Charmed at First Sight

by Sharla Lovelace

  Exploding from my vacuum seal was great, but the adventure was ending. My fantasy was easy while adulting was put on hold and no words were exchanged, but shit was about to get real.

  Another sign loomed before the turn, advertising a theme park called the Lucky Charm. I’d heard about it and the Honey Festival, but Jeremy never wanted to check them out, thinking it silly to drive an hour to buy bad food and ride a ride. Well, I’d done it now. Go me.

  Rolling through Charmed, I was suddenly very aware of my attire. I felt every eye on us. Granted, I probably wouldn’t have to be wearing a giant wedding dress for that. If Charmed was anything like Cherrydale, we’d get that same stare just for being out-of-towners.

  Still, as we pulled to a stop in front of an old diner with a funky retro sign that said Blue Banana Grille, all I could think about was getting this thing off. This place looked like white bread, bologna, and apple pie, like crazy didn’t land here much, and I had crazy radiating off me. I could feel it. I needed normal, and I had a feeling that anything resembling it was back there with my cell phone and keys. And—

  “Oh, shit,” I said, waiting while he grounded us.

  “What?” he asked, his voice sounding preoccupied.

  He pulled off his helmet, raking a hand back through short dark hair, while those dark eyes I’d seen earlier focused in hard on the diner door. I had the feeling the novelty of me had played out, and my new friend was ready to move on with his day.

  “Nothing,” I said, pulling my helmet off as well and hooking it back behind me, the reality of my situation rushing in on me from every direction.

  I took a deep breath, smiling at a lady riding by on a giant tricycle, who waved and didn’t miss a beat. Then again, maybe I could blend.

  He held a hand out, supposedly for me, and when I paused, he blew out a breath.

  “Well, I don’t want to kick you in the face, so you need to get off first,” he said, shoving the hand toward me again.

  I gave the back of his head a look, resisting the urge to thump it. It was a good head, as heads go, but the part running his mouth was kind of a douche. Although what did I expect from my Harley-riding savior? For him to hold me while I had a good cry? Hell no. I’d pluck my head bald first.

  “You should write Hallmark cards,” I muttered.

  Huffing a little, I tugged my dress up to almost my waist—at least high enough to catch sight of the blue glittery garter ribbon on my left thigh. So did he, I noticed, as the good head tilted downward. I grabbed his hand, expecting it to be for balance, but found myself nearly vaulted off the seat within a microsecond. I even forgot to let go of my dress, standing there with my girlie goods just about on display.

  “You good?” he asked, letting go of me, swinging his leg over.

  “S—sure,” I managed, getting my balance and my first real look at him.

  From the worn jeans to the black T-shirt to the really good arms rippling as he tucked his helmet under his arm. A little scruff peppered the hard lines of his face and balanced the sexiest full lips I’d ever seen on a man. Not to mention those soft, dark, haunted-looking eyes I’d already seen. Dear God, if I had to completely muck up my life today, at least it ended in this visual. This guy was jaw-dropping.

  His gaze was dropping, too, sliding right down my bare legs.

  “You might want to let go of that,” he said, with a jut of his chin.

  I dropped the fabric like it burned my fingers, cursing under my breath. Shit, get it together, Micah.

  “Okay, so thank you,” I said, pressing my hands to my hot cheeks. “I’d pay you, but—”

  “Pay me?”

  I pointed at the bike. “For the ride? For the gas?”

  “I was coming here already,” he said. “You looked like you needed help. At least in those shoes.”

  I nodded as I glanced down at the spikes attached to my feet. “Something like that. But I don’t have my wallet anyway, so…”

  “Didn’t think that through very well, did you?” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Thanks for clarifying that.”

  “Do you have a plan?” he asked.

  “Didn’t you just establish that I didn’t?” I said, rubbing my temples and wishing for an entire bottle of extra-strength something to dive into.

