Roark didn’t even wait for her to get the door all the way open. He just burst inside, going straight past her, dropped on her couch, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Well, make yourself at home,” Stephanie muttered as she closed the door and locked it.
“You will not believe the night I’ve had.” He tipped his head back, closing his eyes and rubbed his temples.
She waited for a beat or two for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Normal clothes that should have made him look normal. Like anybody. But he didn’t look like anybody—he looked like a dream, and she just wanted to kick him for it.
All her little girly parts craved him, touching him, putting an arm around him, all those things she shouldn’t be doing, no matter how much she wanted to.
Forgive me Roark. I’m an idiot. Let’s forget about everything and take me now…
Damn.
She had to stop that shit.
Focus, she chided herself. I need to get him out of here, and quick. “And? What happened? Get wasted or something?”
“Something like that,” he replied. He brought his head up and looked at her. Really looked at her. That kind of look that made her want to put a bag over his head so he’d stop it. “I didn’t believe it, but it has to be real. I can see it…”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, trying to keep things cool. “See what? What are you babbling on about?” She dropped onto the couch, a full person away from him, and pulled one of the pillows into her lap. She would not let herself get closer to him. “It’s midnight. We both have to work tomorrow.”
“You do love me,” Roark whispered.
Stephanie blinked, his words hitting her like a stab in the chest. “Oh my god, you’re drunk. Please tell me you took a cab over here.” She strode back to the door to look outside—yep, his car was out there. Not the Camaro, but his regular car. The Dodge Charger sat there at the foot of her driveway—not exactly well parked, but at least in the drive. “You drove? What is the matter with you?” Stephanie yelled at him.
“I’m not drunk, Steph. I swear it.”
She wanted to punch him in the head. “You can’t park worth a shit, burst in here, babbling nonsense, and you’re telling me you’re not drunk? The facts aren’t doing well for you, buddy.”
He stood up, shook his head, then met her gaze. “I’m not drunk. I’m not crazy. I met someone tonight—”
“That was fast. You were just confessing your love of me twelve hours ago.”
“Not what I meant,” Roark said.
“Oh, so you made a mistake? You really don’t love me after all?” Stephanie said. “Make up your mind Roark, I have a life too. I can’t be twisted around like a pretzel for you.”
“Shit.” Roark crossed the room and put his hands on her arms. For a split second, his eyes closed, and she could feel him trembling. Not that he was shaking her, but he was trying to calm his own trembling. When his eyes snapped back open, they were dark and intense. His gaze ran over her face, almost a tactile sensation.
“I love you. I always have,” Roark said.
Her lip quivered and her eyes watered, because dammit, some tiny part of herself always wanted to hear him say that. That part she kept buried deep inside—stored in her big toe, so she wouldn’t have to deal with it. But he couldn’t possibly mean it.
“I think you’re drunk, lonely and your pride is hurt.” She pulled away from him. She didn’t need this crap tonight. It wasn’t the best day, and she was out of chocolate. And if she kept being close to him, well, she just wasn’t sure if she could control herself.
She didn’t need Roark confessing things to her. Or trying to get her to confess things.
“And you love me too,” he said, his voice quieter.
Be strong. “Whatever, Roark.” She pulled open the front door. “You need to go home now.”
“I’m not leaving, Steph.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Then you best have all your speeding tickets paid, because I will call the cops, Roark.”
He held up his hands. “Look, no need for that.”
“Well, dammit Roark, you need to go home. Don’t be here.” Not here, where it’s dark and I’m alone with you.
“I just want to know why, Steph.”
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you want to love me? What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.” Her voice wavered when she spoke, and she covered her mouth, as if it would stop the quivers in her words.
“You’re very afraid. What do you think is going to happen if you have feelings for me?”
She glanced at the mantel again, where her mother’s picture was. Be strong. Feeling something didn’t make it logical and the right thing to do. She had to follow her head, not her heart. “See, this is why I didn’t want to date you. Why I didn’t want this stuff at all.”
“What stuff?”
“All this.” She pressed her hand on her chest. “These damn thing, this ache in here.”
“What ache, Stephanie?”
“The one that feels like my insides are going to blow up! My mother forever was losing herself over all these jackasses, she never did get it. They all were dicks to her, because she’d let them in. I won’t do that, Roark. I won’t let you in. I won’t let you tear me up after you’ve had your fun. I know how this shit works, dammit!”
“And how is that?”
“You’ll have your fun, then you’re gone.”
“If that’s what you think of me, then you don’t know me very well at all.”
“I know your type,” Stephanie said.
He crossed his arms, his voice still very low and quiet. “And what’s that?”
“I’m the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Great for some laughs, but after that, I’m nothing.”
“Yeah, because me and my dad came over, fixing everything in your damn house because we thought you were worthless, Stephanie. That makes perfect sense!”
