Authors: Tracy Madison
Verda blinked several times. “Now, there’s no need to look so jumpy. I don’t know your parents. I opened Magical Matchups
because you are the ideal mate for my grandson. It is critical that I bring you two together.”
Okay, this woman? Certifiably nuts. What Kara and Leslie pegged for magical was actually insanity. I stood. “I’ve heard enough. I shouldn’t have walked in here last night. I’m sorry I did. But—”
A male voice, one that made my skin itch with something I couldn’t identify, came from the front room. “Grandma? Where are you? I came as soon as you called.”
“Oh, goodie, he’s here! I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” Verda pushed her chair away from the table and pulled herself up. “We’re back here. Come join us!”
“Who’s here?” I asked, even as my intuition told me to keep my mouth shut.
“Why, your soul mate, of course.”
My soul mate? I ranked the possibility of soul mates at about the same place I ranked romantic love—down there at the bottom. I opened my mouth to put a stop to this nonsense, but snapped it shut when a man sauntered into the break room. Not just any man, though. No, I couldn’t be that lucky. It was Scot.
Leslie’s
Scot. Well, her ex.
He looked just as delicious as I remembered. Around six one, maybe six two, he had the athletic body of a man who’d earned his muscles the old-fashioned way: playing and working hard. His short, almost black hair tousled around his strong, boldly angled face held the barest hint of a wave. He wore dark blue work denim, a thick flannel shirt, and heavy boots. Every ounce of Scot Raymond, from head to toe, screamed tough, sexy, masculine.
I wheezed out a breath and stared in shocked silence. Verda thought Scot was my soul mate? Impossible. I started to say so, but she spoke first.
“Julia, I’d like you to meet my grandson, Mr. Scot Raymond.” Verda beamed at the two of us as if we’d just announced she’d won the lottery. “Scot, this is the woman you’re going to marry. Isn’t she lovely?”
Scot leaned against the wall. He looked at me in an appraising way that sent chills trickling over my skin. “Is that so?”
“Yes! Isn’t this exciting?” Verda stood on her tiptoes to give her grandson a kiss on his cheek. “I told you I would find her, and here she is!”
Scot wrapped his arm around Verda’s shoulders and pulled her close for a hug. She couldn’t see his face, but I could. Irritation sparked in his dark brown eyes. He was mad? At me? What the hell for?
“How did you two find each other?” he asked, his voice calm.
“Oh, Julia found me. She was asleep on the couch this morning when I arrived.” Verda stepped out of his embrace. “Should I leave you two alone so you can get to know each other a bit better?” She winked. “In private?”
“No! That’s not necessary!” I nearly screeched. But hey, at least I’d found my voice. “I really should be going.”
“Actually, I think a few minutes to talk in private is a great idea,” Scot said, easily overriding me. “Thanks, Grandma.”
Verda clapped her hands. “This is so wonderful! I’ll be in the other room. Let me know when you’re done.”
She slipped out the door. The second she was gone, Scot’s body language changed. Tension rippled through him, heavy and fierce. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop. Now.”
“Game?” Confusion seeped in. “I’m not playing a game, Scot. I have no idea why your grandmother thinks—”
“I’m going to say this once and only once. Leave her alone, Julia.”
He stepped forward, allowing his gaze to slip along the length of my body before resting on my face. His intensity shook me. And his scent . . . dear God, how had I forgotten the smell of Scot Raymond? Sunshine and trees. Autumn leaves and winter snow. It was as if Mother Nature had kissed Scot’s skin, and I had the sudden craving to bury my nose in his neck.
A craving which I, of course, ignored. “Wh-What?”
Tiny crinkles around his eyes deepened. For a brief second, a flash of something flickered over him. Interest? Hunger? His face went passive before I could define it. “Whatever you did to put these romantic ideas about us in her head, you need to get them out.”
I gripped my hands into fists. You know, so I wouldn’t smack him. “You think I want to date you, so I came here and convinced your grandmother—when I didn’t even know she was your grandmother—that we’re soul mates? If you knew me at all, you’d know—”
“I know you well enough.”
“Well enough for what?” I fired back, at a complete loss. I mean, did he really think I was so hot for him I’d waltz in here with some story about us being soul mates? And manipulate Verda? “I have no desire to date you, Scot.” I lifted my chin. “None at all.”
My statement took him by surprise. He stepped backward, blinked, and said, “Good. Then we’re on the same page, because you’re the last woman I’d want to become involved with.” His eyes narrowed. “She’s coming back. We need to fix this.”
