The Matchmaker's Mark

by Black, Regan

  "Well, hello, sugar." Maeve's sultry Southern voice carried up from the sidewalk. Amy could tell she'd added the extra dose of charm she reserved for the opposite sex.

  Through the door, Amy heard Maeve answer the obvious question. "Never heard of her. But you're welcome to come back by if you find yourself looking for me."

  Amy wanted to simultaneously slug and hug her best friend. A shameless flirt and the best kind of protector all wrapped up in a beautiful package.

  Amy tiptoed to the kitchen, wary of both the creaky floorboards and the knots in her stomach, and waited for the inevitable lecture on turning away a prime piece of male real estate.

  "So you are here. Thought you'd made a run for it out the back door."

  Amy glanced up into the clear blue eyes of her best friend. "Thanks for that. But you can't be mad at me for being shy. There was the – the whole creep factor."

  Maeve blew out an aggrieved sigh, fluffing up her sunny blonde bangs. "You've got issues. He didn't look creepy to me."

  Guinness leaned into Maeve, begging for his usual kiss between the eyes. Best friend or not, Maeve had a way with males of any variety. "You were looking at his shoulders," she grumbled. "And you didn't hear him say he'd followed me."

  "Actually, I –" Maeve's eyes landed on the wrapped flowers. "Oh! What's this?"

  Amy was doubly grateful for Lily's attention to detail. "They're for you."

  Maeve started making all her normal girl noises, oh-so-carefully undoing Lily's wrapping. "Oh, my. They're beautiful."

  Amy agreed. The basket was perfect for Maeve's French country kitchen, just as the florist had said. "Lily says 'hi'."

  "That girl is amazing. What was in her window today?"

  Relieved to be off the topic of the stranger, Amy gave a detailed description of Lily's springtime display, then launched into her impression of the cooler, followed by her opinion of the shop in general.

  Maeve was grinning. "Yeah, that would push your buttons for sure. Why do you stay in Nebraska if you hate it so much?"

  "Good football?" Amy offered.

  "Uh-huh. So why turn away the eye candy?"

  Amy shot her a look. "That discussion is closed."

  "Not when you toss out lame answers like 'football'. It's in the rulebook." Maeve pressed the paper into a neat, smooth square. "What was wrong with him?"

  "Nothing at first. Well, he looked tired, but –"

  "Tired? Girlfriend! You're too picky." She shook her head and glared at Amy. "I heard the whole conversation. He said he had a message for you. What was the problem?"

  "Did you see any delivery service uniform or paraphernalia?"

  "So it was a line. You're supposed to use that to reel him in."

  "It didn't feel like a line." Amy pressed a hand to her stomach. "I don't know. He said my name and all I could think was to get away." She rubbed her arms, feeling chilled all over again, the more they talked about it. "So I was a nervous ninny. Let's forget it. Please?"

  "Fine," Maeve agreed. "Only happy thoughts. Did you bother to eat while you were traipsing about gathering flowers?"

  "No." She'd been too content with the weather, too pleased with the flowers. "Do you want to go out?" She glanced over her shoulder, definitely uneasy, but willing to go if Maeve stayed close.

  "Oh, good grief," Maeve said in an aggrieved tone reserved for best friends.

  Amy didn't feel scolded as much as understood. It had always been that way. Maeve flirted with everything from men to more dangerous pursuits and Amy watched in awe of her absolute confidence. It was just one of those truths between them: Maeve the bold, Amy the cautious.

  It wasn't a label she particularly enjoyed, made worse because she couldn't pinpoint a moment or crisis when she'd had a valid reason to choose caution over action in a relationship or any other venture. Not even the biology professor she'd been dating, the one she wasn't missing nearly enough, had come up with a valid genetic hypothesis for her habit of playing it safe.

  "I'll fix lasagna," Maeve declared. "You can make a salad or some antipasto thing."

  "That's a deal." Maeve came around and squeezed her shoulders. "Buck up, camper. It'll be fine."

