by Sotia Lazu
“Get back to work.” Derek slapped the pass. “Kitchen won’t clean itself.” He approached Ana, who stood still, and asked, “Have you eaten? Can I get you something?”
She stared at Mike as she shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m fine. But— This is going to sound weird, but have you seen me before? In here?” she asked Derek.
Mike hadn’t explained the insanity that was his relationship with Ana, other than mentioning they had some issues.
Derek gave Ana a strange look. “I’ve seen you twice, if I remember correctly.”
“And I was talking to him?” Ana indicated Mike with a tilt of her head.
Mario chuckled. “I don’t think what you were doing was talking.”
Grant snapped his towel across the server’s head. “Idiot.”
“You only exchanged a few words,” Derek said. “And then there was the kiss Mario is being a dick about.”
Mike realized he hadn’t moved since he saw her. He should stand. Motion for her to come closer. Do a tap dance. Anything but sit there, praying she didn’t run again.
“A kiss.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I changed my mind. Do you serve alcohol?”
Derek smiled. “We have wine.”
“Bring us a bottle of white? I think this is going to be a long night.” She frowned. “Or are you closing?”
The few patrons still left would be gone soon, but Derek said, “Mike can lock up when you’re done. Don’t worry about it.”
Mike got enough command over his legs, to stand when she reached his table. She sat before he could pull out her chair, but it was okay. She was there, and if things went his way, he’d get several more chances to be gallant.
He returned to his seat and took her in. Her eyes seemed younger than his Ana’s, but other than that, they were the same person. He longed to take her hand. To feel her skin against his. Judging from her squared shoulders and how she fidgeted with her phone, she’d bolt if he made a sudden movement.
It took effort for him to maintain an impassive expression. “I’m glad you came.”
“Incredibly, Angie admitted to being a witch. God. Listen to me. As if I accused her of stealing my favorite jeans. She said she casts spells, and she knew that Xochi-guy when I said he was an Aztec god with a weird name.”
“So you believe me?”
She made an incredulous sound. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Derek showed up with the wine and poured them each a glass.
Ana polished hers off and refilled it. “Let’s just say I’m willing to hear you out. But people know where I am and will come after you if I disappear, so don’t do anything stupid.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Talk, then.”
Where to begin?
He took it from the top and described the first time future-Ana showed up at Arbore’s. “I couldn’t take my eyes off her.”
This Ana blushed.
“Come on,” Mike said. “You know you’re gorgeous. I couldn’t believe my luck when she said she’d wait for my shift to end.”
He glossed over the specifics of what followed, but wasn’t shy about sharing the thoughts he’d had the next day and how he jumped every time the restaurant’s door opened. “I hoped she’d come back. And she did.” For more sex. This Ana would think he was a sex-a-holic.
The more they talked, the more he saw she was the woman he loved, only less jaded. He’d see to it that she remained this way.
“How many times did you see her?” she asked.
“Enough to know she was the one for me. I was a dog until the night I met her, but she made me lose interest in all other women.”
“And you say she came from the future. Our future.”
“I know it’s hard to accept, but she knew things. She told me Derek would call and ask me to go to London, and he did. Offered me half a restaurant there, as she said he would.”
Ana took a swig of her wine. “Angie says that’s possible, in theory. That magic, or her god, can do that. But I still don’t get why. Why not go to her timeline’s Mike and patch things up?”
And this was the hard part. He’d debated whether he should reveal this, but he didn’t want to lie, even by omission. “He cheated. I did. In the future.” Ana sat back, a frown on her face, and Mike rushed to elaborate. “She said someone emailed her pictures of me with another woman, but I can’t believe I’d ever do that to her. To you.”
She met his gaze, her face a mask carved in stone. “So what do you want now, Mike?”
You. Everything. You. “What do you mean?” he asked, playing for time. He needed to tone it down, or he’d lose her for good.
“I mean, you and I are supposed to be soul mates, according to this farfetched story of yours. But I don’t know you. You’re cute, and you don’t give off a creepy vibe—which, yay—but this can only get you so far. I’m not going to fall head over heels with you, so we can pick things up where you and this other Ana left off. And where do I fit into your plans for London? I’m working on my career here; I can’t drop it all for a stranger and the promise of a fairytale that has already ended up with you cheating on me. So I’m asking again—what do you want?”
Her reasoning was infallible, damn it. Still—no risk, no gain. “I want one date,” Mike said. “We’ve done things the other way around, with the crazy sex and the forbidden passion that transcends logic. Now I want to give this a proper try. Give me one date. One chance to woo you. I’ll cook, or we can go dancing. A movie. Anything you want. If we click, we take it from there and see where it leads us. Long-distance relationships can work. They do sometimes. I mean, if we really like each other.” He realized he was rambling, and shut his mouth.
Ana fiddled with the white linen tablecloth, avoiding his gaze until his heart sunk in his stomach. He was about to concede defeat, when she looked up and straight at him. “One date. Public place. No pressure, and no further negotiations if things don’t work out the way you want.”
His smile threatened to split his face in two. “Deal.”
Epilogue
A hard-rock band was rehearsing inside Bella’s head. A bad, out-of-tune hard-rock band.
She didn’t drink last night, but this felt like the world’s worst hangover.
