Not quite a minute passed before she faced me with a smile, though her cheeks were pale and her recollections of the past misted over her features like a fine fog. “I’m glad you’re here, Julia.” Circling the sofa, she patted my shoulder. “Do you drink tea?”
“I do, but I’m fine. I can wait if you’d like to get some for yourself, though.”
“No, no. If you’re all set, we can get right to business.” The eye twinkle returned. Maybe not quite as brilliant as before, but I was happy to see it. “Did you bring the paperwork?”
“Yes.” I handed her the envelope and continued to swallow my questions. My curiosity was unabated. My concern for my sanity, too. But for now I’d let Verda take control of the conversation so she could regain her momentum.
“Perfect!” She accepted the package and perched herself on one of the chairs. Her movements were quick and birdlike; I doubted she ever sat still for very long. So unlike me. I could curl up like a slug for days, if time allowed. Which it never did. So maybe not so unlike me, after all. “I only need a few minutes to look these over.”
Scot, I was sure, had already spoken with Verda. Likely she knew full well that I’d agreed to date her grandson. So her perusal of my responses probably had more to do with proving to herself that Scot and I were, in her words, soul mates. That was fine by me. Scot and I weren’t compatible, and I had no true need for Verda to hook me up with anyone else.
In three seconds flat, she had the bundle of papers out of the envelope and in her grip. Nimble fingers flipped through them page by page, her eyes moving as she read to herself. I totally expected her to engage me in conversation, to ask for clarification here or to express her opinion there, but she didn’t.
Every now and then, Verda would mutter an ah, or an ooh. Her mouth curved into a tiny smile one second, a frown the next, and back to a grin a second later. I wondered why. What did she see that made her happy or unhappy? I gnawed on my bottom lip. I crossed my legs, counted to ten, then to twenty, then to thirty, and uncrossed them.
She murmured something incomprehensible, and that pushed my impatience and my curiosity to another extreme. It seemed Scot wasn’t the only person I couldn’t read. That, along with her continued appraisal of the inner workings of my mind, created a sense of uncomfortable limbo. I suddenly had a greater respect for every client who had the guts to enter my business and put their trust in me to find them an appropriate partner.
I started to interrupt her but stopped. I wiggled and jiggled in my seat, feeling very much like a child at the dinner table impatiently waiting for the adults to finish so I could be set free.
Countless minutes later, she finished reading the last page—the one I’d marked with a question mark—and set the papers on her lap. “How did you find the questions, dear? Were they easy for you to answer, or did you struggle with any of them?”
“Um . . . they were fine.” At Verda’s pointed and quizzical glance, I amended my statement. “Okay, I found some of the questions a little unusual. And I didn’t understand the whole fruit thing at all. And the journal—”
“We’ll get to the journal later.” I recognized the edge in her voice. It was my mother’s don’t-argue-with-me tone. My mother had trained me well, so I didn’t even consider arguing. “I noticed that your last three relationships were an orange, a pear, and a kiwi. That’s a little curious, you know.”
“Maybe for men,” I deadpanned. “But it would make a tasty fruit salad.”
A delighted laugh bubbled out. “Yes,” she said. “You’ll fit in quite well.”
Geez, this woman confused me. “Fit in well where? How? With whom?”
“Let’s stay focused for now, shall we?” Verda nodded at the papers she still held. “Normally, I don’t see variances this large in my clients’ past relationships. Maybe two apples and an orange. Or even two kiwis and a lemon, because most of us have at least one lemon in our past. But I don’t often see a kiwi, an orange, and a pear.”
“And that means what?” I asked.
Verda let out a small sigh. “If I weren’t so sure about you and Scot, we’d have a lot more work on our hands before I’d feel confident in setting you up with someone else.”
I fought very hard not to scowl. “If you’re so sure about Scot, then why did I fill all of that out? Why tell me you want to fix me up with someone else?”
“I had to. Otherwise, why would you have returned? But, dear, you have a lot of . . . barriers holding you back from understanding what you really need in a man. Preconceived notions are getting in your way.” She paused, as if weighing her words. “You’re quite an interesting woman. Even more so than I’d imagined.”
