressive credentials to be an author, but she tries hard not to lie. She does have half a brain, an insatiable hunger for books, sparkling conversations with the voices in her head, opinions on just about everything under the sun, opinions on the sun itself, true grit and determination, a strange sense of fair play, a stranger sense of humor, and the ability to laugh at herself. The latter has turned out to be quite a good thing since she often has reasons to do so.

A
Date
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Fate is Tracy’s first novel. She’s seriously, passionately hooked on writing. As you read this, she’s happily listening to music that inspires chapters while typing away on her next book; regardless of attempts to tie her up.

She would love to hear from you. Did you know newbie indie authors thrive on attention? It’s true. Your thoughts and opinions matter, so shoot her an email, post on her blog, or like her on face book.

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