Fairly Human

by Holly Fuhrmann

  "I'm sure if I lost a sweet boy like you, I'd be worried."

  "Would you like to be my mother?"

  Myrtle's heart constricted. “Zak, if I were looking for a little boy, you'd be my first choice. But do you know what I need the most right now?"

  "What?” he asked, suspicious.

  "A friend. What do you say? I know I'm old.” She couldn't help a small smile. “But I think I make a pretty good friend."

  He nodded. “I guess I'd like to be your friend."

  "Well, as a friend, I think maybe we should get you something to eat and call your dad."

  "Okay."

  They walked through the park towards Glory's. They didn't talk, but by the time they'd reached the end of the park and were ready to cross the street, Myrtle realized that Zak's hand had crept into hers. She gave it a reassuring little squeeze.

  "Dad's going to be mad,” he finally said.

  "Not exactly mad. I'm not a parent, but I know a bunch, and they get upset when their kids run away. They worry. And when they're worried, it sometimes comes out like mad."

  "Will you stay with me?"

  She gave his hand another squeeze. “I'll wait with you until your dad comes."

  "Thanks."

  Myrtle opened the door and led the boy into Glory's. “Let's use the phone first and call your dad. Then we'll get something to eat while we wait for him to get here."

  "Okay.” Zak's voice sounded small and unsure.

  She smiled what she hoped was a confident smile. “It will be okay. I promise."

  "Yeah.” Zak didn't sound convinced.

  She walked behind the front counter and picked up the phone. “Do you know your phone number?"

  He rolled his eyes in boyish disgust. “Sure. I'm in third grade. I'm not a baby."

  Myrtle chuckled. “Sorry. I know you're not a baby and should have known you'd know your phone number. Do you want to talk, or do you want me to?"

  Obviously, Zak might not be a baby, but he was still nervous. “You."

  "Okay, you dial, I'll talk."

  He punched the buttons as slowly as he could. Myrtle put the phone to hear ear and waited as it rang. No one answered, but a machine picked up. A deep, masculine voice said, “Leave a message."

  A short, to-the-point message, she thought. “Hi, my name's Myrtle, and I think you might be looking for my friend, Zak. We're at Glory's Chambers, the diner across from the courthouse. We'll wait here until you get here."

  She hung up and looked at the boy. “I left a message."

  "Where do you think he is?” Zak asked, his voice small and vulnerable.

  Myrtle realized that he was afraid that his father had left him, just like his mother had. Maybe that's why he ran away. Not because he was mad at his father, but because he needed to have his dad prove he'd come after him, prove he wouldn't leave him.

  "I bet he's out looking for you, don't you think?"

  The boy nodded.

  "How long have you been gone?” Myrtle asked as she led him toward a booth.

  "Since this morning."

  It was three o'clock now. His father had to be frantic.

  She nodded at the bench seat across from her and said, “Let's get comfortable and order."

  * * * *

  A half hour later, Myrtle knew a lot about the boy, more than just his name and that his mom was gone.

  He was in third grade. He liked school. Science was his favorite subject. His best friend was named Adam. He liked to ride bikes. He fished in a small creek by his house. He never caught anything.

  Myrtle couldn't help laughing.

  Zak shoved a huge bite of chocolate cake into his mouth. “Do you fish?"

  She shook her head. “No, I'm not much of a fisherman."

  "What do you do for fun?"

  Make happily-ever-afters would have been the most honest answer she could give, but she opted for, “Dance. I like to dance."

  She thought of her cancan dress, of dancing with her sisters and a wave of sadness swept through her. Would the three of them ever dance together again? After years of doing everything as a trio, this going their separate ways was tough.

  Real tough.

  "I could take you fishing sometime,” Zak offered.

  "I think I'd like that. I—"

  The rest of her sentence was lost as the door to Glory's burst open and a man ran in. Spying them, he cried, “Zak."

