The Magic of Love Series

by Margaret Locke

  Amara gnawed on her cheek, pretending to be lost in her book when in reality she wasn’t absorbing a single word. If Matthew Goodson was her soul mate, was it wise to ignore that? Look at what happened with her brother and Eliza. Amara had never seen two people more in love, regardless of the bumps they’d hit on the road to get there. Should she pass up the opportunity of a love like that?

  A groan escaped her lips, much to her mortification, and when Matthew’s eyes flew to hers her cheeks burned. Perhaps he’d attribute it to the fire.

  She squirmed on the sofa seat. She was warm, but it had nothing to do with the flames behind her but more the sparks with the man across the room. Had it really only been two weeks since she’d arrived? Two weeks ago, she’d left behind everything she’d ever known. Two weeks ago, she’d traveled forward in time—in time!—to 2016. Two weeks ago, she’d kissed that man. And enjoyed it most thoroughly. She wanted to do it again.

  She wanted to do it now.

  She stood up, setting the book on the sofa. She’d put it away later; what she needed now was to escape. “Pardon me,” she whispered before running up the stairs and disappearing through the door at the top to the Matthew-free apartment within.

  Matt’s eyes remained glued to the screen, but he was intensely aware of every movement Amara made. And she made a lot, her hands flipping pages too quickly to be reading them, her head turning toward him with amusing frequency. He’d had the strangest urge to plant a kiss on her the minute he came through the door, though he hadn’t seen her since a week ago Wednesday.

  What was it about her? It’d taken all he had to settle himself in with Ben and pretend he didn’t care one whit about the woman across the room, didn’t wonder what she’d been up to. He’d told her to contact him if she needed anything. She hadn’t. He’d gotten the message.

  On the other hand, technology baffled her. Had he misread her silence? Had she not known how to contact him, despite his instruction? He shook his head. Ludicrous. There was nothing between him and Amara Mattersley. She’d made that clear. Especially now that she’d darted up the stairs.

  Away from him.

  “You disagree?” Ben’s voice broke him out of his reverie. “I think students might like that type of seminar.”

  “No, sorry, that wasn’t directed at you.”

  Ben leveled a gaze at him over their laptops. “You could ask her out, you know.”

  “What? Me? No. I’m not interested.”

  Ben shrugged, though a smile teased at his lips. “If you say so.”

  Matt tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. “Seriously, I’m not interested. I don’t have time to be interested, even if I were, which I’m not. I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She seems a little like a fish out of water.”

  Ben muttered something under his breath, which to Matt sounded suspiciously like, “Understatement.” With a grin, he added, “Just saying, better to step up to the plate than wait. I nearly missed out on Cat because I didn’t make a move.”

  Matt’s eyebrows rose. He’d never heard how the Coopers met. Not that he’d asked. Colleagues didn’t normally share such info. Did they?

  Ben waved a hand. “Long story. Just remember: life is short. Prioritize what truly counts.”

  “Like tenure?” Matt’s chuckle sounded more forced than he’d intended.

  Ben didn’t laugh with him. “I’d be lying if I said that hadn’t been important to me or isn’t important to me now—but in some ways, I wished I’d let myself have more of a life earlier.” He took a sip from a mug near his elbow. “On the other hand, had I done that, maybe I would have missed Cat, too.” With a wink, he set the mug back down. “Some things are just fate, I guess.”

  “Fate. Right.” Amara’s hazel-green eyes danced before him. He didn’t believe in fate. He believed in choices and hard work. That’s what brought results and success. Not chance. Not luck. Not anything as absurd as fate. Would fate be so cruel as to give a kid a dad who gambled away the family’s entire life savings and more, digging them into tremendous debt? Who left and never looked back, leaving behind six devastated kids and one furious wife?

  And yet, some part of him wondered if he’d met Amara for a reason. Absurd. She’s your colleague’s relative who happened to get stuck in your apartment for two nights. That’s it. “Let’s get back to the seminar,” he said to change the subject.

