8 Hearts Beat As One: A Romance Anthology

by Gray, Elena; Lee, Taylor; Gould, Jonathan; McCracken, Kelli; McCray, Carolyn; Scott, Amber; Charles, Ann

  Brandt slipped the ring onto her finger. The gilded band felt so light yet carried so much weight. As sirens wailed and shouts carried through the Taj Mahal, Brandt leaned in and kissed her.

  While his lips tasted of salt from tears, iron from blood, and even a little fishy, Rebecca knew this was a kiss to last for the ages.

  ~~

  Love Notion #29

  By Amber Scott

  “Mubble nijantha.”

  “I’m sorry?” Millie Match bobbed her head left, trying to see past the open briefcase on the table. Was it wrong she wanted to see the man’s face? “I’m having a really hard time hearing you,” she said, and not because of bar noise.

  He shifted the briefcase, blocking any view of his face “Gaffle gibjaw.”

  What? She moved her chair. He moved the briefcase. This really wasn’t going anywhere. Couldn’t he see that she was trying to help him?

  “Okay. Um...blonde? Did you say the blonde? Redhead? I know. Click the latch once for yes, twice for no. Yes?”

  Click, click.

  “Okay. No, to the redhead, then?” Glancing around the room, eleven women might as well have been none. She understood shy, but talking into your briefcase?

  About to give up, Millie heard a sound that almost convinced her that a donkey had wandered into the bar, ready to join the speed dating session in progress. But instead it was just the laugh of the brunette at table six. Perhaps they could be a match. Braying and burrowing.

  “What about Janet over there?” Millie pointed so that he could see despite the leather covered lid that stood between them.

  Click, click.

  “No?” Seriously?

  For a guy hiding behind an accessory, he sure was picky. Normally, she would have let the guy have his “alone” time with his papers, but she was a Cupid on the clock. Finding a match for him, with or without being able to see his face, was her job.

  Millie scanned the women, again. Table two’s blonde had a librarian air about her. Shy? Maybe she could understand this man’s fear of eye contact.

  “How about her?” Millie gestured, careful not to cross the briefcase threshold, just in case he snapped like a turtle.

  The bell dinged. Her date scrambled to his feet, rushing off to the next table, still keeping the lid between him and her. With a sigh, Millie scratched his name off her list, her pen going through the paper.

  Wanting something to wet her palate before the next “date” arrived, Millie waved down a waitress. Or more accurately tried to wave down a waitress. The chick turned away, flouncing her overly-conditioned hair. It was like Millie was romantic Kryptonite. That even the waitresses could tell she was doomed and they didn’t want any of Millie’s bad dating mojo to rub off on them.

  The sudden sound of a briefcase popping open drew Millie’s attention. The guy was like a puffer fish. The least little thing and bang, it flew open.

  The woman next to her frowned. “I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you...”

  So it wasn’t just Millie who sent him diving for cover. However that didn’t comfort Millie in the least. It was Valentine’s Day for goodness sake. Love was in the air. Right? Matching people should have been like shooting really, really lazy fish in a barrel. Clearly, though, the fish were getting the best of her tonight.

  And if she couldn’t bring two people together today, when would she? If this whole matchmaking the lonely and desperate en masse idea wasn’t brilliant, what was left? Oh, yeah. Taking one long matchmaking assignment at a time, again. Taking, ruining, whatever you wanted to call it.

  Her next date sat down and Millie assessed his tall, lanky appearance. Decently dressed in jeans and a sweater. Good shoes. Not bad. No George Clooney, but do-able.

  “Hi, there,” she said, pulling herself up by the heel straps. “I’m Millie.”

  “Live long and prosper,” he said, giving her the Vulcan sign, that ‘V’ thing that only half the population could seem to get their fingers to form.

  Seriously? She was down to three more dates and gets a...“Trekkie?”

  “Does a Ferrangi like a bargain on Bajoran Springwine?”

  She’d be guessing here, but... “Yes?”

  He nodded, as in “duh.”

  Right. Well, there was a nerd for everyone, right? Millie checked out the chick to her right. Too much makeup. Dressed too cute at table three. Table five had promise. The slender brunette pushed big, round glasses up her nose. “So, I’ll be honest, Mr...?”