  He blew out a breath and focused back on the door again, as if his attempt at polite small talk with the crazy lady had just run its course.

  “I mean going forward,” he said. “Obviously, you probably didn’t start this day thinking this is where you’d end up, but I felt your mind spinning the whole way here. Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  I chuckled in spite of the barbs jabbing behind my skull. “That was survival prep you felt.”

  One eyebrow lifted in response. “Survival prep?”

  “In case you were planning to chop me up and turn me into fertilizer, I had some defense going,” I said.

  Which wasn’t total bullshit. I had thought of that for probably two minutes, before turning to the What the hell do I do now? channel.

  The dark eyes narrowed with amusement, and it warmed his whole face. Like—serious Push me backward and hold on to my ovaries kind of warmth.

  “Oh?” he said, taking a step closer.

  No. I refused to take a step back. He was either being intimidating or flirty and I had no room in my brain for either. I couldn’t help that I looked like an idiot doing what I’d done today. It happened. I didn’t need this guy to scare me into some sort of lesson about stranger danger. No matter how hot he was. Because if he was just being flirty—well, my body might react to that because he was clearly carved from electricity and testosterone, but my heart said I’d just left one mostly-decent-basically-sort-of-nice guy at an altar, and my head said I didn’t need any more alpha males. Period. I tugged at my dress to cover my boobs better, but it wasn’t budging, so I crossed my arms. Which only drew his gaze to exactly there.

  “And what was this defense plan of yours?”

  His voice slid over my skin like butter. My body needed its ass kicked.

  “I—I’d tell you but—”

  He held up a hand. “Yeah, I know how that one goes, but just so you know—”

  He glanced past me as the door opened and an elderly man walked out, carrying with him the sounds of clinking silverware and chatter before the door closed behind him. Harley-guy’s expression disappeared on me again, all caught up in that building.

  “Hey, don’t let me keep you,” I said. “If you have to get to work or something—”

  His gaze snapped back to me. “What?”

  I widened mine. “You said you were coming here for work? And you can’t get enough of the view of this diner, so—if you need to go in there, go ahead. I’ll—figure out what I’m doing in a minute.”

  “Don’t you want to go clean up?” he said.

  Awesome.

  Just kick me in the face, already.

  I smiled and averted my focus down the street. To—more of the same. Another little town pretty much like mine, where everyone knows everyone and nothing is private or personal. I swiped under my eyes, mentally groaning at the black on my fingers.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “And call someone?” he added.

  I slid my raccoon eyes up to meet his. “No phone.”

  He sighed, rubbing at his neck. “Of course not,” he muttered.

  “I’m not asking to use yours,” I said.

  “And I’m not offering it,” he quipped. “Again—I have my own shit to deal with, lady. I don’t need a pissed-off, jilted lover tracking me down making me have to hurt somebody.”

  I shook my head. Men.

  “Let’s just do this,” I said, turning toward the door and then pivoting back. I held out a hand. “Thank you again if I don’t see you when
I come out of the bathroom.”

  Harley-guy looked down at my hand and took it in his. It was warm and protective and gave me all the good feelings I needed to run from.

  “You gonna be okay?”

  I took a deep breath and licked my dry lips. My ex-therapist would be proud. He’d always told me I played things too safe lately. I fired him last month, and now look at me. All fucking dangerous.

  “I’ll land on my feet.”

  “Do you have a name I can put with this story one day?” he asked, letting go of my hand to cross his arms over his chest. “Or do I just call you Miss Runaway?”

  “Roman—” I began, automatically going into business mode, too late thinking I needed to not tell anyone I was Micah Roman. As in the Romans who owned and operated Cherrydale Flower Farm.

  Then again, we weren’t in Cherrydale anymore, Toto.

  “—off,” I added.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “Roman-off? As in Romanov?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it, going with a nod.

  “First name Anastasia, I assume?” he asked.

  Cute.

