“So now we have to figure out what ‘one day’ means?” Nash asked, rising from the chair and staring at his friend.
Daphne nodded. This was the part she’d once confided to Calla—that made it hard for them to keep friends as a couple. Fate’s random visions. For the most part he was in control, but every once in a while, a vision was too strong to contain, and once it had broken up a couple they used to bowl with. For the greater good in the end, but not before a lot of anger and resentment, according to Daphne.
Naturally hers would be one that he couldn’t keep in check, making this situation that much more ominous.
Fate remained still, his face slack.
Daphne reached up and gently wiped the corner of his mouth with her thumb. “We need to get you a bib for these occasions, hunk o’ mine.”
“What the hell does one day mean?” Ezra croaked. “One day he’ll damn well remember my girl? One day left to beat his ass and make him remember my girl?”
As though Ezra’s words were the remote control to animate Fate, he moved across the room and wrapped his fingers around Calla’s upper arms, lifting her right off her feet until they dangled.
“Fate!” Nash knocked his shoulder with the flat of his palm. “Put her down, man, or I’m gonna forget we’re friends!”
“Stop!” Daphne yelled, latching onto Nash’s arm just as Greta grabbed her whistle to blow. “He would never hurt her, Nash. Don’t break his mojo. Let him speak.”
Fate stared deeply into her eyes, his own gaze stormy and wild, transfixing her. “Show him,” he said from a locked jaw and clenched teeth, the words urgent. “One. Day. To. Show. Him.”
His final words—just before he went slack again and almost dumped her on the floor—came at a cost. She was sure of that from the way he ground them out as though he was in some kind of physical pain.
Ezra jumped up to steady her, still as swift as he’d ever been, the blur of his movement leaving a haze of color.
He pulled her close and hugged her hard, cupping her jaw. “You okay, kiddo?”
“One! Day!” Fate shouted again, making the coffee cups and the glass vases on the buffet quake.
And then he fell forward like some crazy tent revival evangelist tree, chopped down deep in the middle of sermon forest.
Chapter 8
Nash dived for Fate, grabbing him around the waist and hauling him upward. Daphne rushed in, her hands fluttering about her husband’s forehead as Nash set him on the couch.
While everyone hovered over his friend, Nash watched Calla—this woman who said they were in love—and he felt an odd, deep pull on his heart; a strange twinge as she ran to her small apartment kitchen to get a cold cloth.
Her movements were fluid, just like Ezra’s, but prettier for the obvious reasons, and when she raced past him to hand Daphne the cold cloth, he found he was gawking at her.
She was beautiful—tall and leggy with graceful limbs and dark hair falling to the middle of her back in loose curls. He hadn’t stopped to really notice her until now, what with whatever was happening to him going on, but the impact of her presence nearly knocked him for a loop.
One day to show him.
What the hell did that mean?
Show him what?
And why could he remember every single person in the room but this gorgeous woman named Calla?
If this was some damn joke, it was an elaborate one.
“You really don’t remember, do you?” Greta asked, her round face red from the chaos.
“Swear it on my mama’s peach pie, Greta. Have I ever lied to you? You’ve known me since I was what? Two?”
“Yup. You used to take a bath with my nephew Clem as kids. You were always a good boy, Nash Ryder, and I believe you when you say you don’t remember Calla. But I’m here to tell you this. You were nuts about that girl. Plumb head-over-heels, drooling-in-a-corner nuts. Now, the boy I knew, and the man I know today, wasn’t one to give his heart lightly. She meant something to you—something big. We just need to help you rediscover her.”
Then out of the blue, his friend’s muttered words hit him like a freight train. “Do you think that’s what Fate meant? One day to show him? Maybe she has to show me how I felt about her?”
Greta slapped her hand on his back, the strength of it jolting his shoulders, the light in her eyes so bright she might as well have a light bulb over her head. “You might be on to something there, big guy!” Placing her infamous whistle in her mouth, she blew on it, effectively stopping all sound and motion.