My curiosity fired up, overriding my frustration. “You got this from fruit? And ‘interesting’ how?” Because heaven knew I’d used that term as a blanket expression for many, many different definitions. Most of them not very nice.
“Oh, not only your past relationships, but from every answer you put down. Even the question mark is telling.”
I knew the question mark had been a bad idea. “In what way?”
She gave me a you-asked-for-it look. “You’ve lived a sheltered life. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just the way it was for you. Your parents are probably set in their ways and traditions. In all likelihood, they’ve passed that tendency on to you. I doubt you’ve ever acted in a frivolous manner. Or if you have, you likely regretted doing so. Every step you take is with considerable thought and great caution. You are methodical, slow to adapt to change, and prefer to call the shots.” Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “How am I doing?”
I was so surprised I couldn’t even nod. She had just done to me what I did to other people: figured me out. As her words replayed in my mind, I was numb with disbelief. I squeezed my hands together so tightly, my knuckles turned white.
Verda noticed my reaction. “You’ve also purposely kept romance and love out of your life. You’re afraid, aren’t you, Julia? That’s no way to live, young lady! Emotions and connections to other people are what make us who we are. But emotions are the one thing you cannot control, so you steer away from them at every turn.”
How in the hell did she get that from that stack of papers? Maybe Kara and Leslie were right in the first place. Maybe Verda was a witch? “I’m actually kind of okay with my life,” I admitted. “I have friends. And not everyone needs the same things to be happy.”
“But Julia,” she said in a soft, whispery voice. “You can’t barricade yourself away from love. Something brought you here to me. And whether you’re ready to believe or not, you are my grandson’s soul mate.”
“I know you think this, but it’s impossible. Scot doesn’t even like me.” Ack. I was supposed to be excited about Scot, not argumentative. But I couldn’t help it. I was right about this, not her. Besides, I’d visited Magical Matchups because of business, not love. “We’re not a match. With everything else you’ve determined, you surely have seen that too. Haven’t you?”
“You two are perfect for each other.” Verda spoke with complete conviction. “You might need a little push to see it for yourself, but I have no doubts on this front.”
“I don’t need a push! I don’t even believe in the possibility of soul mates.” I instructed myself to calm down. “It’s cool that you do. But—”
“You don’t have to.” Verda aimed her gaze toward the clock and then back to me. “They exist, whether you believe so or not. And yours is my grandson.”
“Please quit saying that. Please.” My voice cracked. I was drowning. Fast. So I searched for a life preserver—something to pull me to the surface. And then it came to me. Or rather, Leslie came to mind. “Scot and Leslie are a much better match than he and I are. Why . . . I was talking to Leslie this morning and—”
Verda hushed me. “You’re getting all worked up, dear. Take a deep breath and calm yourself. And if you really feel so strongly about Leslie, why would you allow Scot to court you?”
> “I am perfectly calm,” I grumbled. “Yes, I’m allowing Scot to court . . . date . . .” I stopped, gathered my thoughts, and started again. “We are going to go on a date, yes. But only to humor—I mean, to see if you . . . um . . . might be right. While Leslie—”
“Leslie is a lovely girl, but she isn’t right for my grandson.” Verda’s nose twitched. You know, like Samantha from Bewitched. Given what my friends had said, I almost wondered if she’d cast a spell. “You are. And I have faith that everything will work out exactly as it is supposed to.”
She reached over and patted my knee to comfort me, but that so wasn’t happening. “Give it a chance. Open your heart to the possibility.”
Comprehension that I wouldn’t change Verda’s mind stopped me from pushing the argument further. She was as set in her decision as I was in mine. Besides, as far as verbal battles go, Verda was a formidable foe. Hell, I kind of thought she would be able to take my mother down in a match of wills.
Hm. I actually enjoyed that image. I might have to introduce them.
Okay, then. I’d move on to another subject. The one that would either send me screaming or to the loony bin. Or potentially both. “What about the journal?”
“What about it?”
