Cherry Pie

by Sotia Lazu

  “That’s awesome. We should celebrate. Screw the salad—we’re going out.” He pulled me toward the door, but I planted my feet on the ground.

  “I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow? Or your next day off?”

  He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. The gesture reminded me of Constantine.

  I pulled away as soon as I could without making it seem like I hated his touch. “Any news on Ruby? I didn’t ask her when she’s leaving again.”

  Alex returned to preparing his dinner. “She called this morning. She’s back in Romania.”

  “That was fast. Thought she’d want to stay a little longer.” Maybe visit her old friend Constantine.

  “We came back on Tuesday so”—he counted days on his fingers—“that’s four days. Huh. I thought it was longer. Anyway, she was in a hurry to return to Europe.”

  But I was stuck on the first part of his answer. “You flew in together? How come she didn’t come to the mansion with you?”

  Alex shook his head. “Ruby doesn’t do commercial flights. She used Constantine’s jet and landed here a few hours later. It needed to refuel and go through security checks, and I couldn’t wait that long.”

  Aw, he’d been in a hurry to come home to me.

  “Ruby dropped by your parents’. They didn’t mention anything about your... reversal, so she didn’t say anything, but she said you should call them.”

  “I wanted to tell them up close. Maybe next weekend.”

  “Gerri”—there was my real name again, not the one he met me under, because I was no longer that person to him—“you’re human. Don’t you think they’d like to know as soon as possible? I mean, they can be grandparents now.”

  I was lightheaded. It felt a lot like blood loss. Had to be my period. “I’ll call them. Tomorrow.”

  Salad ready, he asked once more if I wanted some, and when I said no, sat at the table while I pulled out a chair across from him.

  I should change out of the clothes I wore all day. I felt heat more intensely when I was undead, but I didn’t sweat back then. I kicked off my ballet pumps and wiggled my toes. Freedom. I sat there, listening to Alex go on about his day and work and how happy the guys at the precinct were to see him, while I itched to get out of my clothes and have a shower. If flavors were returning to what they used to be, I might finally get used to the water jet.

  I escaped upstairs as soon as Alex put the last bit of lettuce in his mouth, and only went back down once I was squeaky clean and in shorts and a tank top. I drifted off on the couch and woke up in bed the next morning, in the same clothes.

  I didn’t change out of them on Sunday, most of which Alex and I spent online shopping. After hours in front of his laptop, we bought a state-of-the-art widescreen TV, a new double bed with a memory foam mattress, and finally—to Alex's utter horror and despite his numerable protests—a car for me.

  While I didn’t mind splurging on other things, in this case, I went with a used Toyota Prius. My driving skills were rusty, and I didn’t trust myself with anything bigger, faster, or more expensive. I did pay a little extra, to have it delivered to our doorstep Monday afternoon.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SHEENA DROVE ME TO the station before work, to unofficially identify the guy who stabbed her. She waited in the car; she hadn’t seen enough of him to recognize his picture. Alex was swamped, so we didn’t talk much. I basically pointed to the right pic, said I’d be home for dinner, and blew him a kiss.

  Sheena stopped for smoothies on the way to the office. I watched her for signs of discomfort as she exited and reentered the car, and I was happy to see no stiffness in her movements. She really was fine—physically, at least.

  “They give potential clients a good example,” she said, as she handed me a kale-something mixture. She placed hers in the driver’s side cup holder.

  I took a sip and wished my sense of taste was still numb. “Yuck.”

  “I didn’t say you should drink it. Carry it around. Maybe swirl the straw while you interview someone.” She wasn’t all the way back to her usual color combinations, but the fuchsia button-down shirt she wore with her black slacks was a step in that direction.

  “I’m gonna need coffee,” I said.

  “Just keep it in your drawer. We’re supposed to be all about healthy living.”

  As we pulled into traffic again, I flashed back to the chocolate-glazed fried bites of sin we indulged in on Saturday. “Since when?”

