The Magic of Love Series

by Margaret Locke

  “It’s been a while. How’s Joe?”

  “No clue about that asshole. We got divorced six months ago.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Derrick said, frowning. He settled his arm around Cat’s shoulders. “Hey, this is my date, Cat.”

  “Hi, Candy,” Cat said with a politeness she didn’t feel. Derrick’s arm felt heavy across her neck, but she appreciated him setting a clear boundary with Candy.

  “Yeah, hi,” Candy bit out. She made one last attempt with Derrick. “Can I get you a beer or anything?”

  “Nah, I better not. Gotta drive Cat home later.”

  Candy walked away without a further word to either of them.

  “There’s some history there, I presume?” Cat said.

  “Not really. We dated for a month in high school, but that was it. She dumped me for Joe, actually, sophomore year.”

  “Guess she’s reconsidering that now.”

  Derrick laughed. “You jealous?”

  Cat clenched her teeth. She wasn’t. She’d just never liked women like Candy; women who made her feel as if she couldn’t compete.

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re the only one here I want to be with.” He lowered his eyelids, piercing her with an unmistakably sultry gaze. “You’re who I’m supposed to be with.”

  Cat giggled awkwardly. How was she supposed to respond to that? She had no experience in dealing with cheesy come-ons, which was exactly what that was.

  Another slow song came on, and he moved in closer, lacing his arms around her waist. He set his forehead against hers, leaving his mouth inches from her own. Cat cast a surreptitious glance around. Candy and a number of other women glared at her from near the bar. How strange it felt to be with the most desired man in the room and to have him focused solely on her. It was exciting, but also uncomfortable. It felt wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Derrick, but I need to get home. I, um, have an early morning tomorrow.”

  He frowned. “Did I do something?”

  “No, no, it’s me. Not you. My stomach’s still a little upset.” That was the truth, at least.

  “Okay, then. Let me say goodbye to the guys.”

  He crossed the room, exchanging a few words with a number of people as he went. Her insides still roiled. It was a coincidence, all of those similarities. It had to be. She chewed the inside of her cheek as he walked back toward her. What else could explain it?

  The radio eased the tension on the way home. Derrick hummed along to the songs, apparently fine with Cat’s silence. Occasionally he’d glance over and flash her a grin.

  When he pulled into the driveway next to the bookstore, he turned toward her with a soft smile. “I had fun with you tonight.”

  “Thanks. I had a good time, too.” Well, kind of. Except for the part when you ignored me at dinner. And, well, the part where I freaked out about the old girlfriend-coincidence thing.

  Derrick reached over and stroked her hair. “I don’t know what it is about you, Cat. To be honest, you’re not the kind of girl I normally go for. But I feel so pulled toward you.”

  Before she could answer, he leaned in and kissed her. She didn’t break it off. It felt nice to be wanted. It’d been a long, long time.

  After a minute or so, he stopped, breathing heavily. “Can I come in?”

  Cat trapped her lip with her teeth. He was a nice guy. Certainly attractive. And her hormones were sparking in a way they hadn’t in years. Casual sex had never been her thing, though.

  “I’m sorry, Derrick. I have a three-date minimum before I invite anybody in.” Most women probably jumped in bed with him the first chance they got. “And I’m really not feeling well.”

  Disappointment cooled his eyes, but he nodded. “Guess I’ll have to hope for more dates, then, huh?”

  “I guess so. Good night.” She reached for the car door handle.

  “Let me get that.” Hopping out of the car, he ran around to open the door for her. “I know you think I was being chivalrous, but that was really just an excuse to do this.” He pulled her against him as he kissed her aggressively. He kept his arms loose, though, letting her know she could break out of them at any time.

  Cat pushed away after a few seconds, desperate to keep from changing her mind. “Good night, Derrick.”

  He gave her that cheeky grin again. “Call me Ricky. All my friends do. When they’re not calling me Gibson, at least.”

  Cat’s eyes widened as the blood drained from her face.

