by Cate Lawley
He didn’t bother to comment, just started in on his mashed potatoes. And he applied himself to the task with a single-minded purposefulness.
After he’d eaten at least half of them and a good portion of his pork chop, he said, “Bedivere said you were going to meet up with one of his buddies for coffee. Missing Kitty?”
“I wouldn’t be if you’d loaned me the money to go with her.” She wrinkled up her nose and then said, “I know. It’s not a loan if you can’t repay it.”
“You need a better paying job.” He set his fork down. “Forget the pay. You need a better job full stop. Your boss treats you like an intern, and you can’t stand most of the people you work with.”
Zelda considered his comments. It was only fair, since he was making an effort to be reasonable. Much more so than usual. His face wasn’t even turning funny colors. “It’s not that I don’t like everyone at work. I just don’t really know them. Working with a bunch of normals means we don’t have a lot in common. And you know that I basically am a glorified intern.”
Her dad’s eyebrows drew together. “I dislike that word: normal. You do remember that you don’t have any magic? That you’re a—” He looked up at the ceiling as if asking for divine intervention.
She was pretty sure his relationship with God, whatever it had been before his reaping gig, had been altered significantly and permanently since taking on the position. Being intimately involved with that much death…she couldn’t even imagine. Maybe there was some other deity—one who helped keep mischievous children in line—that he liked to check in with?
His lengthy and silent conversation completed, he turned his gaze back to Zelda. “You’re a normal, except for that handy detection capability. I’m basically a normal, when I’m not on the job. Don’t forget that.”
“I couldn’t forget where I come from, Pops. Remember? My standing monthly lunch date with Mom?”
“Ah, your mother. She can yank anyone right back into reality—even you. That is one of her special skills.”
Her dad managed not to say much that was negative about Mom. He’d always been that way. She loved her mother, and she loved her dad—but how two such miserably matched people ever landed together in bed, much less married, she couldn’t figure. And neither of them was talking.
Zelda gave her dad a critical look. Hair, all there. No squishy middle, even if she did like to tease him about it. Tallish. But terrible clothes. Kitty swore he was hot for a dad—but, really, she couldn’t see her dad that way. “Do you ever consider getting out there again? Dating? Maybe getting married again? You’re not bad-looking, and guys in their 40s have a lot of opportunity these days—or so I hear.” More like saw. That was one group of normals that hit on her more than any other. But she didn’t date guys old enough to be her dad. Ew. And that didn’t even take into consideration that they were always normals.
He raised an eyebrow. “So you hear, huh? I can’t believe guys my age are chasing around after you.”
“Welcome to the real world, Dad. But you’re evading. Do you ever consider it? If you found the right woman and all that?”
He was looking at her, but he definitely wasn’t seeing her. What she wouldn’t give to know what was floating through his brain right now.
He blinked. “Yeah. I do.” The thoughtful look vanished and he wagged a finger at her. “But don’t think a woman would divert my attention from my job as your dad.”
“To intimidate any guy who even thinks about copping a feel?” She couldn’t help a little snigger.
“No. To meet the men you date, and to make sure they treat my little girl right.”
“Great, Dad. How about I actually date someone first, then after—oh, I don’t know—maybe a year or so I bring him around for you to intimidate?”
“Any halfway decent guy isn’t going to be worried about what your dad does for a living.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Even if it’s reaping.”
“So you say.” She shoveled potatoes in her mouth. If that were true, why did every eligible male within a five-mile radius of her freak out about her dad’s job? And if it really were true, then either she wasn’t meeting any halfway decent guys…or she simply wasn’t worth the bother of her scythe-toting baggage. That thought put her off food, even pork chops and mashed potatoes. She pushed her plate away. “I think I’m done, Dad. Mind if I take care of a few things before I tidy up the kitchen?”
“No problem.” He picked up the bone and stripped off the last bit of meat. “By the way, you’ve got something light planned for dinner tomorrow, right? I might have gone a little overboard with the butter tonight.”
She laughed. “You are getting some squish, aren’t you, old man?”
He kept working on that bone and when he was done, he said, “Either way, you want me fit for my possible future love life, right? Maybe a good salad for dinner tomorrow.”
“Will do.” As she wandered up the stairs—the second story was her part of the house—she couldn’t help but wonder how she’d really feel if her dad managed to get out in the world and have better luck dating than his twenty-three-year-old daughter.
By the time she’d hit the top, she had a plan. She needed to get out more. Meet new people. Normals, magic, whatever. Maybe volume was her issue. An insufficient number of people meant she wasn’t getting enough practice or exposure. She hadn’t gotten out enough lately. She knew exactly where to start. She rummaged through her purse until she found the card Mark had given her earlier that day. Mark Lusztig, Consultant. She hadn’t bothered to read the card before now. It also had a number on the back labeled “personal cell.”
She flipped the card back to the front. There was a phone number and an email address. Why write personal? Wasn’t writing a number on the back of a card a clue that it was his non-work number? This Mark guy was different. Different from other people she knew and therefore unique? Or just different weird? She didn’t know yet, but, either way, he was a start. She flipped the card so she could see the scribbled number—his personal number—and then tapped it into her phone. There was a smile on her face when she hit send.