“Dang it, woman!” Ezra yelped, rubbing his ears. “Sensitive wolf ears over here.”
But Greta began to pace, her sensible shoes making a distinct pattern to and fro. Clearly an idea had set in. “Listen up, everybody! Nash here might be on to something. Maybe whatever Fate was rambling about has to do with showing Nash his relationship with Calla?”
Daphne’s blonde head popped up, her eyes bright as she haphazardly wiped Fate’s cheeks. “Showing him? Like reenactments?”
“Exactly!” Greta shouted. “Maybe taking Nash to some of the places they’ve been, seeing some of the things they’ve done—except the, you know, chitty-chitty-bang-bang last night—will help jar his memory!”
He couldn’t believe he was in a room with people he’d known almost all his life, nonchalantly talking about the sex he couldn’t remember to save his soul, which everyone in town had apparently bet on him having. He pulled his Stetson down over his eyes.
Greta had seen him naked in the bathtub when he was two, for Christ’s sake.
Yet, there was something—something unexplainable, undeniable—compelling him to play along. If he’d lost memory of this gorgeous woman’s existence, what would be the harm in trying to get it back?
Because this Calla sure was pretty, and he had a lot of respect for Ezra, who appeared to really love his granddaughter. He rubbed the spot on his jaw where Ezra had clocked him harder than he’d given someone his age credit for.
According to everyone, they’d been in love, and on the fast track to something more. If Calla really was “the one”, how could he miss an opportunity to find out?
As she rose from her haunches where she’d been trying to help Daphne with Fate, she wiped her hands on the thighs of her jeans and looked to Ezra and Twyla Faye. “Will you stay with everyone at the center today, Gramps? Tonight’s my late night—we don’t close until eleven. You can’t nap.”
Her grandfather nodded his white head. “’Course I will. I’ll do whatever makes you smile again.”
“Twyla Faye? Can I count on you to be sure Gramps doesn’t fall asleep?”
“You can always count on me, Sugarlips.”
Calla nodded and then she looked at him dead-on. “Are you game to try this?”
His stomach tightened and his heart picked up some road rash when she gazed at him with those wide blue eyes fringed with thick lashes.
Rolling his shoulders, he decided he was more than game. “Game on.”
* * * *
“No, it wasn’t there,” Kirby insisted, a frown in place. “I remember exactly the moment Nash walked in to pick up Mr. Swanson for his son’s surprise birthday party, and I remember the exact moment he saw Calla again for the first time since she’d spent her summers here. Mr. Swanson was sitting over in the Hocus Focus corner with Renee, doing his memory cards.”
“Was I? Can’t remember a damn thing,” Mr. Swanson joked.
Renee, another of the witches in Winnie’s rehab who’d worked for Calla almost from the opening of Hallow Moon, popped her bubble gum and shook her blonde head. “Uh, no. I’m pretty sure you need to spend some time with me in the Hocus Focus corner, because your memory sucks ass, Kirby. I remember the second Nash walked in to pick up Mr. Swanson because he smelled lickable—all manly and expensive cologne-ish. I’m very sensitive to smell; it stirs up all sorts of emotions for me. Sexual attraction being one of them.”
&
nbsp; Oh dear.
Greta, hand firmly on her whistle, glowered at the two witches. “Renee? Put your libido away this instant, miss. No sexual attraction while on parole. Not one goose bump. Now, I need both of you to focus and your bickering isn’t helping.”
Renee huffed, twirling a lock of her long blonde hair around her forefinger. “I’m telling you, Mr. Swanson wasn’t in the Hocus Focus corner with me when Nash first saw Calla. Mr. Swanson was clobbering Gus at checkers in the game room. Know how I remember that?”
She was almost afraid to ask, but for the sake of Nash’s memory, Calla plowed ahead. “How do you know, Renee?”
“Because I watched his sweet, sweet ass in those tight jeans saunter past me and down the hall to the game room just as he passed Calla at the front desk. That’s how. #Hashtagsmokinhot.”
