The Magic of Love Series

by Margaret Locke

  A cautious smile crossed his face. “So...?”

  “Yes. Yes, I will go out to dinner with you.” Oh my God, did I really just agree to a date? Cat squared her shoulders. Yes, she had. And she’d follow through with it. It was about time.

  His smile turned into a wide grin. He was cute in a puppyish sort of way. This could be fun.

  “Great! How’s Friday? Pick you up around six?”

  “Sounds great. I’ll see you then, Derrick.”

  “Awesome. ’Til Friday.”

  “’Til Friday.”

  With a final nod, he turned and strode toward the door. As he walked out, Eliza emerged from the back. “Way to go, friend.”

  Cat stared at the book, tracing its title with her fingers once more.

  “I can’t believe it’s Friday already!” Eliza gave an excited clap of her hands.

  Cat was a lot less enthusiastic as she searched her closet for a dinner-date outfit. Why had she agreed to this again?

  “Hold on a minute.” Eliza raced out of Cat’s bedroom.

  “I need something that says ‘attractive, but not easy.’” Cat spoke to their cat, Elvis, who sat on her bed, staring at her with his big yellow eyes. “Can’t have him thinking he’s going to get lucky, Elvis. You know I’m not that kind of girl.”

  She gave him an affectionate scratch under the chin. He purred, watching as she pulled out a pencil skirt and tossed it aside, then a clingy green dress. After discarding two more options, she shimmied into her favorite long khaki skirt and light plum sweater.

  “There. This says ‘Interested, but not slutty.’ Right, kitty boy?”

  Elvis just blinked.

  “Yeah, some help you are.”

  “Not that.” Eliza dismissed her choice as she skipped back into the room. “It makes you look too matronly.”

  Cat sighed. “I am practically matronly. But all right, how about this one?” She pulled another outfit out of the closet.

  Eliza eyed the sleeveless white blouse and floral skirt. “I guess. It’s not too suggestive, not too mom-like. But don’t order spaghetti with that white top. I did that once and it pretty much ended any chance of romance after I spilled big glops of sauce down the front.”

  “I’m not looking for romance, Lizzie. I’m not sure why I’m going out on this date. I still don’t think I’m ready.” She’d battled the urge to call the date off from the moment Derrick had walked out the door. She knew nothing about the man. What if he were a serial killer?

  Eliza had scoffed at that, saying Cat watched too many crime shows. She’d made Cat promise to call and check in, however.

  Cat pulled on the skirt, her hands shaking slightly. It’s just a date. It’s not life or death. I hope. She reached for the blouse, thinking again of the mysterious book, of her bizarre notion it’d been trying to tell her something.

  As if. Next, she’d be thinking Elvis really understood her, or that Santa Claus actually existed, or that fairytales could come true.

  “Come on. He was cute. And he wants to make it up to you for, you know, drenching you, which means he’ll try extra hard, right? Here, how about this barrette of mine for your hair?”

  Cat tucked her hair back behind her ears. “No, this is fine with me.”

  She hooked a pair of silver hoop earrings through her ears as she studied the photo hanging beside the mirror of Dad and her in front of Monticello, taken when she was eight years old. Framed drawings of buildings had long replaced the boy band posters on her bedroom walls, images of places she’d been and places she wanted to go. Her favorite was the large print of the buildings of Florence. Someday. She walked into the living room for her jacket.

  Eliza followed her, settling in on the old overstuffed couch with her latest romance novel. “This is my hot date for the evening.” She waved the book in the air and grinned. “A viscount and the governess.”

  The doorbell for the outside landing rang. Cat smoothed her skirt down as she stood up from the couch. She looked at Eliza. “You okay here on your own?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. I’ve got Elvis to keep me company.” Eliza petted the cat, which had hopped up onto her lap. “Not to mention a man with rock-hard abs and the ability to self-reflect.” She held up the romance. “Off you go. Have fun!”

  Cat laughed. “Thanks, friend. You, too.”

  She crossed the room and opened the door.