Chapter 6
Mark was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He hadn’t seemed to take offense when she’d asked him out for coffee in a platonic way. She’d started to explain that she was interested in getting to know more people, but he’d interrupted and said she needn’t explain and that he’d love to get a coffee with her.
From his clothes, he’d taken her platonic comment seriously. He wasn’t trying to impress, though he didn’t look like he’d just mowed the lawn either. He’d even let her buy her own coffee, though he hadn’t tried to hide his amusement as he’d agreed. And then he’d bypassed the couches for a small table in the corner.
He’d ordered an Americano and she’d ordered a white mocha with one pump of chocolate and skim milk. She couldn’t help thinking that said something about each of them. It was Kitty’s theory that everyone had a soul drink. Kitty’s was a spicy mocha. Kitty was confident, bold, and unafraid to be different—so maybe there was something to her friend’s theory. Usually, Zelda just shrugged off the soul drink theory. Because, really, who wanted to be a white mocha with one pump and skim milk?
“So let me get this straight,” Mark said. “Basically, your best friend is out of town—”
“Out of the country. She’s traveling in Europe.” Zelda sipped from her drink and wanted to sigh in contentment. Yeah, probably her soul drink. So what if her soul drink said she was fussy, a follower, and unoriginal? It tasted divine. And Kitty was full of it.
“Your best friend is out of the country, and you couldn’t go with her because you’re too broke. And you’ve decided you need a replacement for—how long is your friend gone?”
“Three months. She’s able to telecommute, so she’s working, traveling, and vacationing.” Zelda gave him a disapproving look. “And I never said I was looking for a replacement. I just need to meet more people.”
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�Because your friend is out of town.”
Zelda frowned. “When you say it like that, you make it sound bad.”
He gave her one of his easy, charming smiles and lifted his hands. “I’m not judging. Do you have a strategy?”
A strategy? He acted like she was planning world domination. She just wanted to meet a few people, make a few new friends. Probably more like new acquaintances than friends, given her secret magic life. She was ready to embrace friendship—acquaintanceship—whatever, with normals. Heck, she was here, having coffee with Mark, and he was a normal.
Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he added, “A strategy, such as joining a club or a sports team?”
Sports? She blinked her long—not entirely real—lashes at him and tapped her beautifully manicured nails on the table. “Uh-uh. I don’t do sports.” No need to mention her complete lack of coordination. Let him think she was worried about chipping a nail. “I figured I might just get out more. Isn’t that how regular people make new friends?”
“I don’t know if I’m regular people, but let’s assume I am—or that I at least know what regular people do.” He was making fun of her, but before she could call him out, he said, “Hobbies, sports, church, volunteering—those are all good options. Anything that involves a group of people.”
“Church might be problematic. My family has some baggage that might make choosing a church complicated.”
“There are all sorts of inclusive churches…” He tilted his head, as if he were inspecting a bug, but the look faded and his usual open, easy expression returned. “Okay. If that’s not a good fit, then what about a new hobby?”
“What? Like flower arranging?” She meant to mock, but then she had an image of herself surrounding by beautiful blooms. That didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
“Sure. You might meet new people in a flower arranging class, but you might also have better luck if you choose something with a broader base of participants. Or maybe something that requires people to interact with each other.”
That sounded unpleasant. Neither more people nor close proximity to strangers struck her as appealing. Then Zelda realized what that meant. “Oh. Oooh. That’s no good.” Her lips pinched together then she said, “I think it’s possible that I don’t like people very much.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Because meeting new people makes you uncomfortable? Maybe, just guessing here, maybe you like people just fine, and it’s the uncertainty of the initial meeting you don’t like. Or meeting a lot of people you don’t know. That can be challenging for perfectly sociable people.”
“You seem pretty sure.”
Mark leaned back in his chair and gave her an assessing look. Those not-piercing, greyish-blue eyes sucked her in. She held his gaze longer than she’d normally find comfortable—unless she was flirting. Eventually, he blinked and gave his head a little shake. “I met you in a bar.” His lips tugged up in a smile, breaking what remained of the tension. A casually upbeat smile appeared. “In a bar, openly hitting on men. And you’re here, with a guy you don’t know, plotting ways to replace your temporarily missing friend.”
She scowled at him. “I told you that wasn’t—ugh, never mind. Okay. So I’m bored, and she’s having a blast in a dozen different countries. It seemed like a good idea to try to meet a few new people. But you’re right. This—” she waved her hand at the space between them. “Well, this was easy enough. Maybe I don’t actually dislike people?”
“That’s what I suspect. Of course, I am incredibly easy to get along with.”
A tiny, inelegant snort escaped. “This is so bizarre. How did we even get on this whole topic?” Zelda thought back to the beginning of their conversation, but she didn’t remember making a choice to spill her guts about how lonely she was with her best friend gone.
“You were clarifying the reason behind your decision to pursue a platonic coffee. And here I am, having not hit on you even once.” He didn’t grin—but it was like his eyes smiled. “And from there, we went on to why you wanted to meet people—”
“Right. Got it. Well, flower arranging is out—”
“Unless you’re really into that, and then you should do it whether you meet new people there or not.”