  “Since Sally suggested that as our new pitch. Everyone has thin models, but with the rise of the clean-living movement, we can provide companies with people who take care of themselves.”

  “People? We’re taking on men now too?”

  “We’re more inclusive, in general.”

  “Is that also Sally’s idea?”

  Sheena nodded. “The girl is a marketing genius.”

  “Or she hopes to meet hot guys,” I said with a smirk.

  Sheena laughed. “Then she’s an evil genius.”

  We parked in an above-ground parking garage and walked a couple of blocks. The building entrance was open. I went in first, and called the elevator.

  “Not that way.” Sheena grabbed my elbow, almost making me spill my kale-flavored vileness—and wouldn’t that be a crying shame?—and led me toward the stairs. “It’s only three flights.”

  Come. Fucking. On.

  By the third floor landing, my thighs burned with exertion. I needed to work out more. Or at all.

  Sheena moved to unlock the door, while I studied the Sheena’s Models sign.

  “Will my name go up there too?” I asked.

  “Sure. Who doesn’t want to be signed up by Gertrude Mosby? No, you won’t go up there, doofus.” She flicked my ear and led the way in. “This is your desk.”

  “I know my way around. Thanks.” It used to be Barbie’s desk. “And I know what’s in here.” I opened the top drawer, expecting to see the huge-ass folder Barbie kept client info in, but nada.

  Sheena crossed her arms over her chest and gave me her best you-don’t-know-shit look. “We’ve gone fully electronic. It’s planet-friendly. You’ll be lucky to find a pack of Post-It notes in the entire office.”

  O... kay. “Sally’s idea?”

  “Nope. Carrie digitalized everything. I’ll ask her to show you when she gets here, because I don’t know my way around her system yet.”

  Sheena disappeared into the small kitchenette. When she returned, she jingled two keys in her hand. “For you. Main entrance and front door.” She tossed them at me, and I reached for them, but I missed and they hit my smoothie, which sloshed all over my desk.

  “You did that on purpose.” Sheena arched an eyebrow.

  I shook my head. “But I’m not gonna mourn its loss.”

  I cleaned the green goop from my desk and the floor, and by the time I was properly caffeinated, Carrie showed up.

  “Everything okay?” Sheena asked her, as she let her in.

  Carrie gave a quick shake of the head I supposed I wasn’t meant to see, and then said, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “No reason. Never mind me. Been on edge since the mugging.”

  No, she wasn’t. With the exception of her outfits, she seemed like her usual self.

  I planted my fists on my hips. “Oh, come on. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  They looked at each other, then back at me. “Constantine doesn’t want you involved,” Carrie said.

  My very being protested that sentence. I shouldn’t be involved, but Sheena was?

  Then again, Sheena hadn’t hurt him...

  “Okay. But if he’s in any danger, you let me know,” I said to Carrie.

  “I will.”

  I studied her. I was used to seeing her around the house and had stopped being amazed at how beautiful she was. In her ripped jeans, tight tank top, and ballet flats, with her long brown hair falling down her shoulders and her makeup expertly applied, she looked a hundred percent the swimsuit model sh
e was—the woman Willoughby killed and recruited to his and Ádísa’s army of gorgeous undead killers.

  And she was apparently a computer whiz.

  She spent a couple hours showing me her filing system and the online backup she kept, on the cloud, and I pretended to understand everything.

  When she asked, “Got it?” I nodded.

  “I’ll call you if I have any questions.” I’d better add her number to speed-dial.

  The doorbell rang, and Carrie pulled up the schedule on the list. “I think it’s your first walk-in.”

  Sheena rushed to her glass-walled office and closed the door behind her. I buzzed in the newcomer and steepled my fingers, trying to look like I knew what I was doing. Inside, I berated myself for feeling jittery. But think about it—I hadn’t had a job in half a dozen years. Never had a desk job before that.

  A tall, ethereal blonde stepped inside. She marched to my desk on impossibly long legs, hugging a folder to her chest. “Good morning. I’m Cecilia Torrent, and I want to become a model.” Her smile was dazzling.

