by Theresa Weir
“She met a man,” he said.
“You’ve heard this story before?”
“Often. It never has a good ending.”
“I wouldn’t say never. Before she met a man, her sister met one.”
“Ah. Competitive falling in love.”
“I don’t think so.” She frowned and shook her head, even as she realized the truth. Oh God, he was right. Kris had fallen in love, leaving her alone, and she could remember wishing she was in love, too.
Be careful what you wish for.
But she couldn’t think about that now.
“The story?” he said.
“Okay,” she said, “the older sister married her boyfriend and moved out of the windy city to a smaller and often colder city. Meanwhile, the other sister, the younger one, was happily dating. And she…well, she thought she fell in love, too.”
“Madly?”
“You mean like ‘angrily’?” She raised her eyebrows at him as she still petted her cat. “Sometimes. He was a guy, after all.”
The corners of his lips lifted, and she felt a lift inside her, too.
“Do you want to hear the story?” She made her tone snotty, knowing it would amuse him. After all, wasn’t that the deal? She was his version of a court jester. “Or are you critiquing as I go?”
“Both. I’m the audience. Heckling is a privilege.”
“The best comics heckle the heckler right back.”
He chuckled. “You can try.”
His eyes were bright, and she shifted her attention to her cat. Much safer to gaze at her cat than his face that looked as if God had created him just for her.
Hadn’t she learned to avoid handsome men? They were nothing but trouble. And Todd hadn’t been half as handsome as Logan.
“Back to my story. Our heroine—”
“Whose name you never said.”
“This is an interactive story. You can name her.”
“Princess. Call her Princess.”
“I think she hates the name, but, okay, Princess and her boyfriend—let’s call him Toad—were getting along wonderfully. He worked as a chef during the day, and she waitressed and went to college. They soon moved in together.”
“And were madly in love.”
“You keep bringing that up. You have a thing about it?”
“No. In fact, if I thought this did have a happily-ever-after ending with a wedding and kids on the horizon, then I would require you to tell me another story.”
“So you only want unhappy stories?”
“Not unhappy. They can be funny or ambiguous or murderous or anything but a man and a woman off to their happily ever after.”
“Good to know. I’ll work on the list.”
“Which does this one fall into?”
“When it’s over, you tell me.” She took another sip of wine and wished she’d poured herself a bigger glass. Maybe just bring the bottle and chug it down. “Princess wasn’t happy that Toad would go out with the guys while she waitressed or studied, but she trusted that he was faithful. And, really, she was more concerned about the money he spent. She was practical. Very practical.”
“I suppose he was very good-looking.”
“Well, not as good-looking as some men.”
“Are you trying to flatter your way out of our deal? It won’t work.”
“No flattery, just the facts. You have a mirror. You know what your face looks like.” She made her voice dry and held herself back from mentioning the rest of his body. That might get her in a different kind of trouble. One she wanted to avoid. “Back to the story. When Toad was home at the same time as Princess, he wanted her to pay attention to him instead of her studies. So she didn’t complain when he was away.”
“Princess is a rare woman.”
“Not really. Quite average, actually. But back to the story again.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “The dramatic part is coming.”
“Good of you to announce it.”
“Zach is a much better audience than you are.”
“Go ahead.” He waved his hand. “I’m listening. We were at the part where Princess didn’t complain about his carousing. What happened next?”
“It happened next,” she said, and Ginger jumped off her lap with a yowl. Maddie realized she’d stopped petting her. In many ways, the cat was smarter than her. When someone stops giving you attention, walk away. Give one yowl to show your dissatisfaction, then go.
And don’t look back.
“What happened?” he asked. “She found out he was unfaithful?”
“That would’ve been the better scenario.” She looked back at him. “She was late.”
“Late to work? To class?”
“No. She was late.”
“Ah. Late.”
“Yes. Ah. Or, as Toad said, ‘Oh shit.’ He asked how it could happen since he used protection all the time, and she said, ‘How the hell do you think it happened? Do you think I’ve been cheating?’”
“The usual conversation.”
“Oh, it’s happened to you?”
He grinned. “Never. A few friends have been in the same situation—of both sexes—and they’ve been happy to share their misery.”
