Sweeter Than Candy

by Shyla Colt

  “You think so?” A lump grows in my chest.

  “I know so, for a lot more than your love of horror movies.”

  “Thanks, brother,” I say softly. Our parents are still a tender subject. When you suffer that kind of loss, the wound never fully heals. We let the music fill the car and provide a soundtrack for our trip. Neither of us feels the uncanny need to fill silences like Rebecca or Kane. Whipping into a spot in the parking lot, I kill the engine. I adjust my maroon-colored suspenders over the gray button up and straighten my matching bowtie before I climb out of the car. I grew my hair out to mimic the iconic fringe heavy haircut the 11th Doctor, played by British actor Matt Smith, is known for. Doctor Who was a family tradition growing up, so we were thrilled when the series received a modern reboot that caught on in America.

  Micah is dressed casually in jeans and a Stranger Things T-shirt. We opted to bypass the crowds and splurged on VIP passes. Work hard, play hard, is a familiar motto among the Davenports. We learned early on that burnout is very real, ugly, and hard to fully recover from. We enter the Sharonville Convention Center, and suddenly, I’m surrounded by pop culture. I drink in the sight of people impersonating their favorite characters. I love Cosplay. All that matters is your admiration for a show, character, or movie. It puts everyone on equal footing.

  Who you are in “real life” is irrelevant. Perhaps that’s why I enjoy it so much. The responsibilities involved with running our company are vast and overwhelming on an easy day. Downtime is the breath of fresh air that keeps me from suffocating. When I was younger, the company took over my life completely. Determined to prove myself, I worked my fingers to the bone. No wasn’t in my vocabulary. Isolated from family and friends, I became a zombie. The hours, lack of sleep, and constant travel sucked my soul out. Landing in the hospital with exhaustion forced me to slow down and introduced me to my biggest life lesson to date.

  I steer away from the memories. Today is about fun.

  “What’s first on our docket?” Micah asks once we’ve checked in and received our VIP lanyards.

  “Q&A panel for movie effects.”

  We travel down the spiral staircase to the hallway that houses different rooms. The signs posted outside each door list the time and title of the class. This year, they’ve managed to get contestants from Face Off on the SyFy channel. The binge-worthy make-up contest, which pits artists against each other in unique challenges, has kept me company on many evenings working on the road. Art in all its forms fascinates me. It’s such a personal expression of emotions and concepts.

  The transformations possible with prosthetics, hair, and facial makeup is astounding. I think mainly with my left brain. Communicating efficiently, balancing numbers, and making deals can be done in my sleep. Creating things, expressing myself through an outlet is almost laughable. Luka and Kane were the only Davenports who took after our mother, the landscape artist. She oozed creativity and encouraged us to pursue our passions.

  As the buzz dies down, the presentation begins, and I lose myself in learning.

  “Hey. It’s your wife.” Micah points across the room. I follow his gesture to the curly-haired wig accompanied by a green dress and tan tights. “River Song” turns and I try my best not to gap like a fish out of water.

  “Wait. Is that Clara?” Micah asks. Her eyes widen. “It is.” Micah laughs and waves. Clara waves back. Her friend, clearly dressed as a singing telegram carrying Amy Pond in her police woman vest with shorts and a matching hat, leads her over to us.

  “Hello, sweetie,” Clara purrs, striking a pose as she wiggles her fingers. The wide grin on her red lips is contagious.

  “We meet again,” I say.

  “It’s kind of our thing, darling. Do try to keep up.”

  “You’re a hard woman to keep the pace with, Ms. Son.”

  “Funny, I feel the same way about my husband.”

  “I take it you know one another,” her friend says, breaking the spell cast upon us.

  “Yes, he’s the brother of one of my clients. They both are actually. Asher, Micah, this is my friend, Trisha.”

  “It’s always nice to meet a fellow Whovian,” I say as we shake hands. The slender, auburn-haired girl with freckles is a shoe-in for Amy Pond. I like the curvy, brown-skinned version of River Clara is portraying more than I’d like to admit.