“Fix what? Just tell your grandmother—”
Verda stuck her head in. “Instead of getting to know each other here, why don’t you two go out for breakfast?”
Scot, who was now standing behind Verda, shook his head and mouthed, “Fix this.”
I glared at him. “You’ve been so sweet, Verda, but there’s no need for that. Scot and I aren’t . . . right for each other. There’s no spark!” Lie. Huge, fat lie. “So, thanks for everything, but I need to take off.”
The light in Verda’s eyes dimmed. “Why, you’ve barely just met. Don’t be so hasty, dear. I’m very sure that you two are meant to have a future.”
Scot coughed. Oh, was he going to help? Nice of him.
“Julia’s right, Grandma,” he said quietly. “I love you, and I know we have a . . . deal, but in this instance I think your instincts are off. Trust me on this. And I’d love to stay and explain more, but I’m late for a job. We’ll have to talk about this later.”
With that, he gave her a quick, tight hug, turned on his heel, and left me alone with his grandmother. The rat! Who did he think he was? If I ever saw him again, I was so going to kill him. Well, if his scent didn’t do me in first.
Even so, the second he disappeared, my heart grew a little heavier. There was a minute there, just one, where the thought of being cosmically connected to Scot hadn’t seemed so out-there. I know, dumb. But it was a damn good thing I didn’t believe in romantic love, fairy tales, or sex appeal leading to anything more than a night of toe-curling sex, or I might have been disappointed.
Hell, I might even have been devastated.
Verda squinted at the space her grandson had just vacated, confusion paling her rosy pink complexion to a pasty white. She jiggled her head and wispy strands of lemon yellow hair tousled forward. I wanted to leave. I also wanted to offer comfort.
Which was nuts. Sure, Verda seemed like a nice enough lady, but come on. I needed a shower. I needed to brush my teeth. I needed to get to work. More than anything, though, I yearned to be alone. I didn’t know Scot all that well, so his comments and behavior were highly uncalled-for. They also hurt and more than made sense. Far more than I cared to admit.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I really have to get going.” I winced at my harsher-than-intended tone. Softening it, I said, “Thanks for everything, but I—”
“This isn’t supposed to happen this way,” Verda said, her voice one notch above a whisper. Her lips screwed into a pucker and she twisted her fingers together. “I’ve been planning this for months. I wrote everything down, every little detail, just so . . .”
“Okay. Well.” I edged closer to the hallway. “Thank you for not having me arrested. And for the coffee. Oh, and for . . . um . . . trying to fix me up with Scot. I don’t understand why. We have nothing in common, but thanks.”
This snagged Verda’s attention. Focusing on me, she frowned. “Do you know my grandson?”
Oh. Why’d I open my big mouth? “Sort of. He dated a friend for a while.” And because Leslie always shared pretty much everything about the men she went out with, I had zero doubts about my lack of compatibility with Scot. “We’ve met a few times.”
Myriad tiny lines in Verda’s forehead deepened. “Is this one of the friends you mentioned earlier?”
“Leslie Meyers,” I confirmed, happy to pass on any information that might divert Verda’s concentration from me. “She and Kara Lysecki are clients of yours.” I backed up another step. Maybe I could slip away without Verda noticing?
No. Fate wasn’t going to be so kind.”
This
is the man whom Leslie wishes she’d handled things differently with?” Verda asked.
“My
grandson?”
I nodded. “But this isn’t really my business. You should talk to Leslie about it.” Maybe, with Verda’s help, Leslie would get her second chance with Scot. My heart skipped a beat at that thought. Out of happiness for Leslie, of course.
“Was I wrong?” Verda’s shoulders slumped. “I was so sure you were the one.”
“Why?” I demanded. I shouldn’t have asked. I mean, Verda believed in soul mates. I didn’t. What else was there? “Why were you so sure? You’ve never met me before today!”
“I suppose it’s possible I misinterpreted the signs,” she said, mostly to herself. Then she shook herself, as if waking up from a dream. “But you said the front door was unlocked last night, and when you tried to leave, it wouldn’t open.”
I reined in my frustration. “Yes. I don’t know why the door was open, but I figured the lock broke. But that doesn’t seem to be the case.” Since, you know, Scot breezed in and out in under ten minutes flat. Ugh. Why did that hurt? I
hated
that it hurt. Verda’s question replayed in my mind, and suddenly, I understood her madness. Or I thought I did. “Wait a minute.