  ~*~

  Dare leaned against the building across the street and stared back at the house, tired and confused. He was following the Matchmaker's instructions to "find Amy and deliver this letter". Incomplete and open ended as her instructions often were, she had not directed him how to proceed if Amy Campbell refused to be found or accept said letter. According to the office staff at the Midwestern university where he'd expected to find Amy, she'd traveled to Charleston for an extended project of some sort. He hadn't listened much beyond hearing her direction and current address. Whatever brought her here, he couldn't fault her decision: the South was far better than the freezing Midwest with too much snow and too few trees.

  Glaring at the townhouse, he reviewed the encounter, as well as the power that had drawn him into the flower shop earlier. He'd felt the magic there, but couldn't make a confirmation of her identity without being too obvious. Now, though, he knew the woman with the dog was indeed Amy. The clear, lake blue eyes of the Campbell females were unmistakable. He rubbed at the tension in his neck, unable to understand why she didn't want anything to do with him. She acted flighty and nervous, traits that gave him pause.

  Women didn't usually find communicating with him such a hardship. Usually, they didn't offer much resistance to him on any level, personal or professional. Then again, Amy was of strong, independent Campbell stock.

  Just as he plotted the right spell to spy on the household, an unwelcome thought startled him. It had been many years since he'd been on a mission so far from the company of the Matchmaker. He'd never considered the possibility of the Matchmaker's 'attraction by association' affect enhancing his personal appeal. With his own eyes, he'd seen her mere presence send humans into lovesick tailspins, but never those from the old realms, like himself. He didn't like the prospect, and even recognizing it as merely an excuse, he laid the blame squarely on the fear and general short-sightedness of humans.

  Dare continued to watch the house, hoping either of the women inside would reappear. The sun set early here and as more lights winked on in the neighborhood, he reviewed his options. He could return to the hotel and try again tomorrow. Or...

  He could backtrack her day and find a common denominator to help her relate to him. It was a tactic often used in the Matchmaker's line of work. While he had no designs on bedding or wedding Amy Campbell, having something neutral to talk about couldn't hurt his cause. The Matchmaker wanted him to find Amy and deliver the letter, but his curiosity meant he would stay until he received word on where to rendezvous with the Matchmaker's team.

  Stealing silently up to the house and applying just the slightest of his magical skills, he touched the front door where Amy's hand had been and saw the shadows of the last few things she'd seen before he'd knocked on her door. He set off to follow the bread crumbs backward.

  ~*~

  Lily murmured a blessing in the manner of her elders as she arranged the deep red roses in the box. They were all water-tubed...and wasn't it silly of her to worry over the comfort of a few flowers?

  She smiled at the young man, a graduate student at the medical university, and listened while he rattled off his plans to propose tonight. He was so very in love and she knew the flowers would score big points for him. His eyes shined with anticipation and hope.

  "Have a great time," she said as she snipped the ribbon into elegant points and slid the box into his eager hands.

  Watching him go, she tried again to get a handle on her melancholy mood. She'd been a little distracted all day. While she'd had decent success today, she still felt off.

  It was her job, usually her pleasure, to connect people with plants and flowers in the hopes of creating fond memories, putting the right punctuation on affection or joy, gratitude or sympathy. Early on it bothered her to 'end' a plant's natur
al life, but she soon realized each floral gift bloomed on in new ways in the recipient's life.

  Turning the key on the register, she let the day's end report run while she started moving through the little details of closing up.

  At the door, she flipped the sign from open to closed and turned the locks with a sigh. Another business day done. Good work with a happy heart should be enough, but Lily couldn't shake the undercurrent of dissatisfaction. Maybe it was time to move on, to try something new, but she loved Charleston. Compromising, she promised herself she'd look for a floral design competition or conference and turn it into a vacation at the earliest opportunity.

  Across the street she glimpsed a couple kissing in the restaurant doorway and felt the hitch in her own heart. It did no good to want something you couldn't have, but she found herself staring anyway, dreaming of a man with a passion to match her own.