  The boy looked nervous for one split second, then bounded out of the booth and into the man's open arms. The man hugged the boy tight and kissed him soundly on the forehead. Zak kissed the man's cheek, leaving a chocolate impression of his lips.

  Myrtle felt more than a little choked up as she watched the reunion.

  This is what she missed—she missed the happily-ever-afters, the feeling that somehow she'd made a difference. For the past sixteen days she hadn't made a difference to anyone at all.

  Until today.

  Until Zak and his dad.

  She realized the man, stilling holding the small boy close, had approached her table. “You must be Myrtle?"

  She nodded.

  The man sat down, holding Zak on his lap. “Gordon. Gordon Martinelli."

  "Pleased to meet you.” Wow, that sounded lame.

  What she wanted to say was simply, Wow.

  Gordon Martinelli was gorgeous. His hair was dark brown. Chestnut would be an accurate description of the color. His features were strong without being overpowering. But it wasn't the hair or his features that made him gorgeous, it was his eyes. He peered at her over the boy with blue eyes. They were the same color as the sky in Fairyland. A blue no mortal sky could ever quite match. Blue-blue.

  True blue.

  They were the kind of eyes you could lose yourself in, she realized.

  She gave herself a little shake. She wasn't the type to lose herself anywhere, much less in a man's eyes.

  "Thank you,” he said.

  "Hey, Zak and I are buddies. We've just been hanging out, enjoying each other's company. Along with some chocolate cake. Speaking of which...” She picked up her napkin and leaned across the table, dabbing it against the man's cheek. He looked surprise and she dropped her hand back on her lap, feeling foolish. “You were wearing a good portion of the cake."

  "Thanks,” he said, his voice sounding almost husky.

  "You're welcome."

  "And thanks for helping out with Zak."

  "Hey, Zak,” she said. “Why don't you go run into the kitchen and ask Glory to pack up some cake for you and your dad's dessert tonight."

  The boy looked to his father for approval. The man nodded and Zak jumped off his lap and hurried to the kitchen.

  "He's upset about his mother,” Myrtle said, hoping the explanation would help the man deal with his son's pain.

  "I know. She got a job offer in Houston. He seems to think she's gone forever and nothing either of us say can convince him she isn't.” He paused a moment, then sighed. “He blames me. He says I made her go away forever."

  "But it's not forever?"

  Gordon shook his head. “It's for a year, then she'll be back. She's setting up a new division and had to be down there for it. We have joint custody of Zak. She's a good person, a good mother. She deserves this opportunity. She calls him every night, but it's not the same. It was a hard decision for her, but it's one I support."

  Myrtle looked at him, curious. Most divorced couples weren't ... Well, supportive. Gordon Martinelli seemed genuinely concerned about his ex-wife.

  He must have seen her unasked question because he said, “We may not be married any more, but we're friends. Good friends. This move was a great opportunity for her career."

  "Still it's hard on him ... and you?” Myrtle asked.

  The man nodded. “Zak's used to having both of us around. The adjustment's been difficult."

  "I'm sorry,” she said. She realized that she admired the fact that Gordon was still friends with his ex-wife, that he was concerned for her
welfare as much as his son's. That type of caring was rare.

  "I'm sorry, too. Sorry for Zak, sorry for her. She misses him. He misses her. So do I."

  Myrtle must have let her surprise show because Gordon continued. “We weren't meant to be married, but we've discovered we're still good friends. I wish things could be different."

  "Sometimes wishes have power."

  "Not in this case. There was never any ... spark. We were tearing ourselves up trying to find one."

  "And Zak?"

  He smiled, that totally ga-ga smile people get when they're head-over-heels. “We both adore him."

  She nodded. “He thinks you'll be mad at him."

  "Not mad."

  "That's what I told him. Scared, upset, but not mad. Reassure him, okay?” she asked, though she knew it wasn't necessary.

  She might just have met Gordon Martinelli, but she recognized the type of man he was. It wasn't the type of recognition that didn't require fairy magic, but simply required a close look.

