Guys and Godmothers

by Candice Gilmer

  “All things considered, yeah.”

  He put his hand behind her back and helped her sit up. After she rocked her head back and forth, she glanced at him.

  Damn him for looking incredible, even in his doctor-esque white jacket.

  She turned her gaze back to the stairs. The brick wall was still there, and Stephanie shivered before glancing at the fairy again.

  “Wasn’t there someone else here?” Stephanie asked.

  Roark nodded. “Yes, but he’s gone.”

  Steph rubbed her shoulder. “Ow! Why does my shoulder hurt?”

  Roark glanced at Christy.

  “He shot you with an arrow, but it just grazed you,” Christy said. “It should heal very soon. It might sting a bit for a little while, but it’ll be gone soon.”

  “An arrow?” Then Stephanie remembered that part—the guy, Cupid. That was it. He shot her with an arrow. Roark shoved her out of the way.

  “This has to be a dream. What the heck did I eat last night?” Stephanie muttered.

  “It’s not,” Roark said, stroking her hair off her brow. “It’s crazy, I know, but it’s all real.”

  “So are you going to let me out of here?”

  Christy shook her head. “Not until you’ve really talked to him.”

  Steph hopped off the table, standing next to Roark. “That’s what I came here to do, but I’m not about to do it with you standing here.”

  “You wanted to talk?” Roark asked.

  Stephanie ran her hand over her brow. “I just… I…” She glanced at Christy again. “Can you make her go away or something?”

  “Christy, do you mind?”

  “No problem.” In a flash of blue sparkly glitter, she disappeared.

  Stephanie let out a sigh. “That has to be the weirdest thing I have ever seen.”

  Roark smiled. “Imagine how I felt. I met her that night I came over to your house. Not a good night at all.”

  “Is that why you were talking to the ceiling?”

  Roark nodded. “So what do you want?”

  “I don’t know.” She stared at the ground, then at the table, stroking the metal top—just not looking at him.

  “You wouldn’t have come here without a reason.”

  She felt a tiny divot in the table top and started poking at it with her fingernail. “I missed you, all right? Is that good enough?”

  “You could have called.”

  “And I could have went skydiving, but I didn’t do that either,” Stephanie said.

  Roark put his hand on Stephanie’s chin, guiding her to face him. “You know, no matter what I am your friend.”

  She nodded. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Yes you do.”

  No, her mind screamed. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She’d had a plan, an idea of how to talk to him…

  Start over. Try this again.

  Why was it so hard to say this to him?

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a worn piece of newspaper. “Do you remember that day when you won state?” She laid the paper down and opened it. It was worn and old and weathered a horrible yellow color, crinkling as she spread it out on the table. But it was obvious what it was.

  The picture. That one taken all those years ago.

  “Yes.” He reached out, touching the edges of the crispy paper.

  A tear filled her eye. “This was both the best and the worst moment of my life.” He opened his mouth to say something, but Stephanie didn’t let him get any words out. “It was the best day because I truly felt special. That you picked me, over all the people in the world, to celebrate your win with. You came to me, and hugged me.”

  “It was one of my best days, too.”

  “It was the worst, because I was reminded, at least a hundred times, you were out of my league. That I’d never be able to be with a guy like you, who came from money, was successful, had everything he’d ever wanted.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Everyone.” She turned and stepped away, pacing as she spoke. “I got calls for weeks after. Pranks, threats, you name it. Notes shoved in my locker, and I don’t know how many times my car got keyed.”

  He made a fist, grinding it into the table. “You never said anything.”

  “And what would you have done? Beat up everyone?”

  “Maybe.”

  Stephanie returned next to him, again digging her fingernails into the metal topper. She had to say this.

  Had to.

  But had a hard time looking in his eyes while she did.

  “It didn’t matter. Even my mother sided with them. She told me then how I’d never land you, and this was just some kind of pipe dream I might as well give up on because it would never, ever happen. Not in a million years would you want to be with me. Not for anything other than some fun. And she’s reminded me of that fact, every day since. Anytime I mention you, she tells me how you would never be with me, that I’m worthless…”

  Roark put his hand on her shoulder and turned her to him. “That’s not true, Stephanie.”

  She inhaled a breath. “I thought, when you asked me to date you, that maybe… Then when we…when we…uh…”

  “Made love…”

  “Yeah, that. I could handle that. I could be with you. That way. That we could have some fun. That I wouldn’t lose my heart to you all over again.” Even though she faced him, her gaze wandered down, staring at the seams of his work jacket.

  “Again?”

  This time she look into his eyes. “I loved you, Roark. I loved you from the first time I dumped sand on your head in the sandbox.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you were Roark Turner, wrestling star, jock, Mr. Popular. I was Stephanie Bowers, nobody daughter of a drunk who got knocked up at fifteen. I wasn’t even close to being in your league.”

  “Stephanie, that stuff didn’t matter to me.”

  “But it did. You dated the cheerleaders. The preppy girls. The ones on the dance squad.”