“In this case, Toad quickly apologized. Made love to her and told her how happy he was. The next day, she went to work, and when she came home he was gone and so were all of his clothes and every item of his. Plus some of hers—including her GPS.”
“I believe you mentioned the GPS before.”
“If I’d had the GPS, I would’ve gotten off the expressway at the right exit, and I would never have ended up here.” She flapped her fingers at him. “But you’re right, I need to let go of my anger over the GPS. And this isn’t about me.”
“I never once thought it was.”
“I’m sure. Anyway, she went to the restaurant where he worked and was told he was offered a job as a chef on a yacht and had taken it.”
His face settled in grim lines. “Did she go after him? Force him to claim the child? To support it?”
“She had way too much pride for that. She thought he wasn’t a man who deserved her or the child. She never heard from him again.”
“So this is the ambiguous ending.”
“I have to apologize, because it is the happy ending, at least for our heroine. She has the most wonderful child in the world. So this is her happy ending. At least for now.” She pushed up from the sofa. “I’m going to bed now. I have to go to work tomorrow. I hope it was satisfactory.”
“I found it enlightening.”
“I strive to enlighten.”
She started past him, and he reached out and wrapped his long fingers around her wrist. “I was wrong about you,” he said.
“Wrong about what?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t feel the speeding of her pulse.
“I thought you were ordinary.”
“That’s the thing; the more you get to know people, the less ordinary they are. In many cases, they’ll be extraordinary.”
Then she jerked her wrist from his grasp and headed to the bathroom. Her life had changed today, but it didn’t change the fact that she’d gotten up early this morning as usual, fed her cat and her son, then drove to work, still yawning. And it didn’t change the fact that she had to do the same thing again tomorrow.
And just because the most exciting man she’d ever seen was in her house, breathing the same air as her, it didn’t change the fact that after five years of looking at men and thinking, No, no, no, her body was suddenly saying, Yes, yes, yes!
Life was full of tricks, and it had thrown another big one at her. But Logan hadn’t called the sheriff on her, and she hadn’t been arrested. And when she said her list of things she was grateful for in her bed that night, that would be one of the top ones.
As she got ready for bed, she wondered one thing: What story would she tell him tomorrow?
* * *
Dog dreamed of a boy who loved him. Loved him almost as much as he loved the boy b
ack. They ran and played during the daytime. At night, Dog waited until everyone was asleep, and he jumped on the bed to sleep next to the boy. Every day, the boy told Dog how much he loved him. Every school day, long before the boy came home, Dog lay down by the door to wait and wait and wait. And sometimes the boy was doing other things with other people, so Dog had to wait a long, long time.
But when the boy came, Dog was so happy. The boy dropped everything on the floor—even though his mom or dad yelled every time—and he would fall on his knees and they would hug, and Dog would lick the boy’s face. He would lick and lick and lick. And the boy would laugh and laugh and laugh.
And then one day…
The dream stopped, and the dog’s head jerked up. His heart was pounding, and he was gasping.
It was dark in the shed, so it must still be dark outside. He listened hard for noises but could only hear night sounds from outside. Nothing inside the shed.
Because he’d woken so quickly, he still remembered his dream. Only it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real. As if he’d really been there. As if the boy had really been there. As if the love they felt had really happened.
But it hadn’t. He remembered everything in his life, and that had never happened.
And at the end, when he’d woken so suddenly…
He knew why. Something bad had been about to happen, and his mind had shut it off.
Dog dropped his head between his paws on the soft ground. Though he closed his eyes, he didn’t go to sleep for a long time.
Chapter 6
Logan was glad for the snow, glad to shovel it. Glad he was doing something with his day instead of staring at a blank computer screen. Or typing words he’d soon delete.
His first and only screenplay had come in bursts of inspiration, writing in classes and in between classes, scribbling on napkins in restaurants, on backs of bills, on anything he could get his hands on as the words poured out so fast he couldn’t keep up with them, writing abbreviated sentences and hoping to hell he’d remember what he’d meant.
Now the words had dried out. Like his heart.
He didn’t blame Olivia. He blamed himself.