  "You know, most of the time I'd bristle at someone trying to tell me how to deal with my son,” he said, but he wasn't bristling at all. He was smiling.

  It was a warm smile that sort of traveled from his lips all the way up to those true-blue eyes.

  "Most of the time, but not this time?” she asked.

  "I guess I figure you deserve to say something, since you found him, so I guess I'll just say thanks yet again."

  "You're welcome,” she answered.

  "How did you find him?” he asked.

  "I hit him with a rock."

  "What?"

  Myrtle explained and wondered at how easy it was to talk to this Gordon Martinelli. She wondered about it long after he and the boy left.

  She couldn't get the man out of her mind.

  Why was that?

  Chapter Eleven

  Blossom

  "You've been avoiding me."

  For ten blissful days Blossom had managed not to be alone with Rom. She'd made excuses why she couldn't stay after practice, or when that didn't work, she simply asked Herbert to wait for her.

  Rom didn't seem to appreciate the chaperone, but Blossom did.

  She didn't want to kiss Rom Johnson again.

  And conversely, she wanted nothing more than to kiss Rom Johnson again.

  That's why having a chaperone was such a good idea. Whichever mood she was in, she was safe.

  He'd finally cornered her backstage. She was making a dash for the door when he caught her alone.

  "I don't know what you mean,” she said and kept walking.

  Where was Herbert? He hadn't come to rehearsals today.

  Blossom was worried. Not just about kissing, but about her friend.

  "You've been using Theseus as a barrier between us,” he said, matching his stride to hers.

  "Theseus has a name. It's Herbert. Herbert Henry. You know, it would do a lot for your image if you took the time to at least learn the casts’ names. And Herbert's not a barrier, he's a friend. My friend."

  "I don't care about my image. I care about the play. But as for friends, maybe I'd like to be friendly, too,” Rom practically purred.

  He smiled, but it wasn't the type of expression that made a person smile back. No, it was the type that made them wary.

  Blossom stopped and looked him straight in the eyes. “Cut that out. You can try to pretend to be all sweetness and light, but I know the truth."

  As his smile slipped, his eyes narrowed and he asked softly, “And what truth is that?"

  "Like I said before, you're an ogre. You're rude and overbearing. And yelling? Why, you could out yell any other ogre I've ever met."

  "And have you met many ogres?"

  Blossom realized she'd slipped. “I've met a lot of men who act like them."

  "I happen to know a thing or two about ogres myself."

  "Oh?” Blossom's mouth was dry, her palms were wet.

  "Want to know what I know about ogres?” he asked.

  "No."

  She just wanted to get out of here. It wasn't as if she was afraid that Rom would truly hurt her. No, fearing physical safety would almost be easier than worrying about the other dangers.

  The dangers of the kissing variety.

  Right now, studying his lips, she could almost imagine how good it would feel to kiss him. To have him kiss her. To press her body against his and feel his warmth.

  It didn't make a lick of sense. After all, she didn't like the man, so why should she like kissing him?

  "But I'd like to tell you something about ogres,” he said, taking a step toward her.

  She backed up into a wall. “Tell someone else."

  There. She thought that sounded firm and decisive.

  Not that she felt firm and decisive all.

  No, she felt warm and sort of melty. As if one small touch from Rom Johnson would reduce her to a mere puddle on the floor.

  "There's no one else to tell. I don't think anyone else would be as interested as you are.” He inched a bit closer.

  "And I'm not interested at all, so there you have it. I guess you're just not as interesting as you think."

  "You may deny wanting to know, but I think I'm going to tell you anyway."

  His face was close. Too close.

  She could see the soft sheen of stubble that lined his cheeks. She could also see there was a small scar just about his left eyebrow. How had that happened? Did it hurt? Had he needed stitches? Fairies didn't get scars, which was a benefit in Blossom's eyes. But this scar ... Well, it looked right, perched there above his brow.

  "If you're not going to listen to me when I say no, why did you even bother to ask?” she demanded.