  “Commander Foley of the Starship Explorer.”

  Right. Of course he was a Commander. “I’m more of a Notting Hill kind of girl. But what did you think of the woman at table five?”

  The Commander scoffed. “Please. She’s a Star Wars fan.”

  Millie frowned, confused. “But, doesn’t that mean you two have lots in common?”

  He gasped. “In common? She is the Hatfield to my Dr. McCoy. If not for this speed dating, I wouldn’t be breathing the same air as her. We were forced to that table. It was quite possibly the longest three minutes of this Trekkie’s life.”

  “Okay. Cool. I get it. Wrong choice. My mistake.” Millie got back to her survey of the room, honing in on table six and what looked to be a dragon tattoo. Heavy eyeliner and dark clothes. A little edgy. Maybe Commander would enjoy a little goth in his life? “What about her? How did your date go with her?”

  Again, Commander Foley sighed. “Well, she’s a Bilbo beater.”

  “A what?”

  “Middle Earth?”

  Millie tried to follow, but she just didn’t speak nerd. “Huh?”

  “Tolkien? Lord of the Rings?”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  ”No, but she lives and breathes Reign of Fire.” He spat out the words. “The modernistic take just comes off so trite.”

  Millie didn’t even bother to try to follow that line of logic. Time to change gears. Forget searching for the perfect woman for the Commander. Instead let him to tell her who she might be.

  “So what kind of woman do you date?”

  “Well, we met at Comicon, standing in line for a Kevin Smith panel...”

  Millie tried to appear interested. Truly, but by “Comicon” he’d lost her, again. Or maybe her ears went on strike.

  Not for the first time this miserable night, Millie tried to understand why she was being punished so. Contrary to belief, Karma wasn’t a bitch. Nope, she was a court house. The Karma Court to be exact. And all it took was one little mistake to land you in the sentencing box. And just Millie’s luck, she got a life sentence. Well, technically not a life sentence. No, she only had to serve as some kind of community service Cupid until she made seven true love matches.

  Millie jiggled the gold bands on her wrist. They weren’t so much jewelry as they were handcuffs. Each representing a match she had to make before she could be released from her sentence. She had started out with seven and now was down to six. After how many months and she only had one band removed?

  She twisted the bottom band, the one that tended to chafe. Oh, if her friends could see her now. They would be the ones laughing like donkeys. Not just over the botched accessorizing, but her as a Cupid?

  What a joke. Unfortunately, it was on her.

  This speed date scenario should have been a matchmaking piece of cake with sprinkles on top. Coming into it, Millie had high hopes she could be rid of the remaining six bracelets. That she could be free, tonight. But as the man opposite her began reciting what she could only assume was Klingon poetry, Millie’s heart sank.

  Like she said…the bands might just turn out to be a life sentence.

  “...and I said, you sir, are no Klingon warrior.”

  The bell dinged, music to Millie’s ears and like a drum roll, the sound of the men’s chairs shifting back filled the room. Saluting her the Vulcan way once again, the Commander took his leave of her.

  “Thanks, yeah. Good luck there, Spock.” She didn’t even bother writing his name down.


  Her next date walked, well more like sauntered over to her table. As he sat down, Millie plastered a smile on, trying not to stare at the deep V of his low buttoned black shirt. Wow. Right down to the gold chain and encrusted “C.”

  There was someone for everyone. How many times had her supervisor drilled that in? She could do this. Eleven women. One man. The odds were in her favor.

  “I’m ‘The Condition’,” he announced.

  The condition? Oh, no. Please somebody tell her this guy was not going for Jersey Shore meets Grease. Millie cough-laughed into her hand.

  “How you doin’?”

  “I’m uh, good. You?”

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” he said and leaned in. “What was your name, again?”

  “Millie,” she said, fighting the bubble in her throat.

  “So, Millie, let’s cut to the chase. You’re not my type.”

  Uh, phew? Fantastic. If she was his type, she wasn’t sure she could handle it. Maybe this was a good thing, though. The less he focused on her, the more time they could spend finding him his true match.

  “What is your type exactly?”

