by Cate Lawley
“What you do is amazing. And choosing to pursue a career that you love, against family pressure—” He stopped suddenly. He wasn’t supposed to know about her family. About her absent father that expected perfection on the rare occasions when he was around, and her exacting socialite mother who saw her child’s life as a reflection of the worthiness or worthlessness of her own existence.
“My parents haven’t been particularly supportive. They expected something…different. But it was the right choice for me.” She backed out of the shed.
The fading light shone on her face, highlighting for a moment the freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. In profile, with the light just so, she could have been her twenty-two-year-old self.
He swallowed back a number of emotions he couldn’t even begin to label. “You’re incredibly brave.”
“Not at all.” Her voice rang with conviction. “I just want to be happy.”
It was as if time had taken the girl he knew and firmed up the edges, solidifying what was only nascent before, and then added a healthy dose of confidence. And, perhaps, a small dose of bitterness or anger. The woman before him was no shiny young thing. She’d surely suffered disappointments in her life. Devlin only hoped that losing her memory of him meant that the failure of their relationship hadn’t left deep scars—that he hadn’t been one of the greater disappointments of her life, remembered or not.
Losing her and the intimacy they’d shared had diminished him. Unfortunately, it had also left him vulnerable, and he’d fallen into a new and ill-advised relationship almost immediately. Not only had he and his wife been poorly suited, he’d been in no state to get married. He could only thank heaven that his wonderful little girl hadn’t suffered terribly from the collapse of his marriage.
“Devlin?”
“I’m sorry. Just lost in thought.”
“Hm. I imagine moving all that furniture and unpacking was exhausting.”
He sipped his wine. “And there’s still so much more to do.”
“Speaking of, what exactly do you do when you’re not stripping ancient wallpaper?”
“I’m actually in between jobs right now, so I should have plenty of time to work on the house.”
A small crinkle appeared on Felicity’s forehead.
He bit back a sigh. He recognized that crinkle. Some things didn’t change, and her disapproval made the back of his neck itch just like it used to.
“So…you’re planning to get a job, just don’t have one now?”.
Devlin nodded. “Eventually. I’ve had a few stressful careers. I got a severance package when I left my last position, so I thought I’d take the time to refurbish the house and maybe help my daughter with her wedding—if Mark will hurry up and propose. There’s no rush to find a job, so I plan to choose something I’ll enjoy.”
Given her inexplicable disapproval at his unemployed status, he thought it best not to mention he’d technically retired.
“Oh, well, that’s really smart.” She seemed surprised by his answer. She closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, she said, “I’m sorry. I was married a long time ago to a man who was perpetually in between jobs. I can be a little judgmental about that particular turn of phrase. It’s not one of my more attractive qualities.”
He shrugged. “We all have baggage.”
“That’s certainly true.” Felicity lifted her empty wine glass. “Would you like another glass?”
“No. I think that’s enough to put me to sleep.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m not used to all this physical labor. I finally got the boxes unpacked, and I’ve started stripping old linoleum. It’s distressingly hard work.”
“Yes, it would be.” She swatted a passing mosquito. “I think I’m getting bitten. My grandmother always said they like me because—”
“You’re so sweet.” Devlin finished the sentence for her. He’d always liked Felicity’s grandmother. She was one of the few people in Felicity’s life who gave her unconditional love. “I don’t suppose she’s still around, is she?”
Walking to house, she said, “No. But she only died a few years ago. She was one of my first clients.” A gentle smile blossomed on her face. “I painted a mural in one of her bathrooms. It wasn’t very good—it’s not really a particular talent of mine—but she adored it.” Her smile widened and she shared a glance with him. “Or at least she said she did.”
“I’m sure it provided her with a great deal of enjoyment. And she was probably happy to be able to support your art.” Devlin opened the backdoor for her.
“I think you’re right. She was a lovely woman. She had this old southern charm combined with a practical streak that made her very warm and approachable.”
They’d wandered through the house and ended up in Felicity’s informal entryway.
Devlin hadn’t a clue how it was done these days, but dinner seemed a sound choice. He’d decided earlier that if things went well, he’d try to finagle a real date out of his visit.
It looked like this was his moment. “Can I take you out to dinner sometime? Maybe you could introduce me to one of the neighborhood spots?”
She paused, her mouth parted slightly as if she’d been about to say something but gotten side-tracked. She quickly recovered and said, “Yes. That would be fun.”
But she didn’t sound nearly as excited as he’d have hoped. It was more of a “sure, neighbor, I’ll show you the local sandwich shop" kind of a response.
Before he could set the date and time, she disappeared down the hall. As she left, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back. I have just the thing for your…hang on just a second.”
As he examined the art on the walls and waited for her return, he tried to decide if her sudden flight was indicative of feelings about dinner with him or something else entirely.
He hadn’t made up his mind when she returned clutching a small bag.
“Remember I told you I have an Etsy shop?” When he nodded, she continued, “My friend has one as well. She’s the one who got me started with my own little shop, and this is one of her popular products.” She presented the bag to him.