  "Because you might have said yes."

  "But I didn't."

  "No, you didn't,” he said. “Because you're ornery and difficult."

  "Me?” she asked with a laugh. Not a real, belly-sort-of-laugh, but a laugh that was filled with sarcastic disbelief. “You're saying I'm ornery? That's rather like the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?"

  "You know what they say?"

  "It takes one to know one?” she asked, but by the look in his eyes, she didn't think her answer was right. As a matter of fact, there was something intense and a little intimidating in the way he was looking at her.

  "Tempt not a desperate man," he murmured, stepping closer.

  "Romeo and Juliet,” she said, identifying the quote. It was easier than identifying the look in Rom's eyes. “Let's not start a quoting war again. I'd win."

  There. Better to make him think of fighting with her than to think whatever it was he was thinking. She didn't have her fairy mind-reading ability at the moment, but she didn't need it. She could sense his thoughts were on something entirely different than quoting.

  If she was reading the look in his eyes right, and she was pretty sure she was, his thoughts were more on kissing.

  He stepped closer. “You draw me, like a moth to a flame. I long to burn in the passion of your light."

  "I...” She seemed to run out of oxygen after that one small syllable. She drew in a great breath and said, “I don't know that quote, and I thought I knew them all."

  "That's me,” he said, his voice practically a whisper. “A Rom Johnson original."

  "Oh."

  "Will you let me stand here burning, or will you—"

  She didn't wait for him to finish the sentence. Couldn't wait.

  She'd spent so much time bouncing between wanting him and not wanting to want him, she couldn't wait and see if she bounced past wanting again.

  She wanted and she wanted to want.

  She wanted now.

  She stepped into his embrace and kissed him.

  Kissed him long.

  Kissed him hard.

  The taste and the feel of him were magic. She was almost drunk with the power of it. After having been without her magic for more than two weeks, she'd forgotten how it felt to have it coursing through her blood. But h
ere, in Rom's embrace, she remembered.

  He pulled back, and she felt the absence of his touch as if it were a physical pain.

  "So, what are we going to do about this?” he asked, his voice dark and husky with ... Could that be desire?

  "This?" Blossom asked, knowing it was cowardly to ask a question she knew the answer to. This was the chemistry between them. The pull that kept her coming back to Rom even though they had no future. She was human now, but soon, maybe too soon, she'd be a fairy again, and mixed relationships didn't work.

  "This. Whatever this is. You drive me crazy, you know that, don't you?"

  "Good crazy or bad crazy?” she asked.

  "Both. There's something here between us, and I think it's time we explored it.” He didn't sound any happier about exploring it than she did.

  "How?"

  "How about a date?"

  If he'd told her that the sky was pink and the oceans were sugar water she couldn't have been more surprised.

  "A date?” Her voice was high and almost squeaky sounding.

  "A date."

  There were all sorts of reasons to say no. She could make a list, but she resisted. Instead, she focused on the fact that she wanted this. Wanted to go on a date, a real human date with Rom Johnson, more than she'd wanted anything in recent memory.

  She nodded. “A date then. I just need to tell you up front, I'm not looking for anything permanent. I won't be...” she wanted to say human, but opted for, “here. I won't be here in Erie for long."

  "Fine."

  "The least you could do was act as if you were upset at the thought that I'd be leaving Erie after the show."

  "Sorry.” He grimaced and clutched his heart. “Oh, Blossom, parting is such sweet sorrow," he quoted.

  She grinned. “Okay, okay, don't start."

  Hand still clutching he said, "Everyone can master a grief, but he who has it."

  "Come on, Rom. Let's not start a quoting match."

  "Rude am I in my speech. But Shakespeare had such a way."

  Blossom groaned for effect, but couldn't quite hide her smile. “You're just not going to stop, are you."

  He grinned. “No. It's your turn."

  "Fine. How about, Asses are made to bear, and so are you," she said, but there was no heat to the words. As a matter of fact, she was pretty sure she was still smiling.