  “I didn’t realize you liked horror,” I say.

  “To be fair, there’s plenty you don’t know about me.” Clara smirks.

  “True. That can be easily fixed. Name three of your top horror movies.”

  “Oh, jeez. No pressure.” She frowns. “Off the top of my head. A Nightmare on Elm Street. Night of the Creeps and They Live. They’re all different types of horror films, so I feel well represented. How about you?”

  “Aliens. The Conjuring, and Poltergeist.”

  “I approve, Doctor.”

  I wipe my brow. “That’s a relief.”

  She rolls her eyes. The smile on her lips betrays her amusement.

  “Shall we continue together, then?” Micah interrupts our banter.

  The girls exchange a look and Clara nods.

  “Where are you headed next?” Trisha asks.

  “The vendors. We just spent the last hour in a class, so stretching our legs sounds good.”

  “What class did you take?” Clara asks.

  “The Paranormal Hunting panel,” Micah answers.

  “Was it any good?” Trisha asks.

  “It was really informative—”

  “Creepy,” I interject.

  Micah rolls his eyes.

  “See. I told you we should’ve gone.” Trisha glares at Clara who laughs.

  “You’re on your own there. I like to be scared. But the paranormal in real life is a subject I have zero interest in having a one-on-one experience with,” Clara answers.

  “You believe?” This multi-faceted woman intrigues me.

  “That there are things out there we A, don’t understand, and B, should probably leave alone? Yes. Don’t you?”

  “I’d like to. Maybe that’s why it fascinates me so much.” I shrug.

  “It’s the attachment factor that scares me. I don’t want to leave a location with anything.” Clara shudders.

  “Have you ever had a paranormal experience?” I study her face.

  “Yes. Have you?”

  “None I felt strongly enough about to consider proof.”

  “You know what they say. Be careful what you wish for. ’Cause you just might get it.” Trisha wags her eyebrows up and down comically.

  “Meet a member of the Cincinnati Paranormal Society.” Clara gestures toward her friend.

  “Seriously? That’s so bad ass,” Micah whispers in awe. “Do you go on ghost hunts?”

  “We do take on cases. I’ve been a member for the past three years, and I’ve seen first-hand what spirits are capable of. Whatever a person may believe, there is another realm we can’t see, and more that comes after we move on from this plane.”

  I swear I see anime hearts form in Micah’s hazel-colored eyes as he gazes at the redhead.

  “We’ve lost him now. He’s going to pester her with a million questions.” Ever since our parents died, Micah has sought out the unexplainable. His deep desire is to know without uncertainty our parents are in a better place. I don’t begrudge him this desire. I’d like the reassurance myself. I’m reminded of the loss I’ve suffered. My heart aches. I can see Holly’s face in my mind. Her tan skin glows with health, not the pale waif struggling to breathe as she lost her battle with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. I knew the risks. The hereditary disease would only worsen with time. It severely limited her ability to do things, and yet she managed to be so full of life and positivity.

  Her faith carried her through every challenge right until she died. I wanted to believe. I attended church with her, because it made her happy. Hell, I wanted the peace she got. However, I could never reconcile a God who’d let so many good people die yo
ung, while others who squandered their potential lived on. The ‘everything happens for a reason’ line didn’t jive with me.

  I push away the past. I’m here to live in the moment and enjoy myself. Clearing my throat, I refocus on her.

  “It’s okay. She loves to talk ‘shop’.” Clara uses air quotes.

  “She’ll have an avid listener.”

  We slowly peruse the booths as the two walk slightly ahead of us, engaged in conversation.

  “It seems the universe is determined to place us together.” I test the waters.

  “Hmm. You don’t seem too upset about that.”