  No, not cute. Nothing was cute.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Well, Anastasia,” he said. “In case I don’t see you again, the next time you’re plotting a defense, here’s a tip. Start with what’s on you.”

  “On me,” I echoed.

  “You have heels on those shoes that can put an eye out, and five hundred pins holding up your hair. With enough force, any one of those pins can puncture an eardrum and bring a man to his knees.”

  “Wow,” I said as my eyebrows probably moved up there with the bobby pins. The skin on the back of my neck prickled with recognition. Arrogance or confidence? My spidey sense twitched. “That’s—a lot of observation.”

  He didn’t blink. “That boulder on your finger?”

  I glanced down at Jeremy’s ring. Funny how I always thought of it that way. Jeremy’s ring. Never mine.

  “That thing could open a jugular,” he said softly toward my ear, brushing against me as he headed toward the door.

  “Okay,” I said, turning with him, almost magnetically. As if being plastered to him for the last hour had bonded us and now there was this arc of electricity pulling at me. Ugh. Spray me down with something. “And you, Mr. Scowling-Harley-guy? Do you have a name?”

  “Leo,” he said as he kept walking. “Leo McKane.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The aromas wafted into my face like a blanket of happy as Leo opened the door for me. Meat, spicy, sweet, and salty all hit me at the same time, and the instant comfort of something frying in grease sent my mouth watering. Southern comfort food. I had never been one to claim the healing powers of it, but in that one moment I wanted it all.

  It had to be noon or so, and my anxious stomach knew it. I would have been chowing on the grand spread my almost-mother-in-law arranged by now. Married. Micah Blankenship.

  The relief that rushed over me was tangible, warming and chilling my skin at the same time. That had to say something, right? Surely that meant I’d made the right decision—even if my method was questionable.

  “Micah Blankenship would be eating right now, though,” I muttered as I eyed a plate of pepper-crusted pork loins and homemade mashed potatoes being devoured at a nearby table.

  “What?” Leo said, startling me.

  “Nothing,” I said, moving to rake my hair back, then remembering it was manhandled into place by what were evidently lethal weapons.

  A blonde waitress with an intimidatingly full tray of orders looked at us questioningly. Not the way the rest of the room was looking at us, like we might be aliens, but like we might just add to her workload.

  “Table?” she asked in passing.

  “Bar is fine,” Leo said. “Is Nick McKane working today?”

  “Bathroom?” I asked.

  “Grab a stool,” she tossed over her shoulder. “He’s in charge today but we were slammed and he’s helping Dave. And back corner to your right.”

  I laid a hand on Leo’s arm as I moved around him, withdrawing it immediately as I felt his warmth and our eyes met. Why did I touch him like that? Familiar. Intimate. Like a lover. Or, at the very least, an extremely good friend. The question was all over his face as much as it bounced around my brain. Why? Hell, I was in no place to form logical thoughts. Maybe because it felt like we’d just gone through war together. But then no, that was really just me, because all he did was drive to where he was already headed anyway. I’m the one who jumped ship and turned my life upside down.

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  There was amusement in his eyes.

  “Want something to eat?” he asked under his breath.

  God, yes. Like a giant pig with a side of cow.

  “I’m okay,” I said, my stomach growling loudly right as I said it. I slapped a hand over my belly. “Go do what you have to do. I’ll get a salad or something maybe after I—figure out what I’m doing.”

  Which I needed to do pretty damn quickly, I thought, as I weaved my way among the tables of smiling, curious diners. The longer I stayed there, dressed like a cake topper, the more that tongues would wag. The more that happened, the higher the likelihood that someone would find out who I was and rumors would get out. We did business here in Charmed, and Thatcher would have a shit fit if any of the local florists pulled their orders—especially wedding orders—just because one of the owners flaked out making a public scene on her own wedding day.

  He would also not be happy if he heard it all secondhand. I needed to find a phone—

  I pushed open the bathroom door sporting a sign with a stick figure in a skirt, and stopped short as the door shut behind me. The sight of myself in the mirror was too much.

