With her wings spread full behind him, he thought he might choke. They were beautiful and even larger than he originally thought—though he was right; they wouldn’t fit in the shot with the backdrop.
The wings fluttered and he felt the breeze on his skin. Those were some great wings… They were almost real…
“You didn’t ask,” she said.
“Sorry, I…” He let out a sigh, realizing he hadn’t been his usual chatty self during the shoot. He felt guilty, because he knew he had a persona he was supposed to be in—a way he had to be when working, and he hadn’t even tried. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“I figured. You seemed kinda down.”
“Yeah.” Bruce walked over to his worktable. “I’ve had probably the most challenging week in… well, a long time. Now I have to fix it.”
“So fix it,” she said with a shrug, the wings opening a bit as she made the gesture.
“This is bigger than a patch job,” he said.
“So fix it with a new piece. And a patch. And…”
He snorted. “I don’t think I can. It would have to be really big.” He felt like a dolt, unloading on this gal like this. But really, who could he talk to? Jason and Roark? They were guys. Guys didn’t talk about stuff.
And normally, Bruce didn’t either.
Unless it was with Greta.
But he can’t do that now.
Not that he hadn’t tried a few times.
Anything he’s sent her hadn’t been replied to. He was at a loss. He could call his sister, but he assumed she would take Greta’s side.
Because he knew he’d screwed up. Royally.
“Let me tell you a secret,” Lilly said, taking a few steps toward him. “Girls like big, grand gestures.” She waved her hands in the air. “Over the top, big and full and very dramatic. We girls go gaga over that stuff.”
An empty beer bottle flew off the table.
“Oh crap!” She jumped, snagging the bottle before it hit the ground.
“No big.” Bruce tossed the bottle in the trash. “I can’t imagine what, other than skywriting ‘I’m an ass’ over her house, would fix it.”
“So try.”
He came back to the table. “There’s more to it.”
“So what, you’re going to give up?” Lilly asked.
“This is new territory for me. I don’t know what I should do.” And it was. He’d never had a relationship where he—
He didn’t know what this was, but it hurt. He didn’t like it, but making it better seemed like a long shot.
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re thirty and you don’t know how to fix a relationship?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Regardless. You should know how to deal with this kind of thing.”
“Never bothered.” He glanced at her. “We need to finish this photo shoot, Lilly. I’m sure you don’t want to hear me ramble on.”
“Actually, I’d rather hear than finish.” She smiled, leaning forward, her elbows on the worktable, the wings folding back onto her back, making a humpback shadow on the table.
He rolled his eyes. Great, another gal fascinated by the photographer. Just exactly what he didn’t need today. “Listen, I’m not interested in a date or play…”
She sighed as she straightened. “Ordinarily, that would wound me, but I’m here on business. And I’m more interested in getting you back on track. You were doing so good.”
“Uh, what?” What in the world? Was she a friend of Greta’s or something?
“Shoot. I didn’t want to do it this way, but here goes.” She rocked her head back and forth, and put her hands on her hips. The wings spread out, at full length, fluttering, and gold sparkles shimmered in the air. “Bruce, I’m your Fairy Godmother. And I’m here to get you and Greta together, because you two belong together. And frankly, I’m—I’m so cross with you!” She fluttered her wings, and rose in the air.
“Uh…” Bruce took a few steps back, stumbling against his worktable.
She waggled her finger. “You idiot! You asked a private investigator to spy on Greta? I should smack you upside the head. I’d smack Jason, if he was my charge, but I can’t.”
Bruce froze, unable to think. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve been here since the bachelor party! Since you and your friends asked for your own happily ever afters!”
“I am pretty sure I never said I wanted a happily ever after. I don’t think those words ever crossed my lips until now.” Bruce crossed his arms.
“But you all did. Roark said it, then you and Jason agreed you wanted it as well. So here I am.”
What the hell did I drink last night? Am I still drunk? He blinked. Then rubbed his eyes. Then looked again.
“Shit, you’re still here.” His heart raced, and he kept trying to… what kind of screwed up dream was this, anyway?
“Of course I’m here.”
“Uh… You’re my Fairy Godmother.” He glanced at the floor. Where her feet weren’t touching anymore. “And you’re hovering.”
“Sorry.” She dropped to the floor, the wings closing. And what was with all the yellow glitter that seemed to fall off her like cat hair?
Had he lost his mind? Had he passed out? He pinched his forearm. Hard.
And it hurt.
Didn’t that mean he wasn’t dreaming?
“This isn’t a dream, Bruce. This is real. As real as it gets.”
“Okay, so… prove you’re my Fairy Godmother. Clean up my apartment.” He put his hands on his hips.
Whatever this was, he’d better get something useful out of it.
“Seriously?”
“It needs to be done, and you have the magic, right? Because fairies are all magical.” If she turned his broom into the one from Fantasia, he might run for the hills.