  “I was serious when I asked you to the movies the last time. It’s obvious we have similar interests.” I shrug. I want to let it go, but I can’t. The nagging feeling inside of me won’t let me rest until I’ve gained friendship and approval. Maybe it’s been too long since I’ve had a decent challenge. Maybe you like her. I bat the foolish notion down. I can’t. I don’t know the woman. And you want to change that.

  “Well now that I know you like horror, I could be persuaded. I’ve wanted to go to see the Hitchcock films being played at the Esquire.”

  The small indie theater features themed movie nights and indie films along with the more recent releases.

  “Wait. They show Hitchcock?” I’ve never head about that.

  “Yup. Last I checked, they were working their way through his most popular movies.”

  “We should figure out the times and set a date,” I suggest.

  “Sounds good to me.” Her easy acceptance relaxes the odd tension that wound up tight inside of me.

  Pleased, I smile. “It’s a date.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “You’d have to work harder for that.”

  “Is that so?” I tilt my head. Grinning, she nods her head. “Then what would you call it?” I ask.

  “A non-date.”

  I grin down at the smirking beauty. Her full lips are tempting. The deep red looks good against her warm brown skin tone. Long lashes cast a shadow against her high cheekbones as she peers down coyly. She’s honest without conceit. It’s a hard balance to strike.

  “Noted.”

  I wonder what it would take to get her to agree to a date.

  “There’s nothing wrong with demanding a respectful request for courtship. I’m old-fashioned that way. The modern dating age with its charts, graphs, and digital aspects has never appealed to me. What about you?”

  Instinctively, I long to shut down. I push past the automatic reflex.

  “It’s been so long, I’m not sure how to answer that.”

  “I’m surprised.”

  “Why?” My steps falter.

  “Because you seem the type who knows your way around women.”

  I frown. “You’re confusing me with my brother, Kane.”

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” She touches my bicep. Electricity zips up my arm. She blinks rapidly. “You’re attractive, well-spoken, and chivalrous in a way most men have long forgotten.”

  “Are those compliments, Ms. Paulson?”

  “Simply keen observations. I’m shocked no one’s scooped you up yet.”

  “Perhaps, I don’t like being treated like ice cream.”

  “Really?” She chuckles.

  “I’ve had little time in recent years to focus on serious dating. The Davenport Business is a demanding beast.”

  “And yet you have time to check out a horror convention?”

  “We all have to balance work with play, don’t we?” I enjoy our exchange. What was once animosity has turned to playful banter.

  “That we do.”

  “Besides, I’m not the only one who works too hard, Ms. Paulson.”

  “It’s true. I’m trying to recover from the habit. Pretty soon I’ll earn my first chip.”

  “Ahhh. Are you a fellow workaholic?”

  “I am. The recovery process is tough, but I’m committed. The group is always open to new members.” Humor turns her eyes into warm brown pools I could drown in. She exudes comfort and goodness. I’ve seen her calm Acton when no one else could, like a baby whisperer. A part of me craves the gentleness. The business world is ruthless. People are insincere, constantly looking for an angle, and money hungry. It’s an abrasive rub, that hardens the heart, and makes one put up walls. Her genuine personality is tempting me into believing I might be ready to date seriously again. Clara Paulson is not the type of woman you start a relationship with unless you’re going after something long-term. She’d be worth it. The thought jars me. Where the hell is all this coming from?

  “River.”

  We turn toward the Whovian dressed up like a Tardis.

  “Hello, sweetie,” she hams it up, and I fall deeper into like. I’m in trouble.

  Chapter Three

  CLARA

  Asher and I had so much fun at the convention that we met up each day afterward. By Sunday, I was captivated and charmed, despite my initial misgivings. When he asked me to join him and his friends the next week for a few rounds with a tabletop game, I agreed. Now I’m a nervous wreck. We’re from two different worlds. Last weekend in costumes, I forgot that. It’s all rushing back to me in real time as I sort through my clothes, struggling to choose the right outfit.

  I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb. I bet all his friends are multi-millionaires, too. What the hell are we going to talk about? I FaceTime Austen.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your non-date right now?” she teases.

