by Rae Renzi
I couldn’t fault the logic. “What, exactly, are Sam’s definite ideas?”
Marybob smirked. “You.”
Some duties were more distasteful than others. The job of facing Sam Kendall to tell him he’d been bilked by my partner was pretty much near the top of my list of unpleasant tasks.
But I had one other task that topped even that.
When Marybob left after dinner, I opened my desk drawer and took out two cards. The first was Sam’s. It had lain there since our first disastrous encounter.
The other card was Loretta Hammer’s.
Sam agreed to meet me if we could do it in the next hour when his shift at the hospital would be over.
“I’m surprised you’re already back at work.”
“Heck, it’s hardly worse than a bad sunburn, although I admit I do get tired easily. They’re indulging me here, so I’ll skip out a little early tonight. How about if I stop by your place on the way home.”
I hesitated for a second as I glanced around my house. I’d rather meet on neutral ground, but I was determined to get this over with. Besides, a perverse part of me wanted him to see my home. I told him the best route from the hospital, then got out my checkbook and waited.
The knock on the door was soft but unhesitating. I jumped off the sofa, took a deep breath, and let Sam Kendall into my home. Alice took one look at him and scooted into the bedroom and under the bed. I was a little envious of her. At this moment, under the bed seemed like a good place to be.
“Joy,” Sam said, gazing down at me.
His voice was deep and soft, like velvet, and momentarily my voice stuck in my throat. I made a friendly sounding croak at him and waved him in.
He had changed out of his scrubs into jeans and a dark-gray cashmere sweater that clung to his chest. He seemed even larger in my house with his stevedore shoulders and his storm-cloud eyes, and he radiated a quiet intensity I found unnerving. I had noticed it about him before, of course, but it was more tangible now. I tore my eyes from his face and found his hair—a reliable chink in the armor of his invincibility. Half of his cowlick was squashed down, but the other half sprigged crazily sideways. I let loose a small sigh of relief.
I started to wave him into the kitchen, the center of the universe, but at the last second, opted for the living room instead. It was less intimate in some way.
He installed himself on the sofa, sprawling out comfortably with his legs splayed and his arms stretched across the back. I sat in the easy chair farthest from him, though it didn’t feel far enough, given my feeble defense against his electromagnetic pull. Alarmingly, I could almost envision myself being sucked across the room and landing in his arms.
“Would you like something to drink? Lemonade, beer, wine, water?”
He gave me a lopsided smile and that damned dimple. “Sure. Lemonade sounds good. “
I hopped up and scurried into the kitchen, trying to repair the dent in my armor made by that smile.
When I returned, I found Sam flicking Loretta Hammer’s business card with his fingertips. He looked up as I handed him the frosty glass of lemonade. “So, it’s that bad, is it? Marybob told me about your house.”
Apparently Marybob could keep her own secrets, but not mine.
I lowered myself into my chair. “That’s really none of your business, but I do have to discuss something with you that is exactly your business. I asked you here because it has come to my attention that my, um, colleagues in the dating service may have misled you.”
He tilted his head and regarded me curiously. “Oh? How’s that?”
“I believe they accepted your contract in good faith”—this was an out-and-out lie, as I believed no such thing—“but I’m afraid their judgment in providing you with an appropriate match was… flawed.”
“Who is ‘they’? I have no concerns about Marybob’s judgment, but I was unaware of other partners. Other than yourself, of course.”
This was not the time to bring up Craig and why he had (I assumed) conspired with Marybob (whether or not she knew it) to bring me into contact with Sam. I suspected Luke had a role, too, but his motivation was less clear. The situation was confusing, and they were both gone.
“They is no one,” I said quickly and with appalling grammar. “It’s only that… well, you realize I wasn’t consulted in choosing a match for you?”
“Oh, yes. I stipulated the condition.”
“You what?”
“I knew you couldn’t be objective. You hate surgeons.”
“I do not. I just had a bad experience with… ah. Well. In any case, I would never set you up with a bad match. Never.”
“No, I expect not. No concerns about your integrity, Joy, but also no confidence you’d recognize the perfect match for me. Bias has a way of coloring vision.”