  Derrick grinned upon seeing her. “Hi there. You look great! How’re you doing?”

  “Fine. No drive-by showers lately—so far.”

  He chuckled. “Good to know. I’d hate to have to share you with another offender.”

  They descended the apartment stairs to the Camaro. He held the door for her while she settled into the front seat. She had to admit she enjoyed being treated in such a manner.

  “I’ve never ridden in one of these,” she said. “But I always wanted to in high school.”

  Derrick slid into the driver’s seat and turned the engine on. “I’ve actually had this car since high school.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. My dad bought it for me my senior year. He’s a mechanic. He’s helped me keep it in tip-top shape all these years.”

  “All these years? High school wasn’t that long ago, was it?”

  They backed out of the driveway and started down the road.

  “It doesn’t seem like it to me, either. But our twentieth reunion was this past summer.”

  “Wow.”

  He grinned at her sideways. “Disappointed to be out with an old fogey like me?”

  “If you’re an old fogey, I don’t want to hear what you’d call me.”

  “You can’t be older than I am.” He looked her up and down, an appreciative gleam in his eye. “I’d guess ... twenty-nine?”

  “Flatterer. Try thirty-five.”

  “Oh, well, in that case, get out of the car.”

  She gasped before she caught the cheeky grin.

  “Kidding, gorgeous. I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  Cat’s cheeks warmed as they pulled into Scooter’s Sports Bar and Grill. Gorgeous? He thought she was gorgeous? It was true, what they said: a little flattery never hurt. She was enjoying this more than she’d thought she would.

  “This place all right? I love it here—they have the best burgers.”

  “Sure,” she replied, surprised but pleased at the casualness of the locale. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about which fork to use.

  As they walked through the doors, nearly everyone greeted him. It was clear he came here often.

  “Hey, Donny,” he said to the guy standing by the front counter. “Table for two, please.”

  “Sure thing.” Donny led them across the room.

  As Cat sat down in the chair Derrick held out for her—another point in his favor—she looked around. It was a typical sports bar: big screens everywhere showed the latest games, and sports equipment and jerseys hung wherever there was space.

  “There’s mine.” Derrick pointed to the back wall where a football jersey with Gibson 7 emblazoned on it hung. “We won the state championship two times.”

  “Impressive!”

  Derrick grinned. “Those were the days, weren’t they? I played football, wrestled. Baseball in the spring. Man, I miss that.”

  “Wait, were you at Charlottesville High? I think I would have heard about a jock like you, even if I was a few grades younger.”

  “Nah, Albemarle. We lived out in the county.” He paused. Was he lost in thought or watching the football game? She followed his gaze to the screen.

  “Hey, you.” The petite waitress flashed Derrick a flirty smile. “What can I get you?” she asked him, without greeting Cat. Must be some history there.

  Derrick gave Cat an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was checking out the score. Britney, I’ll have a cheeseburger with onion rings and a Bud.”

  Britney looked over at Cat without speaking. “Um, I’ll have the chicken sandwich with a side sal
ad, please. And, what the heck, throw in a frozen raspberry margarita.”

  After caressing Derrick’s shoulder, the waitress walked off without acknowledging Cat’s order. Nice. Hope she doesn’t spit in my food.

  Derrick fidgeted in his seat. “Sorry about her. I’ve told her I’m not interested.”

  Cat pushed her hair behind her ears and smiled, determined not to let the rude waitress affect her mood. “So, what do you do when you’re not drenching strange women with water?”

  “Ha, ha. I work with my dad, helping him run his shop. We buy, fix up, and sell old cars. How about you?”

  “The bookstore you nearly mowed me down in front of? That’s mine.”

  Britney returned, dropping off their drinks. When Derrick ignored her, she flounced off.

  “Wow, you own it? Awesome.” He sipped his beer.

  “Yeah. It used to be my dad’s. When he passed away, I took over. I’ve been running it ever since.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear about your dad. I can’t imagine.”