  He frowned. “You okay?”

  “Yes ... margarita ... sorry.” Turning on her heel, she fled up the stairs.

  “I’ll call you,” Derrick yelled, as she fumbled to unlock the door. She gave him a meager wave—it was the best she could manage—grateful when the door opened.

  She ran to the toilet, her stomach heaving. She sat there for a few moments, the coldness of the bathroom tile seeping through her thin skirt. Breathing deeply and slowly, she worked to corral her spinning thoughts.

  Light snoring coming from the next room meant Eliza was already sleeping. Should she wake her up?

  And tell her what? That the guy in the story had come to life? A harsh snort of laughter erupted from her nose. She rose, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she did. She stood there, staring at her bloodshot eyes, her paler- than-usual skin. It figured. She’d finally worked up the nerve to go on a date after six years, and this happened. Whatever this was. She groaned, covering her eyes with her hand.

  A meow at her feet startled her.

  “Oh, Elvis.” She scooped up the cat, carrying him with her into her room. “Everything will make more sense in the morning, right?”

  The cat purred and settled down in his usual spot on the covers.

  She shed her clothes and climbed into bed with him, one thought resonating over and over as she drifted off.

  That’s all they were, right? Coincidences?

  The next morning, Cat sat on the sofa, waiting for Eliza to wake up. She hadn’t slept well and her eyes were heavy with exhaustion. Images of Derrick and story pages and her high school self had woven themselves through her dreams. The medieval manuscript had been in there, too, for some reason.

  When would Jill be able to scan it? She’d taken it over to UVA’s Rare Books department yesterday morning, but Jill had warned her it would take a bit to get to it since there was a backlog because of some ancient medical treatise they were working on.

  Cat was anxious to get back to translating it. Anything to get her mind off the bizarre coincidences of the previous evening.

  When Eliza finally plodded out of her room, Cat heaved a heavy sigh.

  “Was it that bad?” Eliza’s eyebrows went up. “Yes. And no. You need to sit down.”

  Eliza stopped. “Can I get breakfast first?”

  “Sure. But bring it in here.”

  A few minutes later, Eliza settled herself next to her friend, munching on cereal. “What’s up?”

  “You’re not going to believe it.” Cat skipped over the first part of the date, jumping right to the story Derrick had told her about his high school girlfriend. “Her name was Abby, Eliza. Abby. He works on cars. His friends call him Ricky.”

  Eliza said nothing for a bit, holding her bowl of cereal on her lap. “Yeah, that is weird,” she finally conceded. “But you said the guy was a local, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Maybe you knew him in high school.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not? I’m sure there were stories in the paper about his athletic achievements, him being a star quarterback and all. And maybe you heard other details from friends or something.”

  “Oh, come on. You have to admit the details are uncanny.” Was it possible? Could she have heard about Derrick/Ricky back then, and spun a story about a guy like him? Wouldn’t she have remembered? On the other hand, she hadn’t even remembered she’d written stories until they’d shown up in that box.

  “Yeah
. But I can’t think of a better explanation. Can you?”

  “Nope.” Cat clutched her forehead with her hands.

  Eliza stood up. “I’m ready for coffee. How about you?” She carried her bowl into the kitchen.

  “God, yes,” Cat said, standing up herself. She yawned. “It’s the only thing that’s going to get me through the day.”

  “Once we’re over there, I want to hear more about this date. And not the kooky stuff. The intimate stuff. Details, baby.”

  “Who says there’s intimate stuff?”

  “I was merely hoping, but the color on your cheeks tells me I’m right,” Eliza teased. She sprinted into her bedroom, closing the door seconds before the sofa pillow hit it.

  Chapter 6

  “He kissed you? That’s it?”

  Cat added creamer to her coffee and swirled the little stick.

  “Yup. That’s it.”

  “Hmm. You going to see him again?”

  “I doubt it. He’s a nice guy, for the most part.” She shifted on the chair, casting a longing glance toward their usual booth. A college couple had taken it before Cat and Eliza could sit down, and were busy making moony eyes at each other. She and Eliza had had to settle for a smaller table near the far wall.