  She turned away from the private moment, laughing it off. As the daughter of a wood elf and a human, Lily's romantic destiny was murky at best. Her half-breed status kept her isolated from males in both realms since she wouldn't live as long as most elves, but she'd outlive the humans. She'd had to argue her way past her father's family sensibilities and even the royal court just to live where she was most comfortable: right here among her mother's people.

  After a quick check of the wall clock, she decided she had time to rearrange the display cooler before one of her brothers arrived for their weekly dinner.

  It was a routine she'd stopped fighting, at least directly. And this was Cade's week, so it wouldn't be an interrogation of events or an accounting of her flaws. Overprotective didn't begin to describe her elf family. Just because she was the only girl and sported an odd birthmark didn't mean she was destined for trouble. She sighed, thinking several years of uneventful life as a human florist should count for something.

  A sharp knock pulled her from her irritable reverie. She looked first to the back room for Cade or his cat Henry, but the sound came again, and Lily turned toward the front door.

  She smiled automatically at the man as she pointed to the closed sign. "Sorry," she added.

  "I just need a minute," he said.

  With the security lighting (thanks again to the overprotective males in her life) she could see him well as she approached. He'd stopped in when Belinda had exchanged the cupcakes for floral supplies. Nondescript applied to his clothes and brown hair, but something about his posture said power. Wouldn't it be nice if she had enough magic to know what kind of power?

  She took a step closer, drawn to him, before she stopped herself. The stubble on his jaw only enhanced the strong angles and planes of his face. His expression was serious, despite his obvious effort to force his lips into a friendly smile. It was only working halfway, but the result caused a pleasant ripple in her belly.

  "Please? I just need something for my mom."

  "I'm closed," she insisted, though her mind was already thinking about the options.

  "It's a birthday dinner," he added.

  She knew it was a lie, even as she looked back into her cooler for just the right arrangement. Seeing the tall vase of sunflowers, she pulled it out and held it up for his inspection. Girlfriend, mom, or whoever, sunflowers would be acceptable. No surprise, he nodded. "How much?"

  It took willpower to keep him outside, when her hormones wanted desperately to let him in. "Just a sec," she called over her shoulder. When the flowers were wrapped against the weather in a protective sleeve, she unlocked the door and held them out, keeping the large heavy vase between them. For some inexplicable reason she couldn't quite look him in the eye, though a good look at his straight nose, squared chin and firm lips offered more than enough temptation. "Twenty, even."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure." Just as she was sure the flowers would find the nearest trash can. It made her a little sad, but she didn't know how to call him a liar without offending him. And causing offense was both rude and stupid in this situation. He didn't look as though he was plotting criminal behavior, but there was no sense pushing it. "I hope your mother enjoys her birthday," she added, just to see his reaction.

  "She will." He took the vase. "Thanks for saving me," he added.

  Lily's reply was on her lips when his fingers brushed hers and the contact sizzled along her nerves, rendering her speechless. She pasted a smile on her face and retreated into the safety of her shop, throwing the lock and retreating to the counter. When she glanced back at the street he was gone.

  Thankfully. Yes, of course, she was thankful he was gone.

  Her hand tingled where they'd touched, but worse, the birthmark on the inside of her left wrist burned as if she'd brushed against a hot oven. She had to ignore it. Cade would be here any minute and he was overbearing enough when she was her normally cheerful self. If he found her upset, she wouldn't be rid of him until he'd drawn it all out of her.

  And really, what was there to tell? She could just imagine his reaction to 'a handsome stranger stopped by after hours and made me tingle'. It was too awful to think about.

  Lily collected herself and continued her closing routine. She had a green thumb and an eye for color and she'd learned to use both to keep her flush in the world of humans. She owed apologies to no one.

  Doing a final circuit of her small showroom, she murmured to the plants as she turned off grow lights and displays, until only the small front window remained to advertise her services to the street.

  In the workroom, she swept the debris of natural materials into the bin for compost and cleaned her tools and counter. She'd settled considerably by the time she hung her apron on the peg by the office, just as a big orange tabby cat meowed and squeezed through the cat door from the alley.