“You’re disgusting! How could you betray Calla like that?” Kirby hissed, her hands clenched at her sides.
Renee rolled her head on her neck, pushing her face into Kirby’s. “I didn’t betray her. That’s a pretty heavy word you’re using there. If I’m betraying her by looking at his ass, then I betray her every single day. I look at his ass all the time, doesn’t mean I cranked him. Back up, nutball.”
Greta pushed her way between the two women, her stern parole-officer face in place. “Both of you knock it off, or I’ll turn the shower timers down two minutes apiece for each of you back at the house. Understood?”
“Two minutes? I barely have enough time to rinse my hair. No wonder Winnie calls you Bitch In Charge,” Renee said on a pout.
Nash finally spoke after a long period of watching what was playing out before him. “You have to take timed showers?”
Calla rasped a sigh and rolled her eyes. “Is that all you gleaned from that conversation?”
He smiled devilishly, like the old Nash, and jammed his hands into the pockets of the tight jeans in question. “Well, that and I have nice cologne.”
Greta pointed her finger toward the exit door and shooed Renee out. “Enough. Go back to the house now or you’ll really find out why I’m the Bitch In Charge.”
Calla reached for her friend’s arm. “Please, Greta. Everyone’s on edge right now. Don’t punish them because of the tension this has peppered our tempers with.”
Renee held up a hand. “It’s okay, Calla. I was on my way out anyway. Shift’s over.” She shot Calla a sympathetic smile. “Listen, I hope everything works out and he gets his memory back. But if he doesn’t, are you gonna hate should I pursue his deliciousness?”
Greta blew her whistle, making everyone at the center wince. “Out!”
Renee giggled and sauntered toward the front door, winking at Nash over her shoulder on the way.
Calla sucked in air, filling her lungs to keep from screaming her frustration, and they’d only just begun. This wasn’t going as planned. At all.
Daphne squeezed her shoulders in support, the jangle of her bracelets clanking in the quiet room. “Okay, so let’s just assume that Kirby’s right, for the sake of argument. Calla, you go stand behind the front desk and Nash, you go out and come back in again, heading for the rec room just like you did that day.”
Calla’s legs felt like wood as she trudged to the front desk, her fingers crossed this would work. So far, he remembered everything about the center. When it first opened and all the small details in between, except for her.
Yet, she was determined to at least try to help him remember because she didn’t want to know if Fate’s message meant he’d never remember their three months together—or why she couldn’t just attempt the whole process of making him fall in love with her all over again.
The outcome would likely be the same between them, wouldn’t it?
Wouldn’t it?
If he’d fallen for her once, why not once more?
Fear crept into her doubts, ramping them up another notch. Fate had been very clear. She had one day to show him something…His urgency had freaked her out. So she wasn’t taking any chances. She’d do whatever she had to in order to help Nash find his way back to her.
Planting her feet behind the front desk, she fluffed her hair—which was utterly ridiculous, but had she known back on that fateful day it would be the first time he saw her again after eleven years, she would have primped then, too.
“Ready?” Daphne asked, peering at her with concern.
Calla hedged, worried she’d miss some detail that in the end would be the most important one of all. “Wait. What was I doing, Kirby? Because I don’t remember seeing him until he was on his way out with Mr. Swanson.”
Mr. Swanson strolled up to the counter, turning his head from left to right. “Which is my best side?”
“Sit down, Henry!” Flora yelled from one of the tables littering the rec room’s front entrance. “Nobody will give a hoot which side of your face is your best side when I put your nose on your ass. You’re not an actor on some soap opera, you old fool. True love’s at stake here! Now park it or I’m taking your denture cream and chucking it right in the compactor!”
Calla held up a hand and gave him an apologetic smile. “Mr. Swanson, why don’t you head on down the hall to the rec room and just try to do what Greta tells you to do. This is no big deal. Just a quick replay of the day we saw each other again.”