  “What was I thinking to agree to this, Austen? I don’t know what to wear, and I highly doubt I’ll have anything in common with this people. I got swept away in my role as River Song at the convention. In the harsh light of day, I’m the one in hot water.”

  “Wow. We’re getting dramatic, aren’t we?”

  “Austen.” I scoff.

  She laughs. “Relax. You guys got along so well.”

  “Of course we did! Everyone’s relaxed and happy at conventions. This is real life.” I wave my hands in the air.

  “It’s a one group gathering, Clar-Bear, not a lifelong commitment.”

  “I can’t even pick an outfit.” I’m disgusted with my panic. It’s not like me.

  “Why not? He likes you. The hardest determination has been made. You two passed the compatibility test with flying colors. I think what’s making you nervous is the attraction …”

  “Don’t go there.” I warn her with a flat tone.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not a date.”

  “No? Then why are you so anxious?”

  I open my mouth and close it. “Your pep talk sucks.”

  “All right, let’s switch tactics. What are you thinking of wearing?”

  Embarrassed, I turn the phone to show her the clothes scattered across my bed.

  Her laughter makes me cringe. “I don’t care what you say. You are so into him.”

  “I don’t even know him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you going to help me or not?”

  “I’m done. I swear. Where are you going?”

  “A board game parlor. Whatever that means.”

  “So casual. Pick out a cute, comfortable outfit, and try not to overthink things. You have no one to impress. I saw the way he looked at you this weekend at the convention. He’s into you. Whether you reciprocate or not. This is your chance to see him in his element and decide if he’s worth your time. Don’t let his looks or bank account make you forget what an amazing catch you are.”

  The anxiety fades. “Thank you for talking me down. I’m rusty at this going out, having fun, and meeting new people thing.”

  “Honey, one of us has to find happily-ever-after.” The defeat in her voice makes me ache. She’s tired. A single mother, with a musician ex who has a serious case of Peter Pan syndrome, henceforth the main reason for their parting of ways, she’s all but given up on finding love.

  “You giving up on our dream?�
� I ask.

  “I’m still recovering from the last dream we chased down.”

  “Soon enough, you won’t be able to hide behind Mother Love.”

  “Yeah, but that time is not now. If you’re well enough to give me crap, my job is done. Do you have an outfit in mind?” I grab my favorite jeans off the bed, pairing them with a Supernatural Singer’s Salvage T-shirt and a black blazer.

  “I do. What do you think?” I turn the phone to face the outfit.

  “Perfect. I he picking you up?”

  “Yeah. I want to watch his face when he sees my place. I think the first day I caught him at his worst. But I want to be sure. Right now is the perfect opportunity to observe him and see who the real Asher Davenport is.”

  “If he’s a jerk, it’s better you find out now.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking, too.” I don’t dare tell her, because she’ll read too much into it, but the thought of him not passing the test disappoints me.

  “Time to get yourself ready. Call me tonight when you get in. You know I live vicariously through you.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, girl. Have fun.”

  Fifteen minutes later I’m fluffing my curls in the mirror when the doorbell chimes. Taking a deep breath, I slowly walk to the front door. I answer and find Asher in a pair of dark denim jeans and a Doctor Who T-shirt, and a pair of white and black high top Converse.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi yourself. You look great.”

  “You too.”

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “Almost. I need to turn out the lights and grab my purse. Please, come in. I’ll be quick.”

  His eyes scan my apartment as he steps through the threshold and shoves his hands into his pocket. He relaxes. It’s incredible how touchable he appears now. The uptight man in a suit is a distant memory after a handful of meetings in casual settings.

  “You have a nice place. It’s exactly what I would’ve imagined for you. Soft colors, homey décor, and personal touches.”

  “Thank you. This is my oasis. When I do spend time here, I want to relax and recharge as much as possible. I downsized from a house when we decided to start up the business. I put a lot of thought into what was important.”