  “They were who was around,” Roark said. “You didn’t want to date me, remember?”

  “Because I knew how it would be. You knew how it would be.”

  Roark pointed at the picture. “But who am I holding there? Not my girlfriend, who was probably thirty feet away. I was hugging you. I kissed you.”

  “Which is why it hurt so fucking much, Roark.” She started to pace around the work table again. “Why I had to build up the strongest walls, because I wasn’t about to let you in—to ruin your life by dating trash like me.”

  “You are not trash, Stephanie.”

  She faced him, hands on the tabletop. “Oh yeah? I’m sure as hell no prize.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re stubborn, a pain in the ass, headstrong, workaholic, and a know-it-all. But I love you for it, Stephanie. I always have.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “Not having you around, it’s like nothing works. I can’t stand it.” He started following her around the table. “I want to punch everything, shatter every damn bottle of perfume I’ve made, because nothing works, everything smells horrible, and I can’t get you out of my mind. And believe me, I’ve tried.”

  She couldn’t believe it. He felt the same ache in his heart she did. How is that possible?

  “You are no prize, either,” she retorted. “You make me nuts. You flash that grin of yours at my brides and they’re swooning. Not to mention their bridesmaids. I’ve had more than one woman want me to slip you her number during a wedding. What kind of woman can live with that?”

  “You can,” Roark said, catching her and taking her hand. “You can handle anything if you’ll let yourself.”

  “Yeah? And what if we fail? Then we lose each other forever. I don’t think I ca
n take that.”

  “This last week has sucked, I grant you,” Roark said, wrapping his arms around her. “So let’s just not fail.”

  “Oh, because it’s that simple.”

  “Yep.” He kissed her.

  And all of her arguments became invalid.

  “Well, you managed to pull it off,” Cupid said with a sigh, appearing next to Christy.

  “Yes, I did, no thanks to you.” Christy replied, crossing her arms over her chest and smiling at Roark and Stephanie. They walked into Roark’s house, holding hands and giggling at each other like happy newlyweds.

  “You needed me on this one,” Cupid finally said.

  “They found each other. You didn’t have to do that.” Christy said.

  “Be honest, fairy. You were considering it even before I fired off that arrow.”

  Christy’s cheeks blushed. Okay, maybe she had been, if only for a moment, in the basement with Roark, asking for Cupid’s help. “You cannot prove anything, Cupid.” Roark had asked for Cupid’s help, but the thought was running through her head.

  Roark just beat her to voicing the thoughts.

  Cupid smiled. “You may not like me, fairy, but I do good work.”

  She rolled her eyes and glared at him. “You cause more trouble than you do help.”

  “Correction: my minions do tend to be zealous.”

  “Then you need to do something with them.”

  “Perhaps. But where’s the fun in that?” Cupid asked, and disappeared.

  Christy shook her head.

  She was so glad she was retiring soon.

  Epilogue

  Thursday Night, Later

  Stephanie, after several strenuous hours tied to Roark’s bed—not that she was complaining—got up and walked into the living room, wrapped in Roark’s button-down shirt, and glanced around.

  There was something different out here—she noticed it as soon as they came in, but she couldn’t really put her finger on it, because Roark had whisked her into the bedroom before she had a moment to really figure it out.

  Now, though, Roark was clattering around in the kitchen, making eggs for them. Omelets. He swore he could make a mean omelet.

  We shall see…

  She wandered around the room until she realized what was different.

  There were pictures on the wall. Not art prints, but pictures. Like real ones.

  She crossed back to the bedroom.

  Most of the pictures were gone.

  Instead, he’d hung them up in the living room. Or rather, some of them. Others were scattered around—a couple in the hallway, a couple more on end tables.

  A cluster hung on the wall, around one central one, which was longer, more oddly shaped, than the others. As she got closer, she realized what it was.

  Roark winning the state championship. The article from the paper, the medal, all in deep frame, matted together.

  Including the picture of him hugging her. It looked mint, new and perfect.

  He must have framed it as soon as it came out…

  A tear crept in her eye and she brushed it away, diverting her attention to the other pictures around the one. And more tears sprang up when she realized most of the pictures around that one were of her. Him and her together at various functions. Even one…

  “Roark, where did you get this?” she asked, pointing.

  Roark stuck his head through the pass-through in the wall. “What? Oh that? Bought it after prom.”

  Stephanie stared. It was the two of them at prom. Months after state wrestling tournament and the embarrassing night at his house. She wore that damn pale pink strapless “Cinderella” dress, and he was in his black tux. They stood at the punch bowl, both getting drinks, her arm on his, a huge grin on her face. He grinned as well—that smart-assed smile he had, like he’d just told a joke.

  In fact, he had… “That stupid joke about the trains,” Stephanie muttered. She remembered, not the joke exactly, but the punch line about the trains. He’d told her to cheer her up because her date had wound up being a dick.

  “I didn’t know that picture was taken,” Stephanie said, walking into the kitchen as Roark expertly slid an omelet on one plate.