  "Henry," she cooed, rubbing her fingers together, inviting him closer. He obliged, leaning into her before leaping up to the counter stool. She bent, letting him nuzzle her forehead and smiled at the deep rumble that was Henry's happy purr. Knowing her brother wouldn't be far behind the feline herald, she hurried upstairs to her apartment to change for dinner.

  She rubbed absently at her birthmark while she pushed her clothes around the closet trying to make a decision. It wasn't as if Cade would notice anything about her fashion choices, but she knew if she looked good she'd feel better while they were out.

  She pulled off the long sleeved tee with her Flower Ever After shop logo and tossed it toward the laundry basket. Reaching for the fuzzy pink sweater she'd chosen, she caught the reflection of her arm in the mirror and yelped.

  "What the –" Her birthmark was moving. Shifting. What had once resembled a rather small heart shaped leaf was stretching and sprouting vines toward her elbow. As she watched, two delicate leaves unfolded on the vine.

  She yanked the sweater down over her head and tugged the sleeves into place, hiding the mark. Seeing it only stirred up more questions and sent her mood spiraling downward again. With Cade's imminent arrival, she didn't have time to indulge in research or a pity party.

  After changing into clean jeans and her favorite boots, she brushed out her hair and slicked on lip gloss, but none of the outer treatment altered the facts.

  She'd been told her whole life that her birthmark meant something special. Most called it a matchmaker's mark, though they all had differing versions of why. Though it seemed every person on every branch of her family tree believed she was unique, destined for some great thing, simply because she'd been born with a special mark.

  Ri-ight.

  As a child, she'd bought into the hype, happy for a visible confirmation of the big dreams that filled her heart. Happy for any indicator that she didn't completely lack the magic of her father's people.

  Yet here she was in the beginning of a brand new year, wondering if it wasn't all just a load of crap her family shoveled at her to keep her dreaming. As if her dreams were all that important.

  Her human grandpa had once said they were, but he also said fairies were real and declared more truth existed
deep in the poetry of their tales. Ridiculous. No one had seen a fairy in centuries and their tales of mischief were as laughable in this era as they'd been in ages long gone.

  Of course, following that logic, if fairies did still exist somewhere, they probably didn't believe in the elves anymore. She imagined fairies would laugh as long and loud as anyone else if they heard of a wood elf operating a flower shop in a human city.

  Half wood elf and born with a matchmaker's mark to boot. Her birthmark tingled, but she ruthlessly put it out of her mind, blaming the weirdness on her bitter mood.

  Lily pushed away from her frustrated reflection, gathered her coat and headed back downstairs to wait for Cade.

  Oh yes, she'd believed once that her mark meant she was destined for something amazing. Then life had become all too real. Now she was alone with her plants and flowers, surrounded by the bold fragrances of fresh cuts and the earthier green of the plants growing in baskets and pots.

  Henry gave a pitiful cry, drawing Lily's attention to his empty food bowl. "Oh, right." She went to the back room and filled his bowl. Returning it to his place by her work sink, she smiled at him. "There you go, your royal highness." Her brother had had a cat for as long as she could remember, always an orange tabby and always named Henry for the addictive song Henry the Eighth.

  She watched the cat, wondering if he was indeed the eighth Henry in the long line of Henrys. As she hummed the silly song, her mind drifted to long ago dreams and hopes. As if in reply, the stupid birthmark tingled again.

  She refused to look. If she was meant for some special purpose on the elf side of her heritage, the Matchmaker would've shown up by now. Instead she was picking cat hair out of her lip gloss while she waited like a child for the babysitter. Exactly what horrible tragedy her family thought would befall her if they didn't check in regularly had never been explained to her.

  Her stomach rumbled and she slid into her sweater coat, buttoning the oversized toggles so she'd be ready to go. Drawing her long, honey blonde hair – another distinction from her dark-headed elf family – out of her collar, she waited, fiddling with the keys in her pocket.