She wasn’t going to make this easy. “Have other clients asked you about their journals?”
Verda gave her head a quick shake. “There is only one journal for one client. You! I had it ready and waiting for the day you showed.”
“So . . . Leslie and Kara don’t have one?”
“They do not. And it’s best if you keep this to yourself.” Verda’s smile vanished. “Promise me you won’t say a word about the journal to either of them.”
“Sure. I promise,” I said instantly. Hey, the fewer people who knew about my out-there episode, the better. “Now, will you tell me what’s going on with it? And please don’t say we’ll get to it later. Something happened, and I need to understand what.”
Verda grabbed my hands with both of hers and squeezed. “Have you written in it yet?”
“No.” And I didn’t plan on doing so. Ever. I wasn’t sure if I’d even be able to touch it again. “But this bizarre thing happened . . .” I stopped. Tried to work out the best, noncrazy way to explain. Unfortunately, my mind blanked out, so I went with “There was this—let’s call it a buzz of electricity—and the letters in your message glowed. And roses. My building doesn’t have a rose-scented furnace filter, so . . .” I shook my head, annoyed with my disjointed explanation. “Look, I sound like a loon. This is ridiculous. But something weird occurred, and you need to tell me what it was.”
“Magic, Julia,” Verda said, as if that explained everything. “You experienced magic.”
Yep. There was a straitjacket at the mental hospital with my name on it. “Let me try this again. I would so appreciate if you would tell me what happened in a rational, plausible, believable, and entirely practical way. Okay? Please?”
“Julia! Stop trying to make sense of every last thing. Not every detail in life can be boiled down to the rational. Expand your mind, dear. What do you want more than anything else in the entire world?” Verda asked in a mesmerizing voice. “Any wish in the world, if you were sure it would come true. What would that wish be?”
Nothing came to me. Not. One. Thing. How sad was that? “World peace!” I said, pleased something had finally popped into my head. “Or . . . um . . . a cure for cancer. Both?”
“Very admirable wishes, but what about something personal. Something selfish, even? Something for you?”
“Um . . .” The totally selfish wish would have to be Introductions. But I couldn’t say that, and before I’d thought up a different response, a loud series of pounding knocks came from the front door. Another appointment?
Verda dashed to her feet so quickly, she nearly pulled me with her. “Oh! Look at the time. My ride is here.” She winked, her blue eyes alight with mischief. “And your date for the evening. We need to go.”
All thoughts of wishes and magic evaporated. “My what? Verda, wait! What are you talking about?” My God, this woman was tricky. “What date?”
“You and Scot both agreed to give this coupling a chance. Correct?” Verda tugged her coat on. At my hesitant nod, she said, “Then yes, you’re going to join us. We’re having dinner at Alice’s tonight.”
I quickly added two and two. Alice was Verda’s artist granddaughter, one of Scot’s sisters. “A family dinner? Does Scot know about this?” If he did, I was so going to kill him for not giving me fair warning.
“Of course not. I wasn’t up for arguments from either of you. But you’re here. He’s here. And we have dinner in thirty minutes.” She huffed out an exasperated breath and situated her hands on her hips. “Are you going to argue with me, Julia?”
Oh, good God. I hadn’t learned a damn thing about the freaky journal. I’d barely mentioned Leslie. I understood pretty much nothing about Verda’s process. Basically, as far as this meeting went, the score was Verda 3, Me 0. So you’d think continuing the evening would be an okay idea. So I could gather more information and plant the appropriate seeds. But in reality, not so much. A family gathering for my first pretend date with Scot did not, in any circumstance, sound like a plan worth considering.
“I don’t know—”
Grasping my arm, she pulled me out of her office. “Everyone will love you. And you might as well meet the family now, so you know what you’re getting into.”
