Fairly Human

by Holly Fuhrmann

  Of course, she'd never think of calling Nico.

  The kissing, keep-your-distance-warning, annoying man.

  But she could call Puffy. Maybe he'd like to ... What did humans do for fun?

  She liked cooking, and for her that had always been fun. But now it was a job, and she didn't want to do it on her day off.

  Movies. People saw movies.

  Water.

  Puffy had said that Nico liked the water and wanted a boat.

  Well, she didn't have a boat, but maybe Puffy would like to take a walk around the bay and look at the boats.

  Not exactly prime time fun, but better than sitting home alone.

  Puffy had pointed out his house one day when they'd gone shopping. She didn't know his phone number, didn't even know his last name, but she did know where he lived. It wasn't far from Glory's.

  Feeling better now that she had something to do, Fern changed into a bright green shirt and jeans.

  She'd never wore jeans when she was a fairy. They hadn't seemed very godmotherish, and to be honest, they wouldn't have fit very comfortably on her older-lady body.

  As a matter of fact, when they'd been trying to fix Grace up they'd stolen all her jeans.

  But now that Fiona had left jeans in her closet, Fern had discovered that she enjoyed the denim pants. They went with anything. They could be dressed up or down. But mostly, they were comfortable.

  She arrived at Puffy's, her jeans looking good, her heart feeling light. She was ready to try some plain old human fun.

  She knocked, feeling silly as she smiled in anticipation.

  The door opened.

  Her smile faded.

  "Nico?"

  "What do you want?” was his brusk greeting. “I have to put up with you chasing after me every day of the week except Sunday, and here it is, Sunday, and you're chasing after me again. A man can only stand so much, Fern."

  "First, I have never chased after you, you annoying, loud, annoying—"

  "You're repeating yourself,” he pointed out. “You said annoying twice."

  "Because once wasn't enough. And I don't chase you. You chase me."

  Before he could protest—and because all Nico did was protest and argue, that was when he wasn't bellowing—she said, “And deflate your ego. I didn't know you lived here. I came to see Puffy."

  "Puffy?” He asked, his voice sounding a bit odd.

  "Yes,” Fern said, squaring her shoulders and knew the lines of the shirt flattered her figure. She was glad she'd changed into this particular shirt. The bright green looked good on her, not that she wanted to look good for Nico. No, she was here for Puffy.

  "Puffy?” Nico repeated.

  "Yes, Puffy. I wondered if he'd like to go have some fun."

  "You want to have fun with Puffy?” There was a strange inflection to his question.

  Fern couldn't quite decide what it meant, so she chose to ignore it.

  "Yes, I want to have fun with Puffy.” She hadn't come to argue with mean, nasty Nico. No, this wasn't her idea of fun at all. “I was at loose ends tonight and thought he'd like to do something."

  "No,” was Nico's flat response.

  "No? What do you mean, no?"

  "I mean, I don't permit fraternization between my employees.” Nico took a step closer to her. “No."

  Fern felt an overwhelming need to step back and keep the distance between them, but she forced herself to hold her ground. “You don't own us. You can't say when and if we can fraternize."

  "Yes, I can."

  "No you can't. Let me ask Puffy."

  "He's not here,” Nico said with a smile.

  That smile seemed out of place on his face. It wasn't a happy sort of smile. It was the type of smile that spoke of danger, that made Fern feel like running as fast as she could.

  "Uh, where is he?"

  "His mother popped in."

  "I thought he had problems with his family and they kicked him out."

  Oh, she wished she hadn't remembered that conversation, because it forced her to remember that Puffy had said that Nico had taken him in. That Nico had left wherever they were from—and where were they from?—so Puffy wouldn't have to be alone.

  No, she definitely wished she hadn't remember that because it reminded her that on occasion—very rare occasions—Nico Starson could be almost human.

  "Just what else did Puffy tell you about his family?” he asked slowly.