“Exactly. That’s why I feel I should refund your money. I’m afraid my partners… er, Marybob… is guilty of bias. Extreme bias. Monumental bias.”
He arched an eyebrow at me and cocked his chin, encouraging me to continue.
This was the hard part. Heat crept up my cheeks.
“You see, I’m embarrassed to say, Marybob, decided your perfect match was… me.”
He smiled contentedly. “I know.”
“You… I’m… I don’t understand.”
“Let me make it clear, then.” He vaulted off the sofa and lifted me from my chair as if I weighed nothing. The look in his eyes took my breath away.
But not nearly as much as his kiss. His lips were obviously created with mine in mind, with exactly the right mix of soft and firm, of give and take. Cradled in his arms, I felt safe and complete, and if the uncertainty of the world didn’t quite vanish with his touch, I suddenly perceived it as new and exciting, a possible adventure rather than a fear to be conquered. It was a strange and wonderful alchemy, and I didn’t want to let it—or him—go.
He carried me to the sofa and settled the two of us along the length of it, holding me in his lap as if I might escape—as if I would—and proceeded to make perfectly, unequivocally, undeniably clear how perfect a match we were.
“We have a few things to work out,” he said into the tendrils of my hair a little while later. His warm breath tickled my neck and sent pleasurable chills up my spine.
“Such as?” Everything seemed fine to me. Really fine. Spectacularly fine.
Somewhere along the way, the two of us had lost a significant part of our clothing, allowing the kind of skin-to-skin contact I had craved. I ran my hand across his chest, reveling in the softness of his skin, the delicious substance of his body. I was delirious with delight. How much I had wanted this, how much I needed this. I had so missed the very specific kind of comfort that comes with the melding of physical and emotional closeness.
When I lost the physical half with Craig, I thought the emotional part would make up for it, but I was wrong. So very wrong. I ran my hand down Sam’s side to his hip, loving each and every dip and bulge.
“Such as your role in my career.”
Surprised, I drew back. “I have no role in your career.”
“Exactly. I need to know you understand that. I don’t have your… gift. I can’t see the dead, or the almost dead. Even if I could, I can’t stop what I’m doing to enter into a conversation with my patient about whether it would be better for him or her to live or die. Aside from practical reasons—lawsuits and questions about my sanity come to mind—the person on the table may not be the only one involved.”
My mind lurched back to the image of the little boy in the waiting room, desperately relieved his father had been saved.
“I understand, and I agree. I could never be a surgeon, not now—it’s too complicated for me. But you can and should, and you’ll make many people happy for it.”
“You should do what you do best—because you make people happy, too. And ex-people.”
I thought of my Departed and their Bereaved, and the corners of my mouth turned up. “Yes, I think I do. And
I will. I like making people happy.”
Sam traced his finger down my nose and over my lower lip and followed it with a sweet and slow kiss. “Including me, I hope.”
“I’ll try my best, but you can be—”
His dimple popped out at that, and he put a finger on my lips. “Difficult, I know. But maybe this will remind you where my heart is.” He reached into his jeans pocket, a slightly impish look on his face. “Close your eyes.”
I complied.
He took my hand and turned it upward in his. I felt something cool and heavy slink into my palm, accompanied by tiny musical clinks.
“It’s not a ring, but think of it as a promissory note.”
I opened my eyes to see a glimmering silver bracelet nestled in my hand. It was exquisite. But what captured my attention, and my heart, was the charm dangling from it—a miniscule, wrought-silver coffin with a tiny ruby heart sparkling on top. It took my breath away.
Nothing could have more clearly conveyed Sam’s acceptance of my somewhat strange life and his hope for our future.
“It’s perfect,” I managed to whisper. I hugged his neck and closed my eyes, savoring the tingle dancing through my body.
But a slight breeze brushed my face. I snapped open my eyes.
Craig. He sat in the chair opposite the sofa where Sam and I were entwined, a satisfied smile on his face. When I started to grab for clothing and struggle into a more upright position, he held up his hand to stop me.
“You’re happy,” he said.
I sagged back into Sam’s arms.
“Yes.”
