Guys and Godmothers

by Candice Gilmer

  And it hit her.

  She pulled up some of her books.

  “Son of a bitch,” she muttered.

  Matt Hughes did her book covers too.

  Greta rubbed her head. “Maybe it’s the head of the art department?” She didn’t know, but it seemed really weird.

  Time for Google.

  She punched in the name, Matt Hughes. Several hits came up. Greta didn’t think about it being such a generic name, but evidently it was.

  So she tried again.

  Matt Hughes, Cover Artist.

  Bingo.

  A link to a photography gallery. Greta clicked on it, and poof, she was in the middle of a cover art gallery, all Clandestine Publishing books. Denise Matthews, Greta’s pen name, Lisa Lee Smith, and a handful of others. Most of the covers were for speculative fiction—steampunk, paranormal, futuristic, urban fantasy.

  Interesting.

  In the upper right corner, there was a button marked “Home.”

  Greta clicked it.

  And about fell off her chair.

  It was Bruce’s photography website.

  Bruce was Matt Hughes!

  Holy crap!

  “Still with the pixelated face?” Bruce groaned as Greta turned on her webcam for their Skype call.

  Dark circles rested under Bruce’s eyes, and his coloring didn’t look right. Of course, that could be the lighting through the webcam too.

  “We could do this over the phone, if you’d rather.”

  He shook his head. “No, this is fine. I guess.” He let out an exaggerated sigh, and flashed a bit of the big sad eyes at her.

  “Man, you got that poor-pitiful-me look down,” Greta said.

  “It doesn’t work for you?” Bruce asked.

  “Not even a little bit.”

  “What about this… The Smolder…” He sort of tipped his head, eyes wide, this funny kind of…

  Greta burst out laughing. “Please, Flynn on Tangled did that way better, and even then it was cheesy.”

  He laughed. “This is my best stuff here…”

  “Then you seriously need new material.”

  He put his hand on his heart. “I’m hurt, you know. I worked hard developing these looks to get girls to do whatever I want, and you wound me so,” he said with dramatic flair.

  Greta laughed again. “That’s your problem, you’re going for girls. We women have a higher standard of sincerity.”

  “Damn, I’ll have to work on that.” While he was jovial-sounding, his body language revealed he still wasn’t exactly in his best mood. Even when he was exaggerating his gestures, there was something missing.

  A life force, a realness.

  He was putting up a front.

  Greta shifted, sitting on her hands. They were practically shaking because she hadn’t quite gotten over the whole idea Bruce had done all her cover art.

  She wanted to ask him about it, but if she did she’d have to reveal her writing to him. Reveal that other side, and since she hadn’t revealed it to anyone, other than when she was in “Lisa Lee Smith” persona—a woman with confidence and all sorts of natural beauty—the thought of revealing something so private to him seemed…

  Well…

  Scary. To open herself up.

  “Speaking of women, I hope my sister didn’t terrify you. She’s a force of nature sometimes,” Bruce said, some of his front slipping a bit, as he brought the brown bottle of a Coors Light to his lips.

  “No, she was fine. I, uh, wasn’t sure I believed you at first. Saying you were out with your sister. Sounded like a line.”

  “I can see where it would.” He nodded. “She seemed to like you.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’d read some of her books? Or were you kissing up?” Bruce asked, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Oh no, I have. She has some really great historical romances. Very funny stuff.”

  Bruce snorted. “Yeah, it kills me because she’s so against propriety, yet she writes books about women who are enslaved by it.”

  “You actually read her books?”

  He blinked and stared into the camera, beer paused a couple of inches from his lips. “Of course I did. She’s my sister.” He looked insulted she would ask.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.” Greta waved her hand. “They’re, well, romances. I didn’t think a guy would read them at all.” Greta had never met a guy who’d admit to picking one of those up.