“Thank you. What is it?” He examined the small unbleached cotton bag in his hands. Bath salts? Wasn’t that some kind of drug? He gave her a curious look.
“You add it to your bath; it soothes aches and pains. Or so she claims.” She grinned at him. “I haven’t tried this one yet. It sells really well, though, so it should be good stuff. You can let me know what you think, if you try it.”
“Absolutely. And thanks.” He wasn’t normally a bath kind of guy, but he’d give it a try if it would help his lower back. “About dinner?”
“Ah, let me think about a good place. Once I come up with something suitably local and tasty, I’ll drop by and we can chat about a time. How does that sound?”
“Perfect. Until then.”
When her door shut behind him, he wasn’t sure exactly how well the evening had gone—but he thought it hadn’t been bad. There had been a few awkward moments, and she hadn’t exactly been overjoyed about dinner—but she’d said yes. What he’d do if she simply didn’t bother to stop by in the next week or so, he didn’t know.
Chapter 7
Felicity rested her forehead on the dining room table. The wood felt cool on her warm face. The curse of fair skin combined with no recent social life: she blushed at the drop of a hat. She couldn’t believe it. She’d invited a man into her home whose last name she didn’t even know—and then drank a glass of wine with him. And she’d flirted. She wasn’t even interested in dating—why was she flirting?
She turned her head to the side, letting her warm cheek rest on the cool wood. Absurdly, she was pleased that she seemed not to have completely lost her touch. He had asked her out on an actual date before he left. Although, the man had invited himself over and brought wine. He’d probably come over for the specific purpose of asking her on a date. So, really, all she’d managed was not to chan
ge his mind. But why did she care? Whether she was crushing like a sixteen-year-old or not, dating was a bad idea. It always ended badly.
And how had they ended up in her studio? She groaned. She didn’t remember actively thinking, “Let me show this strange man my new work.” She’d simply wanted to share. Something intimate. With a man she’d met for less than five minutes once before. She’d clearly been locked up alone in her studio too much lately.
There was a second alternative. She lifted her head up and pressed the banks of her hands to her cheeks. Forty-seven-year-old women actually did crush hard—or at least this one did. Thick dark hair, an engaging smile, broad shoulders, and really nice legs. Ugh. She was such a sucker for a nice-looking man. But her judgment where men were concerned was terrible.
The perpetually job-hunting first husband, the lifeguard with a secret wife, the classical musician who worked all the time and probably had several affairs while dating her, the controlling ad exec who wanted her to lose ten pounds and maybe consider a little work…just a little nip-tuck, nothing serious. And there were others, but the list was simply too depressing to review in total.
Maybe if she’d dated more in high school and undergrad she would have learned through trial and error how to keep her hormones in check and pick the nice guy—the right guy. Not the hot guy.
But she hadn’t. She’d studied, gotten good grades, participated in more extracurricular activities than any five students, and then gone to college where she’d done much the same. Maybe if she’d made time then…But that was moot. She was who she was because of the choices she’d made. And she liked the person she’d become. No regrets.
The real question was: did the person she’d become have any interest in dating? Or was it simply too much work for a payoff that never arrived?
Devlin had been recently gainfully employed and appeared to have interest in future employment, and yet he didn’t appear to be fanatical about success or overly competitive. And he didn’t wear a wedding ring, although that was no guarantee he was single—as she’d learned the hard way. She’d have to check if he really was available, or just acted that way. And if he made one nip or tuck comment or talked about how great she’d look ten pounds lighter, she was walking away and never considering another date with him or any other man.
She’d go on the date, but she’d do a little digging on Devlin—whatever his last name was—beforehand. She’d make sure there were no red flags before she sat across a dinner table from him. She rapped her knuckles on the table. She had a plan. And if past experience was any indication, an easy out. Her crush would extinguish with even a hint of a suspicious background, and she’d learned over time that the men in her life always had relationship-ending flaws.
Twenty-four hours later, Felicity had her answer: Devlin Parker didn’t exist.
As luck would have it, she’d run into Devlin’s daughter while she was out grocery shopping that morning. She’d chatted a bit with Zelda—who’d seemed happy to spot a friendly face—and managed to get a last name and a few details about her dad. Such a helpful coincidence, she’d thought at the time.
She’d poked around on the internet a little but hadn’t found any social media sites for him. That wasn’t all bad. It seemed like a good percentage of single men in their late forties were on Facebook for the purpose of dating or hooking up. Maybe the lack of social media presence indicated he wasn’t a player. But then she’d dug a little further and all she’d found was a listing for him on her street. One address—that was it.
Curiosity piqued, she paid one of those online services to give her a report on him. But all of the leads Zelda had given her had run dry. First the last name that yielded no history, then Devlin’s previous career as an attorney. He’d been a partner, apparently, and yet there was no sign of him on the Texas Bar Association’s site.
Witness protection? Running from the law? Created fully formed at age forty-eight? What was going on that Devlin Parker had no history?