Sam sighed contentedly. “That’s what I think.”
“We’re there, Joy,” Craig said tenderly. He closed the distance between us to lay his hand on my cheek. “Trust yourself, my love.”
“Don’t go… yet.” Panic started to well up inside me.
“You don’t need me now. You’ve got Sam.” Craig lifted his chin in Sam’s direction. “He’s good for you.”
“I’m not going anywhere you aren’t.” Sam linked his fingers through mine. “So you may as well get used to me being around.”
“Am I ready?” I asked Craig. In some ways, I’d never be ready to lose him.
Craig leaned in to kiss me. His lips tingled against mine like the tiny bubbles of champagne. “You’re ready,” he whispered, and he disappeared in a mist of swirling light. I almost reached out a hand to stop him. Or to go with him, or something, anything, to stem the flow of my painful yearning as I watched him fade into nothing.
Well, not nothing, I told myself. He would never be nothing, because a section of my heart had his name engraved on it. I blinked the tears from my eyes.
Sam pulled me back onto his lap and said, “One other thing, first.”
I sat back, still stunned that Craig was gone, really and truly gone, but I was no longer terrified. “Okay,” I said slowly. Only half my mind was with Sam. The other half was twinkling around the universe. “What other thing?”
“Your house.”
That yanked me back from the stratosphere. Sam’s beautiful blue-gray eyes glanced at me, then around the room.
“What about my house?”
“You don’t want to sell it. I can understand that. It’s a nice house. Homey. Comfortable. Location couldn’t be better. Near the Medical Center and at least three universities. Right now, people are combing the market looking for places like this. Hard to find.”
I stiffened in his arms and pushed away from his chest. Not again! Just when I thought Sam was with me, he jumped to the other side. Again. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with me? “Sam, if you think—”
He tightened his arms around me. “I think you’re in a tough situation, and you have an easy way to solve that.” His eyes fixed pointedly on the business card on the table next to us.
I wilted again. He was just trying to help me. Just because I didn’t like the solution he suggested didn’t mean he wasn’t right. I sighed deeply. “Yes, I know. It seems inevitable.”
“That’s what I think. No point in putting it off.” He reached over me and picked up the card, ripped in half, and tossed it over his shoulder. “So you won’t be needing this anymore.”
I gaped at him, my mouth trying to find the shape of the relevant words to respond. It was difficult, because I didn’t know what words those were.
I settled for, “What are you doing?” And then, after seeing the satisfied look on his face, I followed the logical trail to… “Oh. Oh!”
“Yep, I couldn’t make a better investment—I’ve been looking for something to do with some spare cash. Of course, you’ll have to share a closet with me. And—fair warning—I’m grumpy before my first cup of coffee.”
My first response was, no, no, no! But underneath that, like a bubble rising to the top, was a new feeling—or an old one, depending on how you looked at it—that was more aligned with yes, yes, yes!
I split the difference. “You’d pay rent, too, of course.”
Sam grinned a happy grin tempered with, I now saw, a hint of relief. “Oh, yeah.” He pulled me into a warm embrace and nuzzled my ear. “A lot of rent,” he whispered, “with interest, for a long, long time.”
THE END
Acknowledgements
I am grateful for so many things, but within the realm of writing, tops on my gratitude list is Deborah Nemeth, my extraordinary editor. Without her, no doubt this book would still be in shambles.
I am also appreciative and a little in wonder of the serendipitous turn of events and unlikely connections that led to my introduction to Grey Gecko Press and my wonderful colleagues there, Jason Aydelotte and Hilary Comfort, who take seriously, and succeed, in their aim to put authors first.
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About the Author
Award-winning romance author Rae Renzi took a long and convoluted path to writerhood, with stops along the way in field biology, molecular genetics, and cognitive neuroscience. Her debut novel RiverTime, won the prestigious EPIC award for romantic fiction, and was followed by its sequel, DogDaze.
Her newest novel, The Dearly Departed Dating Service retains a light-hearted romantic flavor, but dips into the supernatural to address interesting questions about life, death and romance. Rae recently moved from the metropolis of Houston to a little farm just outside the city.
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