  He shrugged, and this time seemed to shy away. “Actually, some of my favorite sci-fi books have been sci-fi romance. Or steampunk romance.” He hopped up from the camera. She could hear him talking, but no more than a garbled mumble when he walked away.

  “Bruce? Where’d you go?”

  He came back, a stack of books in his hand, spines creased from repeated reading, all trade paperbacks from Clandestine Publishing. “These are some of my favorites.”

  Greta couldn’t believe it. He was holding a stack of books from her publisher. She recognized the icon on the spine—a heart, with a flogger across it.

  Whoa. Who was this guy?

  He held up three of the books. “These are about a planet where human contact’s been eliminated completely. They’re really awesome.” He put them down, held up two more. “These are steampunk anthologies, and they have some awesome stories. In fact”—he turned, digging through the stack—“they turned me on to this gal right here…” He held up two more books.

  Greta about fell off her chair.

  He held her books.

  Well, Lisa Lee Smith’s books.

  She gripped the bottom of the seat to keep from tipping to the side, and thanked goodness he couldn’t see her face, because she suddenly felt woozy.

  “Lisa Lee Smith. She’s pretty great. If she ever goes to one of the big conferences, I’m going, because I have got to meet her.”

  Greta put her hand over her mouth.

  Bruce had read her books…

  And he liked them…

  Holy moly.

  He waved the books around. “I got to do most of these covers. That’s why I have the books—I buy a copy of every cover I do. Supporting, you know?”

  “About that,” Greta said. “The website said the cover artist—”

  “Yeah, Matt Hughes. That’s my cover art name.”

  “Oh, I see. You do a lot of covers.”

  He shrugged. “It helps. Sometimes, I don’t have a lot of time for it, like now, when weddings are picking up and stuff, but people don’t always go to private photographers like me as much as they used to. Now with digital cameras and photo editing software, they can do a lot themselves. The cover art stuff helps supplement my income.”

  “Do you like doing it?”

  “Sure. It’s cool to bring someone’s book alive.”

  Greta nodded, then leaned closer to the computer, her elbows on the desk.

  “Hey now,” Bruce said.

  “What?”

  “Darn, it re-pixelated. For a second, I saw a bit of your face.”

  Greta sat up straighter. “I didn’t know it would do that.”

  “You know, you could turn it off. Then we wouldn’t have that problem.”

  “Then you would be able to see me.”

  “What I saw, I don’t think you look bad.”

  She waved her hand. “That’s another discussion. But how are you doing? I mean really?”

  He leaned back on his couch, put his hand to the side—like he did before when the dog was there—but he sort of hesitated, then let out a sigh. “I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?” Greta asked.

  “No. But I will be.”

  “I can only imagine how hard it must be, and I want you to know, I’m here for you.”

  “Yeah, it�
�s… well…” He picked up one of the books. “I may need to read these again. Distract me for a while.”

  “Internalizing it won’t help. You need to talk—”

  “And say what? I feel like a murderer,” Bruce snapped.

  Greta sat up straight, shocked at his burst of emotions. “You’re not a murderer.”

  “It feels like it. I walked in there, let the doctor kill him. My best pal.” He didn’t look at the screen. Ran his hand over his face.

  “And how many more days—weeks—months would your dog have suffered?” Greta choked on the words, torments of emotion flying through her. One side, truly feeling upset and sad for Bruce. The terrified-of-dogs side rode a shocking roller coaster, trying to departmentalize all these different sensations.

  Yet she consoled Bruce’s loss. Like she knew what she was doing.

  “I don’t know,” Bruce replied. “Could have been a while.”

  “You did the right thing, putting the animal down.”

  “Still doesn’t make it feel better.”

  “I’m sorry, Bruce.”

  “Thank you.” He wiped his face, and looked around the apartment. “When I came home, I expected to see him lying over there in his bed. And for a second, I caught myself looking for him. Dumb, right?”

  “Not at all. I imagine you’ll do that a lot for a while.”