  “It was one of those random shots, I saw a proof of it and I picked up a copy. Thought it was cool.”

  “That stupid joke was probably the best part of my prom evening.”

  Roark shrugged. “Guess I’ve just always been the best part of your life.”

  His words hit her hard.

  In a really good way.

  “Yeah, I think you have been.”

  “Is there a reason you’re always early?” Stephanie mumbled to Roark as they sat in the pub. So far, neither Bruce nor Jason had shown up for what Roark insisted was their monthly little get-together.

  “I like to secure the table,” Roark said, sipping on his Sam Adams.

  Stephanie glanced at her chardonnay. “You know, if this is a guy thing, I can leave. I don’t have to hang around. I’m sure there’s stuff I can be doing back home.”

  “You will stay,” Roark said, putting his hand on her leg. “You need a break too. You work too hard.”

  “I can’t help it. All these snotty women who love that I fired Heather want me to put together all their luncheons and showers and…and…”

  Roark grinned. “I told you.”

  “Jerk. Just once, you need to be wrong.”

  Roark leaned over, nibbling at her ear. “You like me when I’m right.”

  Stephanie got a shiver. Yes, yes she did, like him when he was right. And he was right a lot…

  Before His Eyes

  Dedication

  To Mandy M. Roth, who was kind enough to answer all my annoying questions about creating cover art. Thank you so much! HUGS!

  Also, thank you to my editor, Holly, for your amazing support and love of this story.

  And as always, my husband Bob. Without you, I wouldn’t be able to do this. Thank you with all my heart.

  Prologue

  After drinks with fellow Fairy Godmothers Christy A. Molar and Avalynn Fay, Lilly Bloom flew to her home in the Fairy Realm, her golden yellow sparkles shedding off her like cat hair. The Fairy Realm, the same plane as Mount Olympus and the gods and goddesses, glistened and shimmered in the evening sky. Little plain square houses lined the rows.

  As Lilly flew by, she waved at some neighboring forest nymphs—their little houses sculpted to resemble trees. She smiled as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Hopefully her smile hid the trepidation in her gut at her latest assignment.

  She turned a corner, seeing her home in the distance. As she closed in, a flash of orange glitter made her jump.

  Two fairies—one a tooth fairy, the other another godmother—swirled and flew around one another, lost in their own moment.

  Their loving moment.

  Lilly’s heart lurched, and a pang of jealousy crept up as she watched them.

  She wanted that.

  So badly, she wanted that.

  Always a good Fairy Godmother, Lilly could bring humans together to find their love match.

  She couldn’t, though, for the life of her, find her own.

  Of course, it didn’t help that she constantly worked—on top of her Fairy Godmother cases with her trio— she repaired the damage done in Cupid Cases for the Council. Her boss Andres kept her hopping, actually, Cupid did. Cupid’s minions fired their arrows in everyone, regardless of the circumstances, breaking their free will and making them fall in love.

  As a result, the poor humans had their lives turned upside down, and it was up to Fairy Godmothers to fix the messes.

  But tonight wasn’t about fixing Cupid Cases. Lilly got to take on a new trio with her fellow Fairy Godmothers. So tonight, she celebr
ated with them, thankful to not be on a Cupid Case, for once.

  Everyone giggled and laughed and planned how they would handle their new assignments. Of course, Christy was excited. This would be her last one and then she would retire, something she and her husband have been looking forward to for decades. Ava, the youngest in their trio by over a hundred years, grinned the whole time they discussed the rules.

  Because there were rules this time.

  Christy had decided, not only were they all to have boys for their charges—a completely unheard of situation—they could only use the least amount of magic possible.

  And Lilly rather liked using her magic. Heck, she sneezed magic. How in the world would she bring two people together without it?

  So she smiled and giggled and laughed with her friends, not showing any of the panic welling inside her since she agreed to this, saving all the worry until she left.

  What in the world would she do?

  She wanted to crawl into her bed and pull the covers over her head and hide. Not being able to use magic scared her more than a dozen Cupid Cases.

  Nothing looked more welcoming than her home, covered with an overabundance of yellow gold magic dust everywhere.

  Reaching her door, she waved her wand in an attempt to gather some of her lost sparkles, but it did no good.

  Some fairies had no problems with shedding sparkles. Lilly did. Perhaps she was too twitchy?

  The appearance of her home could morph into anything she wanted. Some fairies changed the style depending on mood. Lilly, though, preferred a design that remained the same—day in and day out.

  Oh, she’d tried changing it, but it rarely worked out like she liked. Or maybe she didn’t like change.

  The plain white walls morphed into their usual appearance—large, plush furniture in earthy colors, big bouquets of flowers in their heavy, shatter-proof vases—because, let’s face it, Lilly was a bit of a klutz. Though in the far corner was the thing she yearned for the most.

  Her bed.

  Super soft, filled with the best feathers, the bed cradled her every time she climbed in it. She flung her dress in the air and it flew into the armoire in the corner, neat, pressed, cleaned and ready to go.