  "Nothing.” Nico was studying her with just a bit too much intensity for the question to be as casual as he seemed to want it to sound. “Why?"

  He shrugged his shoulders. “No reason."

  "Of course there's a reason, but you're not going to share it with me. That's fine. Just tell Puffy I stopped by, and I hope things went well with his mother. I'll see you tomorrow.” She turned and started down the walk.

  "Fern,” Nico called.

  She stopped and turned back to him.

  "So what are you going to do now that Puffy's occupied?” He closed the short distance between them.

  This time Fern took a step back, needing to keep him out of her personal space. “I don't see that that is any of your business."

  "Maybe not, but I'm asking."

  "And I'm leaving.” She started down the sidewalk again.

  He grabbed her shoulder and spun her back around to face him. “Maybe I thought we could—” He dropped his hand, freeing her. “Never mind."

  "No, what were you going to say?"

  "Nothing."

  "You and I could what?” She'd never admit it, but her heart had sped up when she thought he might suggest they do ... Whatever he had been about to suggest.

  "I said never mind."

  "Maybe we could go for a walk around the bay? That's what I was going to invite Puffy to do. Walk around the water and look at the boats. But I'm sure you're not interested."

  "You know I like boats. Puffy told you.” There was accusation in his look, as if her knowing his likes was somehow a personal affront.

  "Puffy also told me you liked women, and since today is your day off, I'm sure you've got plans with one, so I'll just leave you to it.” She turned and started to walk back toward the street.

  "I don't.” Nico said suddenly.

  She turned. “No?"

  Nico suddenly seemed almost approachable. Not quite so intimidating.

  Fern smiled. “I find that hard to believe."

  "So do I, but there it is. So, if you'd like that walk, I'm game. Only there's one ground rule."

  "What?” Fern asked.

  "No kissing."

  "In your dreams.” She let the sentence end there and didn't add that she'd kissed him a lot in her dreams. No way would she tell Nico that. Why, his overinflated ego would surely explode if she added anything else to it.

  And besides, he'd told her no more kissing.

  Not that she wanted to kiss him.

  She couldn't control her dreams, and everyone knew that dreams were symbolic, not literal. She could probably figure out the symbolic meaning of kissing Nico if she wanted.

  "Fine,” she said. “I guess that would be okay."

  * * * *

  "I won!” Fern cried.

  Oh, she hadn't just won, she'd thoroughly trounced Nico. They'd rented tiny remote control boats and she'd totally trounced him. “You totally lost. I mean, that last turn ... Well, that was a thing of beauty. You went way wide of the buoy."

  "Fern, did anyone ever mention that gloating isn't very attractive?” he asked.

  "Sure. Losers.” She laughed, and when Nico smiled, her heart soared. “And you know what this means?"

  "What?"

  "You owe me ice cream.” Yes, racing small boats on the bay front, with ice cream for dessert made for a perfect evening. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that she'd spent the evening with Nico.

  "Hey, we didn't make a deal like that,” he protested.

  He probably didn't like ice cream, Fern thought. That was great b
ecause she could never like a man who didn't like ice cream. But just because he didn't like it, didn't mean he didn't owe her a cone. “Why would we have to make a deal? It's common knowledge that the loser has to buy the winner a treat."

  "That particular knowledge can't be too common because I never heard it,” he grumbled, then added, “Ice cream, huh?"

  "My secret vice,” she said with a grin.

  She started to climb in his car.

  "And if I agree, what will you give me?” he asked over the hood.

  "Hey, there's no bartering on this. You owe me. You lost. It's settling a debt, so I won't owe you anything.” She climbed in and slammed the door.

  Nico slid into the driver's seat and looked over at her with a wicked little smile on his face. “Maybe not owe me, but maybe you'd consider giving me."

  "Just what is it you want?” she asked slowly. That smile made her nervous.

  Actually sitting this close to Nico in an enclosed space made her nervous. He was a very nerve-racking man, after all. That was just another reason why she shouldn't like him.