  “You know, big hair. Big...assets.”

  Millie bit her lip to stop the chortle that pushed up her throat. Okay, think Jersey Shore, think “big.“ Glancing about the room, her eyes passed over anyone with less than a “C” cup or who had dared straighten their hair. Finally she found a woman with nice big back-combed hair and well…other large assets. Millie pointed her out.

  “How about table number eight?”

  “Who, Trish?” He waffled his hand in the air. “Not much of a conversationalist, if you know what I mean?”

  Conversationalist? Um, exactly what could these two talk about? Perhaps reading aloud the Brooklyn phonebook together? But there was no arguing so Millie surveyed the room, again, finding a nice bleached blonde with some junk in her trunk.

  “How about her?”

  He screwed up his face. “Who, Suzy? Nah, she thinks she’s teaching college or something. I like to be the one educating if you know what I mean.”

  Lucky Suzy. She’d never know how close she’d come to having a “Condition.”

  But there had to be someone for everyone. For her sake, there had to be someone for everyone. Even him. She peered around the room. Table seven’s brunette was on the skinny side, but, hey. “So you prefer curves. Okay. What about table two over there. She’s curvy. A little J-Lo-like. No?”

  He shook his head and poked his middle finger on the table several times. “Jessica’s one of those serial dater chicks. I’ve seen her at what, ten of these things, at least.

  “You’ve seen her at ten of these?” Millie repeated, assuming that he would see the irony in the fact that he had seen Jessica at ten events, ipso facto…

  “At minimum. I’m in it for the long term. I’m not about to hook up with someone that desperate.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  Desperate. Right.

  “What are you gonna do, you know?” he asked. “It happens when it happens.”

  Ding. Ding.

  Oh, thank God. Millie gave him a quick wave, not trusting herself to speak. He stood up, taking his Jersey geniosity with him. Travolta would be proud of that swagger, though. The Condition had it down pat, invisible paint can swinging, as he moved on to the next victim.

  Okay. That one was not her fault. Period.

  This idea had seemed so brilliant four hours ago! Instead of enduring this parade of characters, she could have stayed home, enjoyed a Julia Roberts marathon, sobbing in the arms of Ben and Jerry. She tried to wave down one of the waitresses, again. What? Did they think the speed daters were contagious? They couldn’t even serve one? Hello? Tips, ladies. Tips.

  “Hi,” a deep timbre voice said.

  Millie’s gaze snapped back to task. His blue eyes shone bright even in the bar’s dim light. Crinkles at the sides gave him an air of worldliness. He belonged on a yacht. Millie took his hand. It was warm.

  “Uh, hi,” she said, shaking his hand. “Bachelor number eleven, I presume?”

  He chuckled, showing dimples in his smile. “Steve works fine. Just Steve.”

  “Yes, it does.” Fine, indeedy. Was that a choir of angels singing around him? Where had he stabled his white stallion?

  Steve chuckled, pulling his seat closer. “And you are?”

  “Oh. Um, Kiklie...I mean...Mikie,” she said, hand to heart. She blinked a few times, fighting to remember who she was now. Oh, that’s right. “Um, Millie.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, um Millie.”

  “I don’t know about you, but what I wouldn’t give to be face down in a double fudge sundae covered in nuts.” He retracted his hand from hers making her realize she was still shaking it.

  “You and me both.”Millie giggled. She’d spoon wrestle him for a cherry dipped in whipped cream any day. She’d even let him win. It would get on her nose and he’d point out the little something, then...

  “This your first time?”

  “My first sundae? Psshht. No. I have a thing for hot fudge.”

  He grinned, showing the other dimple. “Sorry, I meant, your first time speed dating event.”

  Dating. Oh, yeah. Matching people. “Oh! Yes. Sorry,” she said, doing a screwy finger at her head. “What about you?”

  “Didn’t you get the memo warning everyone? Newbie here.”

  Millie giggled, again, trying to find a safe place to look at his face—ear. Ears were safe. Where was a briefcase when a girl needed one?

  “Me?” Oh, you know, serving time. Seven matches would set her free, return her to her former life. What an easy sounding punishment, right? Easier than picking trash off the side of a freeway. Right? Oh, if only. Love was anything but easy.