  Hair was all over the place. Not just sticking out from the pins, but falling down my neck, arcing straight up from my scalp, sticking to my forehead, and frizzing in very unflattering turd curls from each ear. That wasn’t even the worst part.

  “Sweet Jesus,” I muttered.

  My face looked like I had indeed been in the war I mentioned earlier. In it, lost it, came back for more punishment. The thick black eyeliner and mascara that the makeup artist had applied so perfectly for my portrait had bled way south. Heavy smoky eye shadow had gunked up to the north, and it appeared that my sexy, tiny, little drawn-in Marilyn mole I’d added to amuse myself had morphed into a fully grown beetle on my face.

  No wonder Leo had suggested I clean up.

  I began attacking my face with soap and water as the door opened.

  Great.

  “Oooh, I love your dre—” the lady began, stopping as we met eyes in the mirror. “Oh, honey. You okay?”

  Something resembling a choked laugh came out of my throat. I shook my head.

  “I’m better than I look.”

  “Things not go as planned?” she asked, landing next to me at the counter to dive into her purse.

  “Not even close,” I said, scrubbing under my left eye, just smearing the greasy makeup further. “Kind of not at all.”

  “Oh, wow,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, it was me,” I said, wondering who was remoting my mouth and why I was dumping my guts out to this woman. She did have an adorably kind face and her chunky-funky polka-dot heels endeared her to my heart. “I—well, let’s just say my fiancé’s mother probably wants my head on a platter right now.”

  “Here,” she said, handing me a travel pack of wet wipes. “Works great on makeup.”

  I sighed as I pulled one out. “Bless you.”

  She leaned a hip against the counter. “So I’m guessing tall, dark, and moody who you walked in with isn’t the groom?” I caught her eye and she shrugged. “Okay, so I didn’t just stumble upon you in here. You looked like a hot mess who maybe
needed a hand.”

  “No,” I said, removing the beetle from my cheek. “I caught a ride here with him from Cherryd—”

  What the hell, Micah? Shut up!

  “Cherrydale?” the woman asked, her voice lilting up with her curiosity. She pulled in a little gasp. “Not the Blankenship wedding? You know, the Trade Days family?”

  I closed my eyes and counted in my head. Of course it was just the Blankenship wedding. It wasn’t the Blankenship-Roman wedding. Or Micah Roman’s wedding. I got to eight and opened my eyes.

  “I’m familiar with them,” I said, the acid leaking into my tone.

  “I didn’t mean—” she began, touching my shoulder. “Oh, fuck balls. My mouth, I swear. I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business.”

  I had to chuckle at her language, which didn’t match the sundress and bouncy hair.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I get it. Probably not every day a runaway bride from a prominent family event shows up in your town with nothing but what’s on her.” I tossed the wet wipe and pulled out another one to take care of anything I missed, while blowing out a steadying breath. “So I assume you know them?”

  She shook her head. “No, not personally, but my best friend, Carmen, is Mr. Blankenship’s lawyer, and my friend Bash does business with the bri—” She stopped short. “With your family.”

  I rested my hands on the counter, letting my head hang.

  “Bash Anderson?” I said, my eyes closing.

  “The very same,” she said. “And I just—know they were going to the—to your—” She sighed, sounding as frustrated as I felt. “Damn, I’m sorry.”

  Well, that settled the question of business contacts finding out. I felt the crush of a thousand soaking-wet blankets wrapping around me. That’s what I got for letting Deidre Blankenship run the whole damn show and not at least finding out who was invited.

  “Don’t be,” I said, handing back her travel pack with as much of a smile as I could muster. “You’ve been so nice.” I put my hand over my eyes for a moment. “God, what was I thinking?” I said under my breath, thankful for her help but wishing she would leave me alone now to self implode all over the bathroom.