And more importantly, should she cancel her as yet unconfirmed dinner date?
Easy enough. All she had to do was not schedule it, and that was sounding like a good idea.
Chapter 8
“Did I do something wrong?” Zelda asked. She paused in her stocking of the fridge long enough to give Devlin a piercing look. “I would be crushed if I sabotaged your first dating opportunity in forever.”
She’d just finished relaying her encounter with Felicity at the grocery store, and some of his consternation must have shown.
“No. I’m sure it’s fine, and you couldn’t know my backstory project was put on pause. Bedivere was working on it, but he got sidetracked by a few other more pressing projects. It’s not like I’m planning to pick up where I left off and start practicing law tomorrow. And his new reaper is proving quite…creative.”
“Huh. Creative doesn’t seem like a good thing when it comes to reaping. So, your backstory got shelved to handle Tara’s attempts at creative reaping?” Zelda shut the fridge and turned to him, wide-eyed. “Oh. You’re a blank slate.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure it’s fine. What are the chances she’ll actually look me up?”
Zelda leaned back against the fridge and gave him a pitying look. “Oh, Dad.” She just shook her head.
“What am I missing?”
“If she thinks you’re cute, she’s absolutely going to cyber-stalk you.” When he stared at her in confusion, she said, “Facebook, Twitter…all the social media biggies.”
“But I’m not on any of those.”
She gave him a grim little smile. “Right. That’s the problem. When she doesn’t find anything, she’ll keep hunting.”
“No.” Devlin didn’t think he’d made that much of an impression. But even if he had, that didn’t sound like Felicity.
“Yes. It’s safety thing. You could be an ax murderer for all she knows.”
“And reading my posts on social media will provide some accurate representation of who I am? Or give her some kind of reassurance that I’m not going to ax murder her?” He picked up the last bag of groceries and moved it closer to the pantry and fridge and started unpacking.
Zelda was still pondering the possibility that her dad’s only opportunity for a date had faded away into nothingness. At least that was his best guess. She’d developed a keen interest in pairing him up over the last six months or so. Ever since she’d met Mark, come to think of it.
“You just don’t have a clue, Dad. She’s totally scoured the internet by now, looking for some scrap of information that either proves she should go out with you, or some incriminating piece of evidence that proves she shouldn’t.”
He shook his head. “I don’t see it.”
“That’s because you don’t think like a woman.”
Zelda seemed awfully insistent. Maybe this was an issue. “Uh, what is she going to find that would keep her from going out on a date with me?”
“I’m not sure what her particular bugaboos are, but there are a few standard ones: a criminal record, married, a devotee of some bizarre interest group.” She tipped her head as she considered other options. “Yeah, I think those are the biggies.”
He shut the pantry door firmly. “I don’t remember it being so complicated when I was dating before.”
Zelda made an exasperated sound. “What? Back in the prehistoric ages? You’re talking about before the internet. Trust me, you need to get Bedivere on it and quick…if it isn’t already too late.”
Zelda gave him a quick hug and headed out for her delivery shift. She was still driving the florist delivery van, but only a few days a week. She’d transitioned to working primarily in the shop, creating basic arrangements and experimenting with a few design ideas when there was time.
He was proud of her, both for finding her niche and for walking away from a bad but secure position. But as a father, he couldn’t help but also be pleased that she was making enough money to pay rent and likely marrying a man who made a li
ttle more than rent. She and Mark weren’t going to starve.
Devlin sat down at his computer to type an email to Bedivere, then changed his mind and picked up his cell. Maybe his friend’s string of emergencies had blown over.
Bedivere picked up on the second ring. “Been meaning to call you.”
“Oh? I don’t suppose it was to talk about that backstory you’re behind in creating for me?”
“Ah. It’s become a problem, has it?”
“Possibly. The girl I told you about?” Devlin winced when he said girl. But Felicity had been a girl when he’d fallen in love with her the first time. “We’ve reconnected.”
“The timing is unfortunate. I should have assigned the task to another council-member. Has she questioned you yet about your lack of internet presence?”
Devlin rubbed his forehead. Was he the only one who didn’t know about this proclivity of women to research people they meet? “No. And contrary to both you and my daughter’s firm belief that Felicity has already cyber-stalked me, I’m not so sure. Can you just make it a priority and we’ll hope for the best?”
“That depends on if you plan to tell her about the existence of magic.”
A loaded question. Devlin could only tell close relatives or a spouse about magic and his previous job. He might stretch that rule when the time came. “That’s the plan. Eventually.”
“Right. I’ll rig a quick history tonight, but it takes time to layer in the necessary information for a good background. Expect the project completed in two weeks.”
“Barring any further reaper emergencies, I assume.”
Bedivere sighed. “I don’t doubt we made the right decision with Tara. The transition’s just been tough for her.”
“Learning you have a second chance at living can do that.” Devlin remembered the initial relief, but his feelings had been complicated by the job and losing contact with former friends and colleagues, not to mention the trauma he’d inflicted on his daughter by introducing her to the magical world.