  “Probably. My sister thinks I need to get another dog.”

  “Do you think you want to?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe after a while. But not right now.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Had to tell my neighbor today. Guess she’d come over to walk him and he wasn’t here.” He stared at the floor. “I didn’t realize I hadn’t told her.”

  “Your neighbor walked your dog?”

  “Yeah, nice retired lady. She loves dogs. Her husband is a cat person, and he won the pet wars. So she would take… Yeah. She walked Steve when I wasn’t here. Steve loved her.” He choked for a second, then shook his head. “I… Sorry to unload.”

  “No, please. I… I can’t be there for you, at least let me be, well, here.” Greta touched her laptop screen.

  Bruce reached his own hand to the screen. “Today, I wish you were here. I need a…a friend.”

  Greta’s heart split inside at his words. “I wish I was there too.” She sniffed back a few tears. “Someday. I promise.”

  “Yeah,” Bruce replied. “To someday, then.” He held up a brown beer bottle.

  “Someday.” She raised her own glass of wine.

  She made a private wish—she could find the nerve, the strength, and the courage to show her face to Bruce.

  And he didn’t run for the hills.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Saturday Night

  Roark had walked into the bathroom, and Bruce couldn’t take his eyes off the packet Jason had placed on the bar.

  Pictures of Greta.

  His heart hammered.

  “Wait,” Jason said.

  “What? Isn’t that my order?”

  Jason nodded, but pulled the manila envelope away. “Before you take this, you need to know something.”

  “Did you find stuff?” Bruce asked.

  “Listen, I did my job. But if she ever found out you asked for this, she will be gone.” Jason snapped his fingers.

  Bruce shook his head. “I have to know.”

  “No, you really don’t,” Jason said.

  Bruce let out a sigh. “So what am I supposed to do? Not look? Not know?”

  “You need to get over this. She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

  “So what’s the reason?” Bruce asked.

  “It’s private.”

  Bruce rolled his eyes. “I figured that much.” He stroked the edge of the envelope. “So what do I owe you?”

  “I’ll make a deal with you. Pay me half. If you actually look inside, then you can pay me the rest.”

  “You know I’m going to look.”

  “You need to be absolutely sure you want to open this before you do. If you don’t, well then, throw it away. Or give it back. It remains between us.”

  “And how are you going to know if I open it?”

  “Everything’s tied together inside.”

  Bruce smirked. “You are not right.”

  “I do my job. In this case, I don’t think you need this.”

  Bruce took another drink, finishing off the glass as Roark came back.

  Roark glanced at the two of them. “You two done with your private time?”

  “That sounded wrong,” Bruce muttered, smiling.

  Roark rolled his eyes. “Well, there’s a pretty brunette at the end of the bar I can go talk to if you two still need more alone time.”

  Bruce shook his head. “I think”—he glanced over his shoulder—“yeah. I think we need to play pool. Crack some balls.”

  Jason raised his eyebrow. “Rough week?”

  “Yeah,” Bruce replied.

  The three of them headed to the pool tables.

  Lilly noticed Ava still did not look right after Cupid left. Maybe it was the lighting in the bar, but it seemed like Ava’s usual reddish sparkle had dimmed. Lilly felt bad for jumping in her case earlier. After all, she should be enjoying this time with her friends. So rarely did three charges get together like this, in one place, allowing the fairies to see each other when working a case.

  As Lilly floated over to her friend, she bumped into Andres, who spoke quietly to Christy’s husband Ewan.

  He raised an eyebrow at her, and she mumbled an apology.

  Ewan wiped some glitter off. “Watch it, glitter girl,” he said, and winked.

  “You needed more sparkle.” Lilly smiled and continued toward Ava, who had floated off by herself. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier.” Lilly put her hand on Ava’s arm. When they all first arrived, Lilly had been infuriated Ava hadn’t prevented her charge, Jason, from finding anything about Greta for Bruce. But Ava had been right—it wasn’t her place to change what Jason did.