You thought because I was stuck here, that was some sort of a sign?”
Verda huffed out a tiny breath. “I believe in signs, Julia. I believe in a lot of things.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“I didn’t fib to you earlier, young lady. I opened Magical Matchups with the primary purpose of finding Scot’s soul mate. When I discovered you here this morning, on the heels of Miranda insisting I get here quickly, I believed you were that woman.”
“Uh-uh. Not me. Sorry.” Could crazy be compelling? Because I had to admit, Verda talked a little—okay, a lot—loony, but somehow I was also weirdly drawn to her. “Listen. Last night wasn’t a sign. Sometimes, things that seemingly don’t make any sense just happen. An unusual conglomeration of coincidences. That’s all last night was.”
“Hm. Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll have to give this . . . predicament . . . more thought.” Verda collapsed into her seat. Wrapping her hands around her teacup, she asked, “But neither your phone nor mine worked?”
I sighed but kept my voice even. “Correct. May I leave now?” Okay, technically I didn’t have to ask for Verda’s permission to leave, but she looked shaken and wasn’t exactly young. Every good manner I’d ever learned prevented me from walking away.
“Please humor an old lady for a few more minutes. I’m feeling a bit . . .” She blinked several times and fanned her face. “Faint.”
I narrowed my eyes. She’d grinned for a split second. I was sure of it. Mostly sure, anyway, but what if I was wrong? “A few more minutes,” I agreed, joining her at the table. “Do you need anything? Can I call someone for you? This Miranda person you keep mentioning, perhaps?”
“Call Miranda? What a delightful idea.” Verda chuckled, more amused than seemed warranted. “No, dear. Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be fine shortly.”
Patience is not a strong suit of mine, but I tried. I really did. I picked at a raspberry and chocolate pastry while waiting for Verda to give some type of indication that she was feeling better, so I could escape and carry on with my day. After a while, though—probably no more than ten minutes—the quiet unnerved me. “Um . . . what time do you normally open for business?”
My voice startled her enough that she flinched. “Oh, I operate by appointment only. I don’t have anyone coming in today until early afternoon.”
“That’s . . . nice.” Wow. Walk-ins were a large part of my business. How could she be so successful with an appointment-only process? I so wanted to pick her brain, but doing so would open up questions I’d rather avoid. Like, why was I so interested?
Verda sipped more of her tea, her expression vacant, already lost in thought. I fidgeted, looked at my watch, and fidgeted some more. A shiver skittered down my spine at the same instant something pulled Verda out of her haze. Her blue eyes darkened a shade. A rush of pink returned to her cheeks. Angling her neck, she centered her gaze to the right of me and nodded. The corners of her mouth bowed upward in a slight smile—but I’d have bet every dollar in my bank account that she wasn’t smiling at me.
I swiveled in my seat, my heart in my mouth, somehow thinking that I’d find someone standing behind me. Scot, maybe. Why that thought was so appealing, I didn’t know. But no. Verda and I were still alone. The faintest whiff of a fragrance floated by. Roses. Again.
“What is that?” I asked Verda, immediately reminded of last
night’s bone-chilling, inexplicable fear. “What is that smell? Do you have one of those scented furnace filters or something?” Please, please let that be the case.
“Wh-What?” Verda asked, nearly spilling tea in her shock. “What’s that, dear?”
“The roses, Verda. I noticed the scent last night, and again just now, but I haven’t seen flowers anywhere.” I came off like an idiot. I knew it, but so what? “What is it from?”
“Oh, the roses?” Excitement pitched Verda’s voice higher. “You can smell them?”
“Yes! How could I not?”
Verda exhaled a breath—if I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn in relief. She jiggled in her seat and mirth danced in her eyes. “Well, that’s something, isn’t it? You can smell the flowers!” Leaping to her feet, she grabbed my hands and squeezed. “Isn’t this wonderful?”
I wouldn’t go quite that far. “Um. Sure. I suppose.” I pulled out of her grip. “But where
are the
roses?”
“Oh, they’re not real.” Calmer now, she stared at me a few seconds longer. Her lips did that twitchy, almost-a-grin-but-not-quite thing. “Exactly as you said. Special furnace filters. We started using them to . . . ah . . . cover the nasty odor of exhaust fumes that come in from the street.” She winked. “Forgive my excitement, Julia. I wasn’t sure if they were working.”