  “But?”

  “You mean I need more than those freaky coincidences? Wouldn’t those make you run?”

  Eliza arched an eyebrow.

  “Okay, fine. At times he seemed interested, but he often paid more attention to the people around us than to me. Not a good sign on a first date. And, in truth, I don’t think we have much in common. Most of his friends seem to be the same ones he had in high school.”

  Most of her high school friends had drifted away over the years. Not that that surprised her; Cat was such a different person than she’d been then. In some ways, at least. She was more confident, less insecure. Happier in herself.

  She frowned. Or at least she had been. Good Lord, had her ex-fiancé really stolen so much of her six years ago? She wanted it back, that spunk she’d found in her twenties. The loss of her father had put a huge dent in it, to be sure. Ryan’s betrayal had destroyed it. Anger flared, but she doused it as she turned back to the conversation with Eliza.

  “It’s clear he was part of the popular crowd, a social circle in which I certainly never ran. And he didn’t go to college.” Cat snorted to herself in disgust. “Listen to me, to how elitist I sound. I can go out with someone who didn’t go to college, right?”

  “Sure,” Eliza enthused. “At least for a fling.”

  Cat sipped her coffee before answering her friend. “I have to admit it felt wonderful to be desired again. To feel desire again. And, well, a fling—or something—does sound appealing. Lord knows it’s been long enough.” She cast a sly glance at Eliza. “For a minute there I actually considered inviting him up.”

  Something crashed onto the floor with a loud thump, startling them out of their conversation. Cat turned toward the noise and saw someone at the table next to theirs leaning down to pick up a book that had fallen. It was the man from the previous week, the laptop guy. Today, no laptop was in sight. No girlfriend, either: just a mug of steaming tea and the book. Cat sneaked a peek at its cover.

  “That’s a fantastic book,” she commented, hoping he hadn’t been able to hear her previous conversation. She didn’t like the idea of anyone hearing details of her sex life. Well, potential sex life, anyway.

  “Is it? I started it this morning,” came a deep voice in reply. He ran his fingers over the cover. “It was a gift from my parents. They delight in sending me anything related to Benjamin Franklin.”

  “Really? Why?”

  A sheepish expression crossed his face. “Because they named me after him. My parents are obsessed with colonial America. My mom’s a proud member of the D.A.R., and claims a number of our ancestors served during the Revolutionary War.”

  Cat grinned. “Do you have a brother named Jefferson?”

  “No.” His lips thinned, and his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “He was George Washington, actually.”

  Recognizing that all-too-familiar look of loss, Cat impulsively reached over and rubbed his hand to soothe him. When his eyes dropped to her fingers, she pulled them away. What had come over her, touching a stranger like that?

  “Sorry,” she said. “The look on your face reminded me of how I felt when I lost my dad.”

  He gave her a brisk nod. He looked as if he were going to say something else, but didn’t. His eyes remained fixed on hers, however. Brown, Cat noted absentmindedly. His eyes were a milk-chocolate brown.

  “It’s been ten years,” she said. “I still miss him every day.”

  He paused a moment before admitting, “Wash passed away last year. I miss him, too. Terribly.” He exhaled as if releasing the painful memory. A smile curled the corner of his lips. “My sister didn’t escape the name game, either,” he said, changing the subject. “She’s Martha. After Jefferson’s wife.”

  “Are you serious?” Cat laughed openly now. “You poor guys. Those names are a lot to live up to.” She fingered the rim of her coffee cup as she observed him. Was that a hint of a dimple when he smiled?

  His eyes twinkled. “Believe me, I know. People always expect me to be out flying kites.”

  Eliza broke in with a sideways glance at Cat. “Hi. I’m Eliza James, and this is Catherine Schreiber. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Ben Cooper. Or should I say Benjamin Franklin Cooper?” he added with a wink toward Cat. “Nice to meet you, as well. Sorry about the book. I didn’t mean to interrupt your ... conversation.”