  The job didn’t mean anything to Jason.

  It meant everything to Bruce.

  Ava brushed Lilly’s hand with hers, the red leather suit sort of squeaking as she did it.

  Lilly giggled.

  Ava giggled too. “These things might be sexy to wear, but geez, the annoying sounds they make.” Ava waved her wand. The leather suit changed to a simple white tank top and pair of blue jeans as sexy as the leather bodysuit.

  They hugged. “I’m sorry,” Lilly said. “It’s been a hard week.”

  Ava nodded. “Yeah, these boys are not nearly as easy as we thought.”

  Christy interrupted the hug. “Are you two okay?” she asked, her blue mixing with Ava’s red and Lilly’s yellow, creating an out-of-order rainbow around them.

  “We’re fine,” Lilly said. “I just…”

  “Yeah, it’s been a tough week. Boys aren’t easy,” Ava said.

  Christy nodded. “I know, it’s been rough here too. Mine? His HEA ran out—literally ran out—of their date this week.”

  Lilly smiled. “I’m sure you made it right.”

  “As best I could. Cupid…”

  “He’s been an utter ass,” Ava said. “Has he been a pain to you all?”

  “Not too bad. I have a dead zone this week,” Lilly said.

  “Oh no!” Christy said.

  “Wow, is he okay?” Ava asked.

  “He will be, I think,” Lilly said. Her charge was shooting pool, and while he put on a good face, his aura was pulled tight. He leaned the pool stick against the wall and sighed.

  “Guys,” Bruce said.

  The Fairy Godmothers flew to their charges. Ava took up post next to Jason’s ear, Christy hovered over Roark’s shoulder, and Lilly rested o
n the pool cue, right next to Bruce.

  Both men paused, glancing at Bruce. “Yeah?” Jason asked.

  “Steve died.”

  The guys stared, their eyes widening, and they closed in on Bruce. Roark hugged Bruce—sort of—and Jason motioned for the waitress, ordered a round of good bourbon for everyone, and tipped her to bring it quick.

  “What happened?” Roark asked.

  “He was old. He hadn’t been doing well.”

  The waitress reappeared with the three drinks.

  Jason picked up his, and handed the others to Roark and Bruce. “To Steve. Damn fine dog.”

  They toasted.

  Lilly got misty and wiped away the tears in her eyes. Andres handed her a handkerchief.

  “Thank you.” She wiped her eyes. Christy leaned into her husband, their wings mingling. Ava, however, was very near her charge. She ran her hand through the side of his hair. In her minuscule size, no bigger than his ear, she reminded Lilly of a child playing with an oversized doll.

  The boys held up their drinks again. “To Steve,” Roark said. “May he be chasing tail in the great beyond.”

  Bruce smirked. “I’m sure he is.” His eyes shone with unshed tears, and he looked away, pulling out his phone. The smile got bigger, as he answered a text.

  Roark leaned over. “Girlfriend?”

  “Not today,” Bruce said.

  Not yet, anyway, Lilly thought. But she would make it work. Maybe she could lose that packet of stuff Jason found…

  That might be a very good idea.

  Lilly glanced at Christy to ask her thoughts, when she realized she was saying goodbye to her husband. Ewan must have to do his Tooth Fairy thing.

  Hmm.

  Then Andres caught her eye, and she wondered why he was still here. He motioned her away from the group.

  Guess I’ll know now.

  “You have had a rough week, Lilly.”

  “Yes, but I’ve had worse.”

  Andres pressed his lips together. “My offer still stands. I will pull you out of this.” He glanced at Bruce. “I think I should, on principle. The man is not ready. Not capable of being a good candidate.”

  “Yes he is. He’s a good man. Confused, but a good man,” Lilly said.

  “Good? He hired a private investigator to get pictures of a woman because he’d never seen her. In what plane of existence does that ring as a decent person?”