She didn’t want the seniors to stress over her problems. This was supposed to be a place everyone came to relax and enjoy their retirement from witchdom. But the moment they’d found out Calla was in distress, everyone insisted on helping, leaving a warm glow in her belly.
Henry patted her hand, his palm like aged leather. “You’re a good girl, Calla, and you always give me extra hot fudge on Ice Cream Tuesday. I like you. I’ll do whatever I can to help.” He shuffled off toward the rec room, passing Flora and giving her the old drive-by middle finger.
Nash laughed into his arm, that high-pitched laugh he reserved for things he knew he shouldn’t laugh over because it was wrong, but couldn’t keep his amusement contained on the inside.
“Do not encourage, Cowboy,” she ordered in her senior-care-manager voice.
“Sorrysorrysorry,” he muttered, his handsome face apologetic. He made a series of funny faces to quell his laughter, something she’d seen him do at a town council meeting or two when the antics rivaled a Monty Python movie. Then he straightened and shook his arms around before settling them at his sides. “Okay, I’m ready.”
As Nash walked out the door, her heart thumped hard against her ribs.
Renee was right. He did have a great ass. He had a great everything and he was going to slip through her fingers if she didn’t do something to stop it.
God, she loved him.
Chapter 9
They sat in the park in the middle of the square by a crusty old pecan tree, the heat of the day creating a pool of sweat in her bra. The scene was set, colorful lawn chairs were scattered around a cooler filled to the brim, the seniors milling about, waiting for their cues.
The sun, even at the end of October, was unforgiving in its wrath. It was days like this when she missed the reds and golds of fall back in Boston most. The cool weather, hot soup and sandwiches, long walks with a sharp wind at her back.
Nothing had jarred Nash’s memory after they’d reenacted the first time they’d seen each other in eleven years—or as Daphne had titled it—Reunion.
But she wasn’t willing to give up yet. This was the man she loved, and if they had to start from scratch, she’d do it. Though, the ominous words Fate had used kept poking at her, telling her to hurry up—she just didn’t understand what the hurry was.
Nash handed her a cold bottle of water and lifted his Stetson to wipe his brow with his forearm. “So what did we do here?”
They’d decided as a group to only reenact the really important events, in light of the fact that there were just too many to count in their three-month courtship.
She cleared her throat, raspy from the he
at, and smoothed her hands over her hair. “I was here with a couple of the seniors for an outing to feed the ducks, and you surprised them with cold lemonade and cookies from the bakery.”
Nash was always doing things like that. Not just for her, but the seniors he knew she loved so much. It had been just as hot that day as it was now, and when he’d seen them while he was doing some errands in town, sweating as they threw bread to the ducks, he’d grabbed bottles of lemonade from the downtown market and set up a mini-picnic under the shade of the tree.
“So lemonade was an important event?”
Her smile was distant. “It was more the kind act. It was crazy hot, and you did something so nice, it made me…” His gesture, so sweet, had her lobbing herself at him like a racquet ball to a court wall. “This was where we had our first kiss.”
Her heart throbbed at the thought. That first kiss had been some kind of magic.
He turned on the bench and looked down at her with a half smile. “Our first?”
She smiled back, even though her heart was growing heavier by the second. “Yeah. Right under the pecan tree.” Her words sounded almost giddy to her ears, so she bit the inside of her cheek.
Nash brushed a lock of hair from her shoulder. “The first time or the second? Because we knew each other growing up, right?”
If he only knew how his words were shredding her with every lost memory he voiced. “We never kissed when we were kids.”
“Didn’t we?”
“Nope.” Not that she hadn’t prayed for it every night before she went to sleep like most girls prayed a Backstreet Boy would lay one on them, but it never happened, much to her teenage dismay.
“Wow. Just call me slacker. I can’t believe I passed up an op to kiss you.”
She fought a good preen. “Really?”
“Hell yeah. You’re pretty cute. So was the kiss good?”
The best kiss ever. But she didn’t want to sound too overeager and scare him off with her enthusiasm. Instead she smiled and replied, “It was nice.”
What Not to Were Page 8