  Cat peeked at him curiously, noting his brief hesitation before that last word. Was that a pinkish tinge infusing his cheeks? Oh, good Lord. He had been listening. Her own cheeks burning, she said, “Not a problem. It wasn’t anything serious.”

  Why was she embarrassed that he’d overheard her talking about Derrick? It wasn’t like anything had happened. Or like a stranger’s opinion should matter. Although since they’d now been introduced, she guessed Ben Cooper wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore.

  She smoothed her hair back from her face, casting a quick glance at Eliza, whose lips were pursed in amusement as she raised an eyebrow at Cat.

  What?

  She looked back at Ben. He was still watching her, his eyes open and friendly. Suddenly flustered, her gaze dropped to his lips, then his chin, lingering on the cleft there.

  What was wrong with her? She’d gone from ignoring men to being thrown off-kilter by two of them, all in the space of a week. And this one was not available, whether or not she wanted him to be.

  Did she want him to be? Augh.

  Dipping her eyes, she took a quick sip of her coffee, relishing its sweet-yet-bitter taste. Away. She had to get away from this Mr. Cooper and his strange effect on her.

  “We should get back to the bookstore now, right, Eliza?”

  “The Treasure Trove?” He gestured out the window at the house across the street. “How long have you worked there?”

  “I own it,” Cat replied, a sharp edge to her voice. Eliza stared at her, surprise at Cat’s tone written all over her face. Cat didn’t know why she was so testy, either. She just knew she needed space from Ben Cooper and his chocolate eyes; space from everyone.

  Ben didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I like the pirate sign.”

  “That’s great,” she replied in her business voice, standing up to signal to Eliza she was ready to go.

  He stood up, as well. “I’ve got to go, too. I’m meeting someone shortly.”

  Cat’s thoughts flew to the woman she’d seen with him before, and she bit the inside of her cheek. Was he meeting her? She squared her shoulders, chiding herself. What did she care if he were meeting someone? She didn’t.

  “Pleasure meeting you, Ben,” Eliza said quickly.

  “You, too,” he answered as they walked out the door.

  “What was up with that, Cat? And why
are you walking so fast?” Eliza said, running a few steps to keep up with her friend, who was stalking across the street.

  Cat slowed when she reached the other side. “I don’t know.” She blew out a breath. She didn’t want to admit she envied Ben’s companion the tiniest bit. Because that made no sense. “I guess I was embarrassed he’d heard me talking about sex. And it annoyed me that he assumed I just work here.”

  “Like me?” Eliza tipped her head to the side.

  “No, no. This is a part-time job for you, Lizzie. You’re a grad student and you’re going to be—”

  “I was kidding,” Eliza interjected. “I know what you meant. And I know what I am. I don’t mind ‘just working here,’ as you put it. For now.”

  Cat fumbled in her purse for the keys as they climbed the steps. Unlocking the door, she said, “You’re far from ‘just’ anything, Eliza. You’re amazing. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Nor I, you. But hopefully, someday we’ll find out.”

  Cat whipped her head back around. “What?”

  “You know I love you, Cat. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and, now, my only family. But I do want to get married again. To have a family of my own.”

  Holding the door while Eliza walked through, all Cat could do by way of answering was nod. What would she do without her best friend?

  They’d met six years ago, less than a month after her wedding fiasco, when Eliza had come in looking for a particular Jane Austen biography for her senior thesis. They’d had such fun chatting about Darcy, Cat teasing her that Eliza’s last name ought to be Bennet instead of James, that they’d gone across the street for lunch, arguing over coffee and cake about what it would have really been like to live in nineteenth-century England.

  Eliza had spoken longingly about riding in carriages, walking through beautiful gardens, and the fashions women wore. Cat had countered with reminders of no running toilets, no central heat, and no clue how women dealt with their periods, but it couldn’t have been as convenient or pleasant as modern tampons.