  Ben nodded, and the two fell into friendly but professional conversation about classes for the fall semester. The subject of women didn’t come up again. Though that didn’t mean Amara didn’t pop into Matt’s head. She did, with alarming frequency. His eyes occasionally drifted to the top of the stairs, though she didn’t return. Finally, after a frustrating hour in which he’d accomplished little, he stood up. “Guess we should call it a night.”

  Ben rose, too. “Guess so. Wanna come up and say goodnight?”

  Matt shook his head. “No need.” If only he believed it.

  Chapter 16

  “Amara, these are my friends, Jill and Shannon.”

  Amara nodded at the two women, both of whom wore friendly expressions. Jill, the shorter, heavier one, said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Cat has told us ... nothing about you.” Her chuckle suggested she wished she hadn’t said that.

  Amara merely smiled. “I’m a well-kept secret.”

  “British?” Shannon said upon hearing her voice. “Awesome. How do you know Cat?”

  “Uh, Eliza’s a mutual friend,” Cat interjected.

  Jill’s eyes widened. “Really?” She studied Amara.

  Amara bristled at the close inspection. Did Jill know of Cat’s powers? Did she know about Eliza?

  “Well, glad to meet you, too,” Shannon said. “Are we ready? Sorry to rush, but it’s rare I get a night out without the kids, much less on a Saturday, and I’m ready to dance!”

  Cat had mentioned dinner out, nothing more. Amara grimaced. “Dancing?” She wasn’t particularly fond of dancing, with its intricate steps and posing interactions with men.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Cat assured her. “The dancing is different from what you’re used to.”

  Shannon rolled her eyes. “It’s ’80s night, Cat. It’s not like we’re dancing however they did in the 1880s, or whatever.”

  Cat’s hand flew to her mouth as she covered a snort, though her eyes sparkled with merriment. Amara grinned, too. If Shannon only knew she needed to go back another seventy years.

  “You an ’80s fan?” Jill asked.

  Amara hesitated. “I am not familiar with that music.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re a bit young. You look younger than the rest of us, at least.”

  Was the woman asking her age? Was that not gauche? When Amara said nothing, Cat spoke up. “I don’t know.

  There’s not such a huge difference between twenty-eight and thirty-nine. Right? Tell me there isn’t!” She pushed up her cheeks with her hands.

  Everybody in the group laughed as they walked out the door.

  The drive was a short one, and soon they pulled into a parking lot in front of a building marked Scooter’s Bar and Grill.

  Shannon bounced up and down in the seat next to Amara. “Man, I love dancing!”

  Amara had sat quietly during the trip. Though it’d only taken five minutes, she’d enjoyed the amiable chatter between the women. She missed female companionship. She missed her sisters and Eliza.

  Shannon had two kids and worked as a dental hygienist. Amara wasn’t sure what that was but didn’t want to expose her ignorance. She’d query Cat later.

  Jill worked in the Rare Books School at the University and had recently married. “Though he was happy to let me have a girl’s night. Mostly because he wanted to get together with the guys and drink,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Maybe they’ll recite poetry to each other,” Shannon quipped. Amara didn’t understand Jill’s blush, but it amused her nonetheless to imagine men spouting verse as a form of
evening entertainment.

  “Looks crowded,” Cat said, as they exited the car.

  “Good. More people on the dance floor.” Shannon shook her hips to the pulsating beat audible through closed doors. Heavens, how loud was this going to be?

  Cat opened the door and ushered the women through. As Amara passed, Cat touched her arm. “Are you going to be okay?”

  Amara nodded, despite the uncertainty bubbling in her midsection. Yes. She was.

  Lights flashed from the ceiling—oranges, greens, and reds—in the otherwise dark room. Bodies moved on the dance floor, but the “dancing” was unlike anything Amara had ever seen—disorganized and uncoordinated. Several couples touched in ways that would have had the matrons of her era swooning in horror.

  The music itself wasn’t much better. Amara wanted to shield her ears but forced herself to keep her arms at her sides. If the others found the cacophony pleasing, she would feign the same.

  “Ugh. AC/DC. I never did like this song,” Cat called out with a frown. “Should we grab a drink?”