  "I want something I shouldn't want,” he said softly. His voice a low brush against her entire system.

  "I want,” he continued, leaving the word want hang there for an inordinate long stretch of time. “I want something I've been fighting against."

  "And you're not fighting it any more?” she asked.

  "Maybe, but it doesn't seem to matter how much I fight it. I'm losing."

  "And is losing such a bad thing?” she asked, even though she knew it could be.

  Someone could get hurt. She was only a human for six months, and she'd already used some of that time.

  "Let's just say, losing a boat race wasn't so bad. But losing this, someone could get hurt,” he said, echoing her own thoughts.

  "But maybe no one will get hurt,” she said more because she wanted to believe it, than because she did believe it. “Maybe both of us, if we lose this battle we're fighting with ourselves, maybe we'd end up winning something big."

  "That's a big maybe."

  "Life's full of risks,” she said softly.

  She knew Nico was right. If they stopped fighting their feelings, she was at risk of losing something, something she knew she'd never get back once it was gone. Her heart.

  It was scary, but as she reached out and gently stroked his cheek, she knew she was willing to take that risk, because the prize she could win made any risks she took worth it.

  "Now, about that ice cream you owe me,” she said abruptly, changing the subject. “There's this cool little ice cream place over on Parade Street where they make blue ice cream."

  "Blue?"

  "Yeah, it's called Blue Moon. It's an odd sort of neon color."

  He started the car. “You want to feed me neon blue ice cream?"

  "Are you afraid to try something new?” she challenged.

  "Anything you can do, I can do,” he said with a smile. “Come on, then and I'll by you your neon blue ice cream."

  They drove toward the store, and it took a moment for Fern to realize he was holding her hand.

  Her heart warmed.

  She was about to take the biggest risk she'd ever taken, but if things turned out, it could be the best thing she'd ever done.

  She just hoped they turned out for the best.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Myrtle

  "Dad, she's here,” Zak screamed when he opened the front door and found Myrtle standing there. “Hi."

  "Hi, Zak."

  "Come on, Dad,” he screamed again as he disappeared back into the house.

  Myrtle stood at the door, unsure whether she should wait for Gordon to come officially invite her in, or if she should simply follow Zak. Her palms were sweating.

  She wiped them against her sundress. She'd had godchildren in the past who had complained of sweaty palms, but since fairies never sweat, she'd never personally experienced them and could have lived without the experience.

  She realized she felt dampish all over.

  What was with this?

  She'd bought some antiperspirant for her underarms, but she hadn't seen anything in the pharmacy for halting a perspiring body.

  Where was Gordon?

  Feeling awkward standing on the front porch, she finally opened the screen door and let herself into the entryway.

  Something smelled good, but not quite right.

  She could hear voices and followed the sound.

  "...you left her on the porch?"

  "But, Dad, you said don't let her in here."

  "But I didn't say leave her on the porch. I meant put her in the living room.” There was a long pause and then he said, “Well, go get her."

  She opened the swinging door and said, “I let myself in, I hope you don't mi...” She trailed off mid-word as she surveyed the kitchen.

  There was red stuff splattered everywhere.

  "Uh...” she said, not knowing what to say.

  "We had a small problem."

  "I can see that."

  "The sauce started to scorch, and I lifted the pan to get it off the heat, but then I slipped on someone's superball and..."

  "Your dinner's on the floor,” Zak finished.

  "What were we going to have?"

  "Spaghetti,” Gordon said. “It's my specialty."

  "It's the only thing he can cook,” Zak added, ever so helpfully.

  Gordon shot his son a glare, then smiled sheepishly at Myrtle. “Listen, why don't you go have a seat in the living room while Zak and I get the worst of this cleaned up. Then we'll go out to eat somewhere."

  "Or...” Myrtle said.

  "Or?"

  "I could pitch in and help you both clean up, then we order in some pizza."

  "Hey, Dad taught me how to order pizzas, so I can do that for you."