  She nodded curtly, wanting to move past discussing her father. “It’s been ten years.” Cat took a sip of the margarita. “I’ve thought about closing the store, maybe going to grad school,” she ventured, not sure why she was sharing that. It wasn’t something she’d mentioned to Eliza.

  “Why?”

  “Business is tough. Sales are down, what with everyone buying online now. Plus, as much as I love books, I never thought I’d be a bookseller forever.” She nursed her drink. “But it’s hard considering shutting down what was my dad’s dream.”

  “I know what you mean. It was my dad’s dream for his sons to work with him in his shop. He was so disappointed when my brother insisted on going off to study law. Of course, now Chad’s an attorney and makes the big bucks, so Dad doesn’t mind so much anymore.” He took a sip of his beer. “It’s one of the reasons I never went to college; I already had a job with Dad.”

  “You didn’t go to college?” Cat said without thinking.

  Derrick’s eyes narrowed. “That a problem?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I just don’t know many people in this university town who haven’t.”

  At that moment their meals arrived, and Cat couldn’t have been more grateful to ease over that point. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. He didn’t seem too bruised, however. He smiled at her before taking a big bite of his burger.

  “Gibson!” called an enthusiastic voice a minute later. A man carrying a large bin full of dirty dishes approached them.

  “Davis,” Derrick replied. “What’s up, dude?”

  “Not much. Working here to pay the bills.” He set the bin on the neighboring table. “What do you think of the Cowboys’ chances this season?”

  “C’mon, man, the Cowboys suck. Redskins all the way.”

  The men lapsed into a heated discussion about football, and Cat’s attention wandered around the room. Her mind drifted back to the man in the coffee shop again, and the intense concentration he’d given his girlfriend.

  She looked back at Derrick. He was paying no attention to her. Apparently, he and Davis, whoever he was, had moved on to an intense debate over NASCAR.

  Cat sighed. Was this how first dates went nowadays? “Excuse me, can you tell me where the restroom is?”

  Derrick turned to her. “Oops. Get me talking on sports and I don’t stop. Junior Davis, this is Cat Schreiber. Cat, this is Junior. Running back in high school.”

  “Hi.” She tipped her head at him.

  “Hi,” he said. “The restroom’s back that way.”

  “Thanks.” She stood up and wandered off to find it. When she walked back to the table a few minutes later, the men were still arguing in a friendly way.

  “Hi, again,” she interjected.

  Junior picked up the bin of dishes and clutched it against his hip. “I better get back to the kitchen. Nice to meet you, Cat.” He moved away from their table.

  After he left, Derrick reached over and ran his thumb over her hand. “Sorry. That was rude of me.” Chagrin was evident in his voice. It was a sweet gesture but didn’t erase her irritation.

  As she took another sip of her margarita, a boisterous group of men and women burst through the door.

  “Yo, Spiller! Teal! Wakeham!” Derrick called out. Three guys separated themselves and came over, greeting him with high fives.

  “This is Cat.” He gestured to her. “This is Jason, Brett, and David.”

  The men nodded briefly at Cat. “Howdy,” Brett said.

  “You staying for the dancing, Gibson?” Jason asked. Derrick turned to Cat. “It’s ’80s night.” He checked his watch. “Music starts in about fifteen minutes. I was hoping you might want to dance.”

  “Sounds fun.” She loved to dance, but it’d been years since she’d done so. Outside the privacy of her apartment, at least. Maybe it would help rescue the evening.

  “Cool,” Jason called as they headed off to find a table of their own.

  After finishing their meals, Derrick settled the bill with Britney, who shot Cat repeated sullen looks. He didn’t pay the waitress any attention but instead stood up to help Cat out of her chair as loud ’80s music began emanating from speakers on either end of the room.

  “Yes!” she exclaimed. “I love Wham!”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Of course not. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go! is a classic.”

  “If George Michael is what floats your boat. Personally, I prefer INXS or Duran Duran.”

  “Duran Duran? Meh.” She pinched her lips in distaste. “I never liked them as much as my sister Marie did. She was a Duran Duran fanatic. She always announced she was going to marry Roger Taylor.”