  I kept my expression professional. “Do you have an appointment?”

  The corners of her lips wobbled, before her expression turned upbeat again. “I do not. I was hoping Ms. Herring would see me today. I’m only in town for a few hours.”

  And she hadn’t thought to call ahead. I knew the system. Act like the agent is intruding on your time.

  I liked Cecilia Torrent’s attitude.

  “I’ll see if she’ll fit you in.” I let myself in Sheena’s office and whispered, “She’s gorgeous. Has the right style. Nothing overdone. She’s like a sexy blonde gazelle.”

  Sheena replied in the same tone, “Have her wait. Maybe next time she’ll make an appointment.”

  I returned to my desk, sat, and looked up at her. “Please take a seat.” I motioned to the waiting area.

  “Thank you so much.” Her smile grew wider, and I couldn’t keep from returning it this time.

  “You didn’t get her info,” Carrie whispered from behind me.

  Shit. “I’ll do it when she’s on the way out.”

  “You’re supposed to log all meetings.”

  “I will. After she leaves.” I bit out the words.

  “Okay. Maybe offer her something to drink?”

  “Maybe stop backseat driving?”

  Carrie relented, and I opened a new file for Cecilia, with just her name for now.

  I rocked the shit out of Candy Crush Soda on my phone, until Sheena told me to send Cecilia in.

  Fifteen, then twenty minutes ticked by, and she wasn’t coming back out. Good for her. Sheena weighed people at a glance, and for her to still be talking to Cecilia, it was good news.

  The skip in Cecilia’s step when she returned to my desk confirmed it. She started to speak, when the phone rang. I held up a finger for her to wait.

  “Make an appointment for her with Jade this afternoon,” Sheena said over the line. New hairdo, and with Sheena’s own stylist. “Then call Trent. I need new portfolio pics tomorrow. If he’s a diva about it, remind him he owes me.”

  This Trent guy was her new photographer, then. Carrie called up Associates on the screen and scrolled down to his number. This electronic filing was cool.

  “Yes, Ms. Herring.” I hung up and turned to Cecilia. “I thought you were only in town for a few hours.”

  She blushed and lowered her head. “I’m sorry. I really wanted to see Ms. Herring, and when I called on Friday I was told I’d have to wait a month for an appointment.”

  She must have talked to Sally.

  I asked for her info, and she was more than forthcoming with the details. She was born and raised in L.A. Always wanted to be a model, but her parents wouldn’t let her until she graduated high school. She just moved in with her boyfriend, and she was eighteen. Twelve years younger than me.

  I felt old.

  I booked Cecilia an appointment, convinced Trent—who sounded friendly once I mentioned Sheena—to meet her at his studio at seven in the morning, and sent her on her merry way.

  Then I called Dr. King again. And was told there were still no openings.

  Carrie checked her phone and grimaced. “It’s almost two.”

  “If you need to go, go. I’m good for now. I’ll call you if I need help.” If. Ha.

  “I’ll wait for Sally to get here first.”

  Huh. “Have you left Sheena’s side since Friday?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t with her on Friday,” she said.

  “But Liza was. And then Sally on Saturday. Is there a reason you’re guarding her round the clock?”

  Carrie huffed. “You weren’t supposed to know, but we worry about you.”

  Not Sheena? “Me? Why?”

  “Because all this is new, and you may need time to process, and something may happen while you’re processing.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like get mugged again. I don’t know. We worry. You, Sheena, and Wesley are our human family now—Alex too, but more like a distant cousin—and we wanna keep you around.”

  This gorgeous vampire would not make me cry.

  I hugged her. “I’m okay.”

  “Well, good,” she said stiffly, “but we’ll still check from time to time.”

  Sally let herself in, chirping about a guy who flirted with her on the way here. “He was so hot. Like oh my God hot.”

  Emotional moment diffused.

  Carrie left, and Sally and I ordered something to eat. It was a salad, but I felt every single flavor. Win. Sheena joined us, and then said we could call it a day.