  Shannon nodded. “Frozen margarita for me!”

  “Ooh, that sounds good.” Jill fished in her reticule—purse, as Cat called such a thing—pulling out some money.

  Cat turned to Amara. “Would you like to try something? You don’t have to.”

  With all three women watching her, Amara wasn’t about to say no. “Yes. I shall try what your two friends have mentioned.”

  Cat’s brows knit together. “Did you drink stuff like that in—” She broke off. “Okay, four margaritas.” Leaning into Amara, she said, “I’d suggest drinking it slowly.”

  “We’ll get them; maybe you guys find a table?” Jill motioned to the dining tables nearby.

  “A table? Are we gonna sit, or are we gonna dance?” Shannon protested.

  Jill rolled her eyes. “Both. But I need to warm up first.”

  As the two women went to fetch the drinks, Cat nudged Amara. “If this is too much, if you need to go home, just let me know.”

  Amara’s eyes darted around the room. “I have been in large crushes before. I shall be fine.” I shall be fine.

  Jill and Shannon returned, handing over two large glasses filled with a dark pink liquid. “Remember: slowly,” cautioned Cat as Amara accepted a glass and took a sip. Lud, that’s sweet. Did every American dish consist of half sugar, even the drinks? Her mouth puckered, though she raised the glass for a second taste. Sweet, but delicious.

  Shannon motioned them over to a table that had just emptied. “I’m going to get some French fries. Anybody want anything?”

  Amara didn’t feel like eating. Watching the people around her was satisfying enough. Groups of women sat or stood together, talking and laughing, some with drinks in hand, some not. Men jostled each other, their eyes often drifting to the women around them. A few brave souls danced strange steps without particular rhyme or reason around the dance floor.

  “There will be more as the night goes on,” Cat said.

  “And people drink more.” Jill chuckled to herself, then sipped her margarita.

  “Ever run into Derrick here again?” Shannon asked Cat.

  “Once, a year or so ago. He was with Candy; they’d gotten married.”

  “Well, good to know there were no hard feelings.” “After one date? I’d hardly think so.”

  The song switched to something new, and Cat’s face visibly brightened. “This was Eliza’s and my favorite song.” Her eyes went sad for a second before she hopped up from the table. “I gotta dance in her honor. Wanna come, Amara?”

  Amara set her drink, which was now somehow more than halfway empty, on the table. A curious, relaxed feeling had settled over her, and the music no longer bothered her. In fact, whatever was playing had an enjoyable sound.

  “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” Cat sang as Amara stood. The two women made their way onto the dance floor. Nerves ate at Amara’s stomach—was she truly going to try to “dance” like these people, in front of these strangers? But the languor steeping through her veins had her moving before she knew it, bouncing around in a way that was freer than anything she’d ever done.

  “This is capital!” she called to Cat, who smiled in return. “Ben was right, I needed a night off.”

  More and more people trickled onto the dance floor. Soon Amara and Cat were surrounded. She didn’t care, though. She was having too much fun. As the music switched again, Cat screamed out, “Yes! Take On Me,” mouthing the lyrics as she moved.

  Amara could see why people did this. In her era, dancing was a common recreational activity, as well, since it gave men and women an opportunity to interact. But it was much rehearsed, the steps and patterns determined by masters of dance. Here, men and women mostly ignored each other, dancing in their respective groups in whatever manner they wished.

  When the song ended, Cat exhaled. “Whew! Let’s take a break. Plus, we gotta get Shannon and Jill out here.”

  As they pushed their way through the crowd, a young man in a wide-brimmed hat put his fingers to its edge and tipped his head at Amara. She stared for a second; he was the first man she’d seen in such a hat.

  “Woo, girl, you got an admirer! Look at him in that cowboy hat!” Jill whispered once Amara reached the table, tilting her head toward the man.

  “What?” What was a cowboy? Amara glanced over, and he shot her a smile. She couldn’t tell the color of his hair on account of the hat, but his eyes were a friendly green, and his chin held a slight cleft. Heat crept up her neck at his regard. He tipped his head again but then turned as someone called to him.