“Okay. So flower arranging is out,” she gave him a look—one she hoped conveyed the need to stay on topic. “No sports. No religion.” She sighed. “What else have you got?”
He shrugged. “Volunteering? Kill two birds. Meet new people and make awesome things happen. Win-win.”
“Hmm. That might work. What awesome things do I want to make happen?”
“I don’t know, world peace?”
“It’s a rhetorical question. You seem like a bright guy. You know what rhetorical means, right?”
He blinked innocent gray-blue eyes at her.
She stared, entranced. “You have obscenely long lashes for a man.” She hadn’t meant to say it, but things she didn’t mean to say kept slipping out when she was around him.
“Thank you.”
She wasn’t sure she’d meant it as a compliment until he’d replied. But it was a very attractive feature, so she supposed she had. She frowned. He didn’t hesitate, just accepted the compliment she herself hadn’t been sure she’d given him. Mark had a confidence and a kindness that she’d been missing in all but her closest friends for a long time. Sure, humor touched almost everything he did or said, but it was a good-natured humor. She had the feeling Mark liked her, and not in the usual I-want-to-do-you-right-now kind of way. It was nice. Really nice.
“Weren’t you wearing glasses when we met at the club the other day?”
As her mind had drifted away, Mark must have also checked out for a second, because he seemed startled by the question. “Right. Yes. No contacts, because my eyes were bothering me that night.”
She nodded. It was central Texas. Everyone had allergies. Glasses, no glasses—it didn’t matter. She was using small talk as a crutch, because discussing volunteering—something that had never crossed her mind before—seemed daunting. What was she good at? What did she even like? Who would want her help?
“You can start small.”
“Huh?”
“You look stressed out.” Mark said. “It’s volunteering, as in voluntary. It’s not supposed to be quite that stressful.”
She made a face at him. “Okay, let’s say I think that’s a good idea. I need someplace that’s looking for warm bodies. I don’t have a lot of skills.”
He gave her a weird look then closed his eyes. When he opened them, a self-satisfied smile spread across his face. “Got it. Helping Hands Build Homes. You have to be willing to pound some nails.”
“And if I don’t know how?”
“No problem. They’re always looking for volunteers at all levels.” He wrapped his hand around his mostly empty Americano. “You can come with me the first time, if you’re worried about it.”
“Oh. Yeah. That would be nice. Cool. How do I sign up?”
As he showed her the online sign-up process on his phone, Zelda couldn’t help but think about how she wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t bent a few of her rules. Maybe boycotting normals as friends had been a bad idea. There was no reason she couldn’t have non-romantic normal friends.
And Mark seemed fine to hang out, get to know her, and skip the romance. Much as she’d like to date again someday, it was nice to think she might be making a new friend. How long had it been since she’d felt like someone wanted to get to know her, just to know more about her? Yeah, she knew exactly when. Since about five days after her dad had accepted his job as the reaper, when she’d met Kitty. Kitty hadn’t known she was the reaper’s kid, and they’d become friends. But then an amazing thing happened: Kitty met her dad…and didn’t run the opposite direction. Now she was labeled from the moment a magical person discovered her name. Making normal friends was back on the table, because this Mark guy was super nice. And she was having fun.
Chapter 7
/> Mark gripped the hammer so it fit more snugly in his hand, and then pounded in a nail. Sometimes being an empath sucked. Seriously bit the big one. Learning to tone down extreme emotions so he didn’t feel like his brain was about to bleed: no fun at all. Suffering through nightmares during most of his adolescence: not cool. Experiencing first-hand the doubts and anxieties of every passing stranger until he’d learned to filter and build mental walls: torturous. Growing up after he’d acquired his “gift” had been rough. He pounded in another nail, and that last hit when the nail seated well into the wood made an especially satisfying thud.
He looked over his shoulder at the curvy brunette who was not his date and couldn’t help a grin. She was having a blast. He tried not to pry and avoided most emotions unless people actively projected them—but he didn’t need to be empathic to know how much fun she was having. She looked more relaxed, smiled more, and seemed more comfortable in her skin than she’d been before. Especially compared to the first time they’d met. She’d been lovely. Her long dark hair, broad smile, and nice figure had mostly hidden a hint of brittle plastic. Like the entire event—sitting at the bar, hitting on men, waiting to be hit on—was an act.
She narrowed her eyes in concentration, clearly trying to avoid thwacking her fingers. And after a solid hit, there was that smile. The real one. Not as broad as the flirty smile she’d given him in the bar, but this smile reached her eyes.
He pounded another nail into the wall. He was supposed to be working. And if he wasn’t careful, he would be going home with swollen fingers or bruised nails. Even with his back to her, he could feel the lightness of her mood. She was that comfortable, that happy.
He grinned. Sometimes being an empath was okay.
Zelda was an anomaly so far as his empathic skills were concerned. He had to try a little harder than usual to block out her emotions. Something about her had his mental antennae zeroed in and on high alert. He had enough experience with beautiful women to know it wasn’t just because he found her attractive.