Because this was fucked-up beyond belief.
She rolled her eyes and waved her wand. Gold shot out of the end, and the sparkles ran over everything—a bolt of gold glittered and shined as it touched every surface in the apartment. All his props folded themselves and stacked back in their respective boxes. The dishes in the sink spun, and put themselves away. A broom slid over the floor, wiping the floor to a perfect shine.
Shit. Fantasia.
Holy crap.
Even the camera on the worktable suddenly flew through the air toward its perch on the shelf on the wall.
“Hey, that’s expensive!”
“You said clean. That’s what I did.”
“This is crazy.” He rubbed his head. “I can’t… Those are your real wings?”
“I’m not normally this size,” Lilly said. “Usually we’re a lot smaller.”
“We?”
“All of us. The Fairy Godmothers. We don’t normally take human size, until we retire, anyway.”
“There’s more than one of you?”
“Of course there’s more than one of us.” She let out a sigh. “Christy, Ava, I need you!”
Blue sparkles swirled, and another woman appeared, with her own set of fairy wings. This one had pale blonde hair and blue wings.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Christy, this is Bruce.”
“Uh, you do realize he can see us,” she said, her eyes wide.
“I—” Red sparkles interrupted Lilly’s reply, and with the same swirl, they disappeared, and revealed—
“You’re the redhead!” Sure enough, the third fairy, this one with light red wings, was the same gal he’d seen at the wedding. Though not dressed in the slinky outfit—she wore a lacy dress with cowboy boots, her hair looking very, uh, unkempt.
If Bruce didn’t know better, he’d think she rolled out of bed. Or out of someone’s wet dream.
She blinked, and opened her mouth to say so
mething, but Christy interrupted her.
“Ava, what are you wearing?”
Ava looked down. “Oh, right.” She waved her own wand—red—over herself and the dress turned into a black body suit and boots, and she looked ready to do a little ass-kicking.
Ava glanced at the other two. “You all do know her charge can see us, right?”
“That was the point,” Lilly said.
“Uh, I know I’m the young one, but doesn’t that go against the rules?” Ava asked.
“You were at the wedding.” Bruce stepped closer to Ava.
“And?” Ava said, raising her eyebrow.
“We were all at the wedding,” Christy replied. She turned to Lilly. “Does he know about the others?”
“Uh, well…”
“It doesn’t matter if they know, as long as Andres or the FID unit doesn’t find out,” Ava said, defending her.
“That’s the last thing we want, the Fairies in Distress unit,” Christy agreed.
“Or Andres,” Ava said.
“Shh. He’ll show up and then we really will have a problem,” Lilly said.
Bruce stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled.
The fairies all jumped, and faced him.
“What?” Lilly asked.
“My apartment is filled with fairies. Real ones. And you’re asking me what’s up?” Bruce asked.
“Listen, I’ll make it really simple,” Christy said, hands on her hips. “We’re here to help you all find your proper HEA. Lilly is your Fairy Godmother. She’ll do whatever she can to help you. But you have to let her.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Bruce asked.
“Listen to her,” Christy said.
“Yeah, we want to see you happy,” Ava chimed in.
Bruce crossed his arms. “So, tell me what to do. How do I get this HEA, and make Greta like me again?”
Lilly rubbed her hands together. “This is where the fun begins.” She filled in the other two on what happened.
“We have to give Greta a grand gesture,” Lilly said.
“Huge. Massive,” Ava agreed.
Christy nodded. “It has to prove he’s not a complete numbskull.”
“Hey!” Bruce said.
The three ladies stared at him like he was the biggest nuisance in the world, then went back to their planning.
How could this possibly go wrong, Bruce mused.
Besides in every possible way…
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tuesday Evening
“What a day,” Greta muttered as she pulled into her driveway. Her neck hurt, even her eyes ached from all the computer work. It was like her fingers became extensions of the keyboard and the mouse… at one point, on a paper-written note, she tried to find the “save” button.
It was not a good day. Maybe she needed to adjust her chair. That might make the aches get better.
Yeah, she could keep telling herself that.
The real reason she was so tired and achy had nothing to do with her workload.
She missed Bruce.
Even her coworkers commented on her cranky attitude. But who wouldn’t be cranky, finding out the guy you liked had someone spy on you.
Oh my God.
It still made her queasy.
Who would do such a thing? She picked up her coffee mug, the steampunk one she’d found online. It was bronze with gears and had a little steam engine on it. It was truly adorable, but every time she looked at it, she thought of Bruce.
Because of the pictures.
She’d almost thrown the cup away. In two of the photos, she held the cup to her lips, taking a sip as she walked into work. Oblivious to the world. Now, though, she looked everywhere, noticing every car in the parking lot, where they were sitting, anything that might hint to…
Well, regardless, she remained more aware. And didn’t partake in her coffee until she got inside. Still, it wasn’t the cup’s fault Bruce was a sick asshole.