  Just an average socialite, judged in Karma Court and handed the average punishment. Millie stammered. “Do?”

  “Yes, the place you go to every day, generally after a shower and cup of coffee?”

  “I love coffee—oh, yes.” Her cheeks got hot. “I work the deli counter at the Kroger on Stapley.”

  “Ah, a woman who knows her pastrami. I like it.”

  “I cut cheese so thin it melts on your tongue.” Did she just say cut cheese? Oh, brother. She cleared her throat, really wishing for that soda no waitress would bring. “What do you do, Steve?”

  “I’m a lawyer.”

  “Of course you are.” Handsome, tall, well-dressed, and a lawyer? So dreamy. “I can just see a jury hanging on your every word.” Look at how she hung on his every feature? Even his earlobe—the only real safe place to stare—was handsome. “So, forgive me, but what are you doing here? I mean, really, what in the world are you doing here?”

  Steve laughed. “Uh, I’m flattered, I think. Really, though, I’m just trying it out. It was either that or watch movies with my cat all night.”

  “Me, too!” Man, what was up with her voice. Squeaky! She cleared her throat. “I swear, it was this or a marathon with my kitty, Delilah. Julia Roberts back to back.”

  “I love her. The Pelican Brief is a classic.”

  Oh, how she loved a good Grisham adaptation herself, but she needed to stay focused. This was a fact finding mission, not a time to flirt.

  “What’s your all-time favorite movie?” she asked, internally begging, don’t say Star Wars. Don’t say Reign of Fire.

  “Huh, that’s a tough one. Of all time? I’d have to say...Shawn of the Dead?”

  Millie inhaled. “I love that one! How his fear of commitment drives the whole movie and even zombified, he sticks by his best friend.”

  “I know, right? A classic. Friends till the end, and, of course, the zombies.” He shivered.

  “Exactly. Braaaiiinnnsss,” she said, hunching her shoulders and doing a chair shuffle.

  “Ah! You’re freaking me out!”

  He was perfect! Handsome, suave, a sense of humor—bonus. Maybe they could get that ice cream after the last date—no, wait. What was she
thinking? Tonight wasn’t about her. But who did she hook him up with? Who in here was good enough to be Steve’s perfect someone? Who here wouldn’t be totally stoked to meet him! Finally, an easy match!

  “Okay, Steve.” She said, feeling a tad hesitant. Part of her wanted to keep him. “Question.”

  “Shoot,” he said. “I’m an open book”.

  Millie searched the room for “the One.” Who would be good enough for Steve? Not table eleven. She’d nearly hissed at Millie when she’d come in. Where was pigtails? She was cute, yes, but didn’t look worldly enough for him. He deserved someone special. Table four? No, she was too sweet. That sugary kind that probably knitted sweaters. Aw, but Steve might need a sweater around the chilly office. “What do you think of her?”

  “Vivian? She was very nice.” He tipped his head, his eyebrows drew in. “But I thought we were talking about you and me.”

  She had no good answer. The truth certainly wouldn’t work. “You know, Steve, the timing isn’t quite right for me.”

  “But you’re at a speed dating event. “

  “The longest night of my life, Steve, I swear it. But Vivian seems nice, yes?”

  His eyes shuttered, sending a pang through her. “Vivian was a little nervous, but sweet,” Steve said. “She has a new puppy named Lola that she’s a little worried about leaving alone.”

  Ah. He was such a good listener.

  Stop it, Millicent! He was a good match, for someone else.

  She pointed to table number four. “And how about her?”

  Steve tapped his finger to his lips, a well manicured finger at that. “Sharon? Yes, Sharon. She’s done this a few times. She had a lot of pointers for me. Good ones, too, like always keep a mint on the table.” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

  Rejected and still cute. “Yeah, that is a good tip. I’ll have to remember that,” she said.

  He grinned and leaned in. “Also, park near the door. Just in case.”

  Millie laughed too loud. Maybe none of these women were good enough for Steve. But she needed a bracelet off. If not six, just one! She glanced around, eyes landing on cute as a button, again. “And the woman in pigtails. Did you get to chat with her?”