  "Or, you could go get the scrub brush,” Gordon said.

  "Ah, Dad."

  "How many times have I told you about leaving toys out?” Gordon asked.

  "Nine hundred and ninety-nine."

  "Smart-mouth."

  "Meany."

  "Go get the scrub brush."

  Grumbling, Zak opened a door and headed down the stairs.

  "Give me a roll of paper towels,” Myrtle said.

  "Really, I don't want you to get any on your dress."

  "It will wash."

  "It will stain."

  "I have connections. I'll get it out."

  "Speaking of connections...” Gordon touched her hand.

  Myrtle had forgotten all about her sweaty palms as she got caught up in the drama of the spaghetti sauced kitchen, but his casual touch was enough to turn her sweat glands back on, like some palm-faucet.

  She pulled her hand back. “Yes, it's about time we used some elbow grease to connect with this sauce."

  Gordon gave her a long look and then grinned. “Sure.” He tossed her a roll of paper towels. “You start with the counter, I'll scoop the worst of it off the floor."

  * * * *

  Two hours later, the kitchen was spotless, except for the empty pizza box, and the house was on the verge of being silent. Zak had asked Myrtle to tuck him in and she'd willingly obliged. When he asked for a story, she started to tell him about three fairy godmothers who spent their days making wishes come true.

  "I wish I had a fairy godmother,” he said with a wistful tone in his voice.

  "Do you now?” Myrtle asked. She pulled just the sheet up and tucked it in under his chin. “What would you wish for if you had a fairy godmother?"

  "I'd wish my Dad would be happy."

  "You don't think he's happy?"

  "No. He spends his days trying to make everyone else happy. He let Mom move away so she'd be happy. He does everything, so I'll be happy. After I ran away, he said that he'd do anything to make me happy. But no one makes him happy."

  "You do, I'm sure,” Myrtle assured him.

  "Nah."

  "Sure you do. Listen to me, I've met a lot of m
oms and dads over the years, and I can tell you that there's nothing that makes them happier than their kids."

  "Really?"

  "Really. You ask him sometime and—"

  "No need to ask,” Gordon said, stepping into the room, “since I was eavesdropping and can guarantee that the happiest moment of my life was the day you were born, Zak. And every day since, you've made me even happier."

  He kissed his son on the forehead and messed up his hair. “We're a team, champ, and nothing makes me happier than that."

  "Gee, Myrtle, it's like you're one of those fairy godmothers. I made a wish, and you made it come true."

  Myrtle felt a suspicious sort of lump in her throat that didn't have a thing in the world to do with the pizza she'd just eaten.

  "I didn't have anything to do with it,” she assured the little boy. “You did it all yourself."

  She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Thanks for dinner, buddy."

  "Will you come back?” Zak asked.

  She wanted to shout, Oh, yes, or maybe, Wild horses couldn't keep me away. But she felt that was more than a bit forward, so she settled for, “We'll see."

  She followed Gordon out of the room, and he gently shut the door and led her back into the living room..

  "Well...” he said.

  It was one of the wells people used when they didn't know what else to say.

  Maybe he didn't have anything left to say. Maybe he'd only asked her here because of Zak and now that Zak was in bed, there was nothing left to say.

  "Well, maybe it's time for me to get going.” She started walking toward the door, but a hand gently grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

  "I wish you wouldn't."

  He was standing close ... very close. Myrtle wondered if he was somehow sucking all the oxygen from the entire room because she was feeling just a bit short of breath.

  "Wouldn't what?” she asked, her voice sounding soft.

  It must sound that way because of oxygen deprivation. She couldn't think of any other reason.

  "Go. I wish you wouldn't go,” he repeated. “At least not yet."

  "Oh. So, what do you want to do?"

  "Maybe we could just sort of sit on the couch next to each other and...” He shook his head. “I don't care what we do. We could talk, or watch television, or I have cards around her somewhere. We could play a game."

  "Poker?” she asked.