She sat up and lowered her feet to the hardwood floor. Hardwood? Her new place was lined with marble.
She took in her surroundings and gasped. She wasn’t at her loft, but in the apartment she’d shared with Mike.
Was she still dreaming?
Had Xochipilli come through, after all?
The pain in her head intensified, until her ears buzzed. Mental images swirled in her mind. Mike. Their first date at what became their favorite Chinese place, and the chaste peck on the lips that sealed the deal for her. She knew that night that she’d see him again.
But it hadn’t been like that. Her first night with Mike had involved nothing chaste. It was all about lust and passion.
Whatever was happening to her demanded coffee.
Did the place still come with a HouseSsistant5000? She dragged her feet to the kitchen and clapped her hands. Might as well take advantage of the thing, if it was installed. “Start coffee,” she said. The quiet whirring of the coffee machine made her smile, and she grabbed a mug in the two seconds the thing needed for its best aromatic brew.
A fresh onslaught of images filled her head and made her stumble. She gripped the edge of the stainless-steel sink, to steady herself, as new memories of the past sixteen years drew parallels to her existing ones.
She went to London with Mike and stayed in San Francisco with the promise to wait for him.
She waited tables at their bistro in England and pursued a career as a solo singer in the States, with the help of a manager who wasn’t Cassandra.
But most importantly, she was divorced from Mike and—
Strong arms wrapped around her waist, making her jump. “Gotcha.” Mike’s throaty laugh by her ear gave her goosebumps, as he held h
er tighter, the hard planes of his chest and abs pressing against her back.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to wake up. If this was Xochipilli’s idea of a joke, he was heartless and Cassandra was better off without him.
“Baby? Are you okay?” Mike kissed her neck and turned her to face him. “You’re pale as a sheet.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. When she was barefoot, he was six inches taller than her five-seven. His eyes were filled with concern but free of the pain that marred them last time they were this close.
Because here, now, she and Mike were still married.
They’d met sixteen years ago, when he came to her with an impossible story. And she believed him. He’d convinced her to go on a date with him, and chipped at her defenses until she couldn’t resist their attraction. They’d weathered a long-distance relationship—many times over—when he was away for business or she was on tour.
She had a new record coming out this week.
And they were happy.
Was this her new reality, or was it another cruel game? “I didn’t know you were back,” she said after an eternity.
Mike arched an eyebrow, and she couldn’t stop herself from smoothing it down with her fingers. “As if I’d miss our anniversary breakfast,” he said.
Sixteen years together. They celebrated a different date than before.
Mike slanted his mouth over hers, and she poured all her love and the anguish that marked her last few months into the kiss.
When they broke apart, he lowered his hands to her hips and lead her backward to the table. “Sit and let me wow you with my world-famous pancakes.”
She dropped to the nearest chair and watched from the side, as his back rippled and his arms flexed beneath his skin-tight T-shirt. He looked as good as ever, and she wanted to skip food in favor of more pleasurable things. Maybe she should. She didn’t know if she had two hours or a day in this version of reality, and she’d hate to waste any of it.
But she’d missed this domesticity as much as anything. Being with past-Mike had been amazing, but she hadn’t shared a life with him. This was her man. Her destiny.
And he wasn’t hers anymore. Not really.
Bella wanted to weep.
“I almost forgot.” Mike grinned at her and fished a white envelope out of his jeans’ back pocket. “You have fan-mail. The proper, pen-on-paper kind. Hope the sender is not a stalker.” He held it out, waited for Bella to snatch it, and then flipped two pancakes into a large plate.
That was weird. Fan-mail went to the studio—weirder still that she knew that, because last she checked, her career had ended before it began. Her home address was printed on the back of the envelope, but the sender had identified themselves only by A Fan.
She ripped it open, retrieved the single piece of paper it held inside, and unfolded it with trembling hands.
I am infinitely sorry for the pain I have caused you and your Michael. It was all in the name of love, although I am ashamed to admit my years may have jaded my perspective. Please accept my apologies in the form of the life you were always meant to have.
~X
She read the words two more times, before their meaning sank in. This was her happily ever after.
“Is it terrible?” Mike placed a stack of pancakes in front of her. They were drizzled in maple syrup and topped with a dollop of butter. Three sizable slices of bacon completed the mouthwatering dish.
This was her new reality. Her only reality, now on. “Huh?” she asked.
“The letter. Is it terrible?”
“No.” She tangled her fingers through his and returned his smile. She had her home, her man, and a breakfast that defied her perma-diet. “Everything is perfect.”
Finally.
The End
If you want to see more of Xochipilli’s meddling, don’t miss Magic at Work.
For another glimpse at Cassandra, read Furry Christmas.
For Derek and Amanda’s love story, check out The Tenant.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Sotia’s making do with Greek reality, while writing and mostly thinking in English.
She loves romances with a twist and urban fantasy novels, always with vivid erotic elements. Her favorite characters to write are not conventional hero-material at first glance, and she enjoys making them fight for their happiness.
Sotia shares her life and living quarters with her husband, their son, and two rescue dogs, one of which may be part-pony. Sappy movies make her bawl like a baby, and she wishes she could take in all the stray dogs in the world.
Also, she hates mornings!
Catch up with Sotia on her blog, her Facebook page, or Twitter. Find out more about her and her books on her website.
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