“You felt sorry for me!”
“I did! I felt horrible for you—how could anyone’s mother be like yours? She was never around! She expected you to take care of yourself when you were ten! You didn’t have a mother, you had a damn roommate!”
“At least she was honest with me. Told me the way things really were.”
Roark shook his head. “She didn’t tell you the truth!”
“Oh yeah, and what is the truth? That we’d be perfect together? Look at us right now, Roark! Just look. We’re standing here, at midnight, yelling at one another. Why? Because we don’t belong together.”
“So who do you belong with?”
“I won’t ever belong to anyone.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to own you. I want you to be with me. If you don’t understand the difference, then this really is an epic failure.” He glanced at the ceiling, like he was looking at something. “Even with the red one, I still can’t win. Maybe I should have drank the blue one.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Stephanie asked.
He rubbed his head again. “Not worth explaining.” Roark flipped all the locks, pulled the door. Glanced at the baseball bat, and got a smirk on his face. Then he faced Stephanie. “I’ve loved you my whole life, Stephanie. I don’t know why I just now figured it out. Maybe it’s too late.”
“It is,” Stephanie replied.
He shook his head. “I’m never going to bring this up again.”
“Good.”
And with that, he left.
Stephanie felt the ache in her heart explode, and all she could do was crumble to the floor and cry.
Chapter Nineteen
Thursday, Ten Days Later
“So, how are you doing?”
Roark almost spilled the
perfume he was pouring into the bottle. “Damn,” he said, catching himself before he wasted a month of work. He glanced over his shoulder.
Christy had appeared next to him, in all her blue sparkly glory. “Sorry,” she said.
“You could have waited until I finished pouring this.”
“I’ve been busy,” Christy replied, hopping onto the big work table. Her wings folded out like an oversized tailcoat, covering a good portion of the table, even dangling over the far side.
“Doesn’t that hurt them?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Nope. They’re not bones.”
Roark sighed, finished the bottle. He put down the large container, and carefully refastened the lid. “So what have you been doing lately?”
“Just dealing with some, uh, fairy issues that came up.”
“What kind of issues?”
“I’m not here to talk about my stuff. Just your stuff.”
“Not much to talk about,” Roark replied. And there wasn’t. It had been ten days since he’d heard from Stephanie. He’d been true to his word—he wasn’t about to bring up that disastrous night. Or any of the other crap.
He just wanted to get back to what he was good at. And get on with his life. Though unfortunately, the plan wasn’t working so well. He’d probably picked up his cell a couple dozen times in the last ten days to call her about something, and put it down again.
This was the worst thing he’d ever done. He’d hoped he’d wind up winning the girl of his dreams, but instead he wound up alienating the best friend he had.
How screwed up is that?
“How are you feeling?” Christy asked.
“Very educated with nowhere to use it.”
Christy nodded.
Yes, the red drink had worked wonders for Roark. He’d drank it, and as soon as he saw Stephanie, he could perceive all the things Christy had told him about—it was right there, right in front of his face.
She really did care for him. Possibly even loved him. But what held her back, what always held her back, was fear. It appeared like a black monster, pulling at the colors of her feelings, holding her away from him, and she couldn’t break free.
“I never promised happiness would come from the education,” Christy said. She had come over—rather, appeared a few times in the last week, mostly just hanging out and visiting with him in private.
She was nice company. Friendly. And most of the time, he would forget she was his Fairy Godmother because she’d leave her wings tucked inside her back. Though how that was possible—they were so huge, and she was fairly tiny. He’d never bothered asking. It seemed a dumb thing to do, but the more time passed, the more he learned he was a master of dumb things.
Today, though, Roark wondered if she left them out on purpose—to remind him of exactly who she was.
Roark smirked. “The sad thing? I knew it was there, I could feel it. But she won’t let go of her own issues. And I don’t know how to prove to her I’m not going to leave her.”
“I know. I’ve been checking in on her.”
Roark ran a cloth over some of the jars, dusting them off so he didn’t have to look at her. The Fairy Godmother’s words hit him. Hard.
She’d been checking on Stephanie.
“How was she?” he managed to whisper.
“By day, she’s fine. She is very good at smiling through the pain.”
“She’s practiced all her life,” Roark replied.
“Unlike other people in this room,” Christy said.
Roark glanced at her. “Do you have something to say?”
“Only that you’ve been a surly jackass ever since.”
He tossed his rag onto the counter and spun to face her. “What do you want me to do, Christy? Say ‘Oh well, that’s over. On to the next…’”
Christy rubbed her temples. “No, of course not. But it doesn’t do you any good to let her choices turn you into an asshole.”
Roark scooted his work stool over to him, the metal legs grinding on the concrete floor. “I don’t get it. What does she want? If I chase her, we fight. If I let her be, she acts like I don’t exist.”