  “Can we make a detour on the way home?” I asked her.

  “Sure. What for?”

  “Upgrades.” To Sally I said, “I need your help with something.”

  She widened her eyes. “What is it? It won’t get me in trouble with Constantine, will it?”

  Hearing his name was no easier than uttering it. It twisted my insides. I needed a distraction. Needed to do something for me. And Sally could... facilitate that.

  “I need you to get me a doctor’s appointment ASAP,” I said.

  “Oh no. Are you sick? Please say you’re not dying.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  This goes to show everyone that vampires aren’t monsters, by the way.

  I hurried to reassure her. “I’m fine. It’s a plastic surgeon. Being a human takes a toll on the body, and I want to firm some things up. Maybe enlarge others?”

  “Oh.” She looked me over and nodded, like she recognized the problem areas. “I can do that. We’ll have you looking thirty again in no time.”

  Grumble grumble.

  We locked up, and I found Dr. King’s address while we got the car. Maybe I’d ask for a facelift too.

  I WAS RELIEVED WHEN Dr. King didn’t remember me. Of course he saw thousands of patients every year, but I took the lack of recognition in his gaze as extra confirmation that my makeover worked.

  Sheena waited in the car, while Sally used her vampire gaze to book me a breast augmentation—despite my efforts, the doctor wouldn’t call it a boob job—and liposuction for Monday after next. Sally promised to assist with the healing, bless her. In two weeks, I’d have the body I always wanted. Though Dr. King mentioned collagen depletion and crow’s feet more than once, I wouldn’t have him work on my face. I’d invest in a good day cream instead. Okay, and possibly get fillers around the eyes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  AS SHEENA SWERVED INTO our street, I saw a sight that made me squeal. A silver Prius sat in our driveway.

  Sheena pulled up behind it, and I flew—well, not really, because I couldn’t do that now—out of the back seat.

  “Do you like my new ride?” I hovered my palm over the roof, and felt the heat of the day reflected back at me.

  Sally cheered from the passenger seat, while Sheena gave me a thumbs-up. “Goes with our new brand too.”

  I laughed. “That’s a happy coincidence. But it’s here early.”


  A sound came from behind, and I turned startled toward the house, to see Alex walking out the door. “They needed someone to sign for the delivery, and called me. You must have given them the wrong number.”

  “Sorry I made you leave work.”

  “It’s okay. Had to pick up something else too. These are the temporary plates. Guy said you need to go sort out the paperwork and get the final ones in a week.” He came down the porch stairs to give me a kiss, and then continued toward the girls.

  I felt a tightening in my chest that loosened when they both got out of the car and gave him hugs and pecks on the cheek.

  “Are you coming inside? I can make coffee. I have an hour before I go back in,” Alex said.

  Sheena and Sally thanked him for the offer but declined.

  “Where are the keys? I’m taking you out for coffee,” I said once they were gone. “I’ll drop you off at work after.”

  He fished a key fob out of his pocket and dangled it in the air as he approached me. I snatched it and unlocked the car, but Alex stopped me before I reached for the door handle.

  “I have something for you too.” He produced a small velvet box from his other pocket.

  And I froze.

  I don’t mean I couldn’t move; an icy hand ran down my spine, and the numbness spread to my limbs. I tried to smile. My chest felt tight, my heart slammed against my ribs, and my stupid lungs refused to let air in.

  Was he going to propose?

  I zeroed in on his hand raising the lid of the box, and the image slowed. Flickered. Broke. Like I was watching an old film reel.

  What would I say if he did? He’d mentioned getting engaged, but this was too soon. Way too soon. He sometimes left dirty dishes in the sink and forgot to take out the trash and talked during movies and—

  Was I hyperventilating?

  I was hyperventilating.

  I had to stop him from opening the box, but no words came out of my mouth and I couldn’t raise my hand to place it over his. Was this what a heart attack felt like? Nah. It was just cold feet. Right?

  I couldn’t say yes. Would no mean we were breaking up? Should I accept and then stall?

  No. No no no no no.