  “How’d that work out?”

  “She did marry a man named Roger, believe it or not. But he’s an accountant out in Columbus, Ohio, not a rock star. They live there with their two girls. My mom moved there a few years ago, too.”

  “You miss them?”

  “Yeah,” Cat admitted. “But Mom wanted to be close to her grandkids. And since it wasn’t looking like I was going to provide any...”

  “I never wanted kids, either,” Derrick said. “I like my life the way it is.”

  “I didn’t mean I don’t want kids. I don’t know. I don’t really know what I want half the time.” Why had she admitted that? Must be the margarita. Tamping down those uncomfortable thoughts, she pulled Derrick onto the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”

  “A woman who isn’t afraid to get out there and dance, now that’s awesome.”

  He danced well, moving with the sensual physicality of an athlete. Cat wondered if he’d be good in bed. Where the heck had that come from? She hadn’t thought about sex in some time, at least not with anyone she actually knew. Fantasizing about celebrities didn’t count, right?

  Catherine glanced around. A number of women were watching him. It didn’t surprise her. He seemed the type to hang with the in-crowd, a group around which she’d never felt comfortable. She’d fantasized about having such a boyfriend as a teenager, but had always assumed she was too nerdy for guys like him.

  A slow song came on and he moved in closer, wrapping his arms around her. “May I have this dance?”

  “Sure,” she said, giving in to the moment. They moved together, bodies lightly touching. It was jarring to realize how much she was enjoying the rush of desire, something she hadn’t felt in forever. Her hormones were jumping all over the place.

  He murmured in her ear, his warm breath sending shivers up her neck. “You remind me so much of one of my high school girlfriends. The one I shouldn’t have let get away.”

  “What?”

  “My girlfriend, junior year. God, I loved her. She was one of the smart kids, always with her nose in a book. I don’t know why I was attracted to her. We just had this spark.”

  He grimaced. “I broke up with her to stop the constant ribbing from my friends. Started dating this other girl. Tiffany. Everyone said we made the best
couple, the quarterback and the head cheerleader.” He shook his head. “We got married right after high school, but it only lasted three years.”

  Cat froze, every nerve ending instantly on edge. The quarterback? He’d been the quarterback? Who’d dated a nerd? Whom he’d then dumped for a cheerleader? He worked on cars with his dad? All the details matched the story Eliza had read earlier, the one Cat had written as a teenager.

  “What was her name?” she choked out, as her stomach twisted.

  “The girlfriend? Abby. Why?”

  No. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. White squiggles swam in front of Cat’s eyes.

  She was sure she was going to pass out.

  Chapter 5

  Derrick grabbed her arm, concern evident on his face. “Hey, you okay? You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine.” It’s all a big weird coincidence. That’s all. “I ... it ... that margarita was more than I’m used to.” Swallowing hard, she pasted a grin on her face. “What happened to her? The bookworm, I mean?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve always wondered. You sure you’re okay? You look a little green.”

  “Yeah. Give me a minute.” Cat clutched her arms around her stomach. Maybe it was roiling on account of the margarita, not the oddness of the situation. Except this guy was exactly like the one in her story, though that was impossible. She wanted to throw up. What was going on?

  A voice broke in from behind him.

  “Hey, sexy. How are you?” A woman pressed her enormous breasts against Derrick’s arm. She had her blonde hair up in a ponytail and wore shorts and a close-fitting shirt that accentuated the leanness of her body.

  “Hey, Candy, great. You?” Derrick answered. He took a small step back, which Cat noted with satisfaction.

  Candy? Her name was Candy? Cat’s skin rankled at the woman’s manner—those boobs had to be fake—although she was grateful for the interruption. She needed time to pull herself together.

  Candy was somewhere in her thirties, probably similar to Cat’s age. One could see the beginnings of lines across her forehead and around her eyes, but she was still stunningly beautiful.

  Candy inspected Cat for a moment, challenge radiating from her eyes, and then turned all smiles for Derrick. “Better now.”