“I don’t know, Roark. I just don’t. Not like this.”
“That I think I’d like to kick your buddy Cupid in the butt.” That’s what started this entire deal. Cupid made this all happen, and now Roark was stuck living in the aftermath.
Christy snorted. “I can understand that. He’s a pain most of the time.”
“If he hadn’t shot me like he did, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“I don’t know about that,” Christy said. “You’ve always had feelings for Stephanie. You just didn’t know what they were.”
“I didn’t want to know,” Roark said. “She was my friend. A business contact. We worked well together.”
“Yes, you did. And I imagine, after it’s all said and done, you still will.”
“Time heals all wounds, and all that jazz?” Roark asked, smirking at her.
“Jumping Juno, you smiled!” Christy said, hand on her chest, a big grin on her face. “I can’t believe it. I thought you couldn’t do that anymore.”
This made Roark break out a grin. “I tend to surprise on occasion.”
“It’s a good thing to see,” Christy said, shifting on the table and picking up and sniffing the newly bottled perfume. “So, no word?”
This stole the smile off Roark’s face. “No word.” He took the bottle away from her and proceeded to seal it and the rest of the bottles. He placed them in a cardboard box with dividers so the bottles didn’t rattle around.
“Huh,” Christy said. “I thought for sure you would have heard from her by now.”
“Stephanie is the most stubborn girl I know.”
“I guess so.”
Roark let out a sigh. He didn’t want to talk about this. It only enlarged the hole in his heart. “So tell me more about being a Fairy Godmother. How’d you get the gig?”
“I was born to fairy parents and eventually entered a fairy school.”
“There’s a school?”
“Of course there is. We have laws and procedures, just like anyone else.”
“What if you didn’t want to be a fairy?”
Christy shrugged. “Then we’re not.”
“So can anyone become a fairy?”
“No, it’s part of the genes,” Christy replied. “But you can turn down the ability and just live a mortal life.” She hopped off the table, her wings sliding down with a sloop. “I’m glad you’re accepting this finally.”
“I figure either you’re real or I’m having some sort of snap from reality. Sounds better if I believe you.”
“Lovely. I’m glad I rank higher than a mental break.”
He grinned.
Christy let out a sigh. “I’m sorry this has been so rough. I promise, I don’t normally have this kind of difficulty with charges.”
“You probably don’t have such stubbornness to deal with.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve had a few knights I’ve wanted to kick in the head a few times over.”
“How long have you been at this?”
“Almost three hundred and fifty years.”
Roark started counting on his fingers. “You’ve seen some amazing stuff. Bet you’d make a history teacher go ballistic.”
“I have,” she said, fluffing one of her wings. “But I still have realized people are still people, no matter what era it is.”
He nodded. “So what’s my next step from here? Does your, whatever it is, have a backup plan in place for this kind of thing?”
“Normally, we have several potentials for everyone. See which one shakes out the best for each person.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“For some reason, you don’t
have a secondary recommendation.”
“So she’s it,” Roark said, sighing again.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be happy with someone else. It just means she…”
“Was my true love,” Roark said, his shoulders slumping. The idea Stephanie was the end all and be all for him—well, it tore him up inside. Because she was too afraid to be with him, so convinced…
How’d she put it? That she was from the wrong side of the tracks, they weren’t socially acceptable. Pretty friggin’ lame. It wasn’t like this was the nineteenth century, where social standing meant something. It was the twenty-first century, and people married all across the board all the time, and it worked out well.
“Your little red drink didn’t help me much.”
“But you know why now.”
Roark glanced at Christy. “When I touched her, yeah.” It hit him like a flash, really. Scenes spilling for him, ones he’d never seen but felt inheritably that they were true, and real. Stephanie’s life from her point of view. While it made the puzzle pieces fit together, it also felt horribly intrusive—seeing all the truly personal reasons why she felt so strongly.
Sadly, it was something Roark couldn’t fix.
She had to want to change.
And that was the gist of it. She had to want to.
Roark glanced at Christy. “So, are you sure you can’t, uh borrow one of Cupid’s arrows?”
Christy gritted her teeth. “I certainly hope you are joking.”
“Kind of.”
She shook her head. “Listen, we’ll figure this out. I promise. I will go do some digging, okay? See if I can find you someone who’s more perfect.” She tipped her head to the side. “You like a little of that kink in your bed, don’t you, big guy?”
“You offering?”
She laughed. “Just adding to the list. But you do, don’t you?” She waved her hands in the air. “You have that ‘let me tie you to the headboard’ air about you.”
Roark glanced at the floor, a little bit embarrassed by her blunt sexual question. “Maybe a bit.” He looked up in time to dodge her trying to pat his cheek like a grandmother. She might not look like his grandmother, but she certainly had some grandmotherly idiosyncrasies.
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