That was all Bruce.
As if I’m not scarred enough… She bit her lip, forcing back desire to tear up.
As she climbed out of the car, she heard a car door slam. Turning, she froze.
Bruce emerged from his vehicle—how did she miss that when she pulled in—and came toward her.
“Greta,” he said.
His voice hit her like a meat cleaver. “No, Bruce. Go away.”
“I will. I swear I will,” he said. “But please, you’ve gotta give me two minutes.”
“I don’t have to give you anything. You need to get in your SUV and drive away.” She inched toward her car, and opened the door. She tried not to panic, knowing he knew where she lived.
He merely stood at the foot of her drive. “Please, two minutes. I won’t come any closer.”
She pulled out the big aluminum bat she kept in the backseat. Between it and her metal coffee cup, she figured she could get at least one good hit if she had to. Maybe two. “Don’t.”
He held up his hands, returning to his SUV, and reached in the backseat. When he came back around, he held the manila envelope and a bucket.
Greta thought she might puke.
“I was wrong. Completely wrong. Horrible. In every way. But I swear, I never opened it. And I never will.” He sat the metal bucket down and held up the envelope. From his pocket he pulled out a lighter, and lit the envelope. He tossed the burning packet in the bucket.
The smoke and heat waves coming off the fire made Bruce blurry. And hot. In both ways.
Greta hated how he made her want to throw everything away, and run into his arms. Yet the hurt was so strong, so deep, she didn’t know if she could recover.
“How can I believe you?”
“You have to believe me.”
She lowered the bat. She still held her coffee cup. For a second, she considered throwing it. It would serve him right. The metal would probably clock him good. Not that she could throw, but it was a nice fantasy.
The pictures smoldered in the bucket, now about a third burned. She stepped closer, and could see the edge of one—the one with her coffee mug.
A thought came to her. “What do I take to work with me every day?”
He blinked. “What?”
“What do I take, every day, with me to work?”
“How should I know? Your purse?”
She shook her head.
“Your Kindle?”
“No.”
“I have no idea. A Starbucks?”
“It’s in the pictures.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t look at them.”
His words chipped a tiny bit at the black mass overtaking her heart.
Maybe.
Maybe he really didn’t look at them.
Could she possibly believe he was telling the truth?
“Greta, what’s going on out here?” Her father, a thick barrel of a man, came on the porch, carrying his own heavy baseball bat.
“Nothing.” She faced Bruce. “He was just leaving.”
Bruce’s shoulders slumped, and he went back to his car, and came back with a bottle of water. He dumped it on the now-burnt mess of the pictures, making the bucket sizzle and more smoke erupt.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, after the mess stopped smoking. “Yeah, I was.”
He picked up the bucket, and walked to his car.
“Wait,” Greta said. She ran over and grabbed the handle from him. “You can leave this.”
He shrugged. “Greta, please believe me.”
“I… I can’t make that decision now.” She took the bucket and headed around the back of the house.
When she heard his car start, she leaned against the brick, crying.
Her dad came around the corner. “Honey, what’s the matter?” He pointed
to the bucket. “What is that?”
“A mistake,” she replied.
Her dad didn’t say anything else, only grabbed the hose and poured more water inside the smoldering bucket.
The burnt smell hung in the air, and Greta took a deep breath. The little hope she had for a real love life burned and singed in the bucket.
Greta rested her head on her mother’s kitchen table. The set was probably as old as she was, and had seen better days. The wood finish had chipped in several spots, revealing the table wasn’t really wood at all, but some fake version of wood she guessed her mother bought at the local Wal-Mart.
A hard clatter made Greta jerk.
“Drink this,” her mother said, pushing the warm tea cup toward her.
Greta recognized the smell immediately, and while she wasn’t coughing, she imagined the hot toddy would certainly soothe her.
Though bitter from the bourbon, the liquid warmed her insides. She needed something. She’d already spilled her guts about Bruce to her mother.
Well, not everything. But most of everything. The important stuff, anyway.
“So do you hate him?”
Greta shrugged. “Yesterday I did.”
“Today?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
She met the woman’s dark eyes, so much like her own. “I want to believe him.”
“So what’s stopping you?”
“I…”
“Men fall in love very fast. And they don’t think about what they’re doing when they’re in love. So when they screw up, they don’t understand how they did.”
Greta raised her eyebrow. “You think Bruce is in love with me?”
“He drove up here and burned the pictures in the driveway. If he’s not in love, then he belongs in a mental institution.”
Greta snorted as the phone rang.
Her mother grabbed the phone off the wall, and Greta rolled her eyes at how her mother immediately ran her fingers through the coiled cord. At least it was a push button phone. They’d moved that far forward, tech-wise, anyway.
Guys and Godmothers Page 28