  Amara took another sip from her drink, images of Matthew suddenly flooding her brain. Why? Why did she have to think of him now, when she was having fun, when another gentleman was expressing interest? Not that she wanted interest, necessarily, but it was flattering to have a man look at her in such a manner.

  Matthew looks at you like that. She shook her head. Blast it, stop thinking about Matthew Goodson! She hadn’t seen him since last Sunday when she’d fled the room. He’d made no effort to contact her. Clearly, she did not appeal to him. That was fine. That was the way it should be. She didn’t need him, didn’t need his distracting presence.

  “Would you like another?” A young waitress with her hair in pigtails gestured to Amara’s glass.

  “Yes, please.”

  Cat shot her a concerned glance, but she didn’t care. That stuff—that margarita—was tasty. And she loved how much it relaxed her. It’d been three weeks now of being on edge, of trying to acclimatize herself to this impossible future, with all of its changes, its differences. Three weeks of learning about washing machines and drive-thrus and ATMs and the Internet.

  The images on Matthew’s computer of the naked couple flashed before her. It bothered her, how often she thought of that, of him. How much it made her squirm when her mind pictured Matthew and her in the bed, instead.

  When the waitress arrived, Amara quaffed down half the drink in a few seconds.

  Cat’s eyes widened in alarm. “Seriously, Amara, slow down. Tequila has quite the kick. Unless you normally drank a lot in—” She broke off, tucking a piece of hair behind her ears.

  “Of course not. Perhaps a spot of sherry, but spirits were for men only. As was everything.” When Shannon and Jill both looked at her, she shrugged. “I’m from somewhere extremely ... old-fashioned.”

  The song changed again, and this time it was Shannon who stood up. “Billy Jean! I love this song!” Grabbing Jill’s hand, she pulled her onto the dance floor. Cat looked at Amara.

  “Of course!” Amara leapt through the crowd to the dance floor. Who knew dancing in such a wild, almost animalistic manner could feel so good? The colors swirled around her, the people swirled around her, and she laughed as she writhed her body, feeling freer than she ever had.

  An arm caught itself around her waist, and she looked up, startled. The cowboy hat man hovered next to her, his eyes devouring her. “You move well,”
he said, his voice husky. “Wanna dance?”

  Dance with him? How did one dance with someone in this madness? She peeked around. A few other men and women moved with each other, not really touching but definitely in communion. She threw her arms up in the air. “Why not?”

  He pulled her into him until their chests brushed. Unease slithered up her spine, but she merely smiled as she edged back a few inches. He let her, the grin never leaving his face. “You are one sexy little lady.”

  Her brow wrinkled, even as she swayed to the rhythmic drumbeats. The man was quite forward.

  Cat stepped over so that she was almost in between them. “You okay, Amara?” She cast a frown toward the man with the hat.

  He touched the brim with his fingers again. “No worries, ma’am. I’m taking good care of your friend, here.”

  Cat’s eyes narrowed, and she looked to Amara.

  “I’m fine. I’m great!” Amara insisted, despite her own reservations. She was in a public room, not a private garden. Nothing untoward could happen here. Could it?

  After a long pause, Cat nodded. “If you need me ... ”

  Amara waved her off. “Don’t worry. I know you’ve got my back.” She’d heard that phrase on a television show and had wanted to use it. She whipped her head around, her body one big expanse of liquidness.

  Suddenly, the music changed, a much slower, softer melody hitting her ears. The hatted man tugged her close, looping his arms around her waist. She tensed, but noting other couples in similar positions, laced her arms loosely around his neck, looking up into his eyes, which swam before her. Did he have three of them?

  “You seem like you’re having a good time.” His expression was friendly, but his lip turned up in a way that didn’t make Amara entirely comfortable. “Tell me about yourself.”

  He’s making pleasant conversation, Amara. This is fine. Being in such close proximity with a stranger felt wrong, though. He didn’t smell as nice as Matthew, and he was much shorter. Not that that should matter.