I let her drag me along. For such a frail-appearing woman, she was strong. “Look, if Scot wants me to go, then I’m game.” Maybe I was cheating, but I didn’t care. Scot wasn’t going to agree. Heck, the last thing he wanted, based on his earlier comments, was for me to meet his sisters. “We’ll leave it up to him.”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Verda said with far more enthusiasm than made sense. At the door, she twisted the lock and opened up. “Look who’s here, Scot! Our appointment ran over, so Julia is going to join us for dinner at Alice’s. Just think. Years from now when you have children, you can tell them how your first date was surrounded by family. It will make such a lovely story.”
Scot stepped in. He wrapped his arm around Verda’s shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. His eyes met mine. I sent a zillion poison mental daggers at him, shook my head no, mouthed the word no, and silently begged him to say something—anything—that would get me out of spending the evening with his family.
“That would make a lovely story, Grandma,” Scot concurred. “And I think Julia coming to dinner with us is a fantastic plan. Why, I can’t wait for everyone to meet her.” Leaning over, he kissed Verda on the top of her head. “She’ll make quite an impression, I’m sure.”
His implication came through loud and clear to me. The rat was so sure of his lousy opinion, he assumed that everyone else would see the same person he did. “Ass hat,” I hissed.
A wicked grin spread across his face, while at the same time Verda glanced up. “What was that, Julia? Did you say ‘ass hat’?”
“No! Why would I say that? That’s rude.” I glared at Scot, who continued to grin.
“I don’t know, Grandma. I heard ‘ass hat,’ too.” Scot reached over and chucked my chin. As if I were a child. “What did you say, Julia?”
Crap! What rhymed with ass hat? Brass cat, grass bat, gas splat . . . “Class act! I was saying what a class act your grandson is.”
Verda patted my arm. “You’re a class act yourself, Julia.”
“Yes, well. It takes one to know one, doesn’t it?” Scot uttered the faux compliment in an even enough tone, but I heard the undercurrent of challenge lurking beneath every freaking syllable.
Hell. Any old excuse would’ve done. He could’ve said that he wanted our first date to be just us, and romantic. Or he’d rather get to know me better before introducing me to the rest of the family. Instead, this. He thought I was going to bomb out with his family. Well, ha. I’d create an impression, all right. One that Scot R
aymond would never, ever forget for as long as he lived. Nor would the members of his family. Because, yep, they were going to adore me. And when Scot and I didn’t work out, they’d bug him forever about the girl he let get away.
I channeled Mary Tyler Moore and spoke in the brightest, happy-go-luckiest, world-is-my-oyster way I could dredge up. “Aren’t you the sweetest man alive? What are we waiting for? I’m starving.”
Scot, sensing a change in the air, raised his eyebrow in question. I stood up on my tiptoes and gave him a light smooch on his cheek. Just to make Verda happy, of course. And if my blood heated up a tiny amount—minuscule, really—when my lips grazed against Scot’s rough-shaven skin, well . . . that didn’t mean a damn thing. Really.
Verda had insisted that I leave my car at Magical Matchups and drive with her and Scot to her granddaughter’s home in his SUV. While I’d have preferred my own ride, I decided to go with the flow. Especially because Scot had hinted all over the place that I might want to leave before he did, so I should take my car. At this point, I was operating under the “If it bothers Scot, that’s what I’m doing” mentality. Wrong, perhaps, but also hugely satisfying.
Verda commanded me to sit in the front seat with her grandson. Scot wanted me to sit in the back. I chose the front, which earned me a scowl from Scot but a huge smile of approval from Verda. Then I proceeded to chat throughout the ride, asking Scot one question after another. He embodied the strong but silent type well, as most of what I got out of him were short, clipped responses. I loved every one, though, because they proved I was getting to him.
Hey, I was only doing what he’d asked: making his grandmother happy. He had zero reason to complain. Who knew pushing some guy’s buttons could be so freaking fun? Verda piped in every now and then but mostly stayed quiet. I kind of thought she was sitting back and enjoying the show.
By the time we turned into the driveway of Alice’s bungalow-style house, Scot’s shoulders were tense and he kept tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. Verda was out the door the second the ignition turned off. She stuck her head into the backseat long enough to say, “You two should take a minute to be alone before coming in. Everyone will understand.”
By Magic Alone Page 11