On his parents’ one visit to his ocean-view house, his father had told him that Olivia reminded him of the evil queen in the Disney movies. His father had laughed, as if to take the sting out of his words. But his eyes hadn’t laughed; worry had darkened them.
His mother had claimed to like Olivia. But then she’d said it bothered her that Olivia slithered when she walked.
As his mother had said it, she’d laughed, too. But her eyes were as serious as if she’d seen him walk on broken glass.
They didn’t understand. Olivia wasn’t a witch, and though he was younger than her, she hadn’t used witchcraft to enthrall him. In some ways, they were alike. If he let himself, he could be the male version of her.
Halfway down the front sidewalk, he put down the shovel and looked up at the trees blanketed with new snow, staring until they blurred.
With a little effort, if he really wanted to, he could easily draw Maddie to him.
But there was the son…
He picked up the shovel, braced his legs, and shoveled harder.
Some things he just didn’t do.
He had a feeling about this practical woman who’d broken the law by squatting in his house—inspired by a fairy tale, she’d said. A feeling that she’d be good for his stories. As if he were in his own doomed fairy tale, and her stories would help him reclaim his missing soul.
* * *
Coming down the driveway, Maddie saw the sidewalk was shoveled. Though Dexter plowed the driveway, she always shoveled the sidewalk. Three inches had fallen today, according to the news, but it had been three inches of wet snow. And anyone who shoveled wet snow knew it weighed about fifteen times more than fluffy snow.
She’d been up since six thirty this morning, fed breakfast to Zach, took him to school, worked all day, emailed her sister about twenty times, and had a frantic phone call with her about her gorgeous but dangerous landlord, then picked up Zach and his friend Chloe, who always ate with them on Thursdays because her mother worked longer on Thursdays and would pick her up at seven.
By the time she got home, all she wanted to do was conk out for an hour. But of course, that wouldn’t happen. Even if she didn’t have to shovel, she still had to make dinner.
Logan’s rental took up half the garage, and she stopped on the driveway to let Zach and Chloe out. She told them she’d be just a minute, but by the time she parked and hurried out of the garage, they were gone. Logan must have let them inside. One other reason she should be grateful.
Inside the kitchen, Chloe was looking up at Logan with her mouth open.
“You have a fan.” Maddie lifted her head and sniffed. “Why does the house smell so good?”
“Lasagna. My special recipe.”
She put her hand over her chest. “I’m dead, aren’t I? Dead and gone to heaven.”
“Am I part of your heaven?”
“Only if you bring a case of chocolate with you.”
“Mom,” Zach said, “there’s no food in heaven.”
She looked down at his serious face. “How do you know?”
“The Bible doesn’t say there is.”
“But isn’t everything good supposed to be in heaven?”
Zach’s mouth worked as he pondered this new concept of heaven, his nose wrinkling. “Maybe. Can I have ice cream in heaven?”
“What flavor?”
He grinned. “All the flavors.”
“Absolutely.”
“Mr. Logan,” Chloe piped up. “Are you a movie star?”
At Logan’s expression of astonishment, Maddie turned a laugh into a snort.
“He’s not a movie star,” Zach said. “A movie star wouldn’t live in our house.”
“Is he going to be your new daddy?”
Maddie’s desire to laugh whooshed right out of her chest. “No,” she said firmly. “Mr. Logan is just…staying here temporarily.”
“He’s writing a book,” Zach said. “Mom’s helping him.”
Chloe’s eyes widened again. “A book about what?”
Maddie turned to him, and so did Zach. Logan stared at her, clearly telling her with his eyes that she should take this question.
“It’s like Puss in Boots, only with people,” she said.
“No cats?” Chloe’s mouth turned down. “I like cats in books.”
“There might be a cat in it,” Logan said.
“I have a dog. Would you like to put a dog in it?” Chloe gave him a heart-melting smile.
“I’ll see what I can do. Do you have a preference?”
“Huh?”
“He wants to know what kind of dog you want,” Zach said.
“My dog’s gray. Her name’s Sweetie Pie. I love her, and she loves me. She’s this high.” She held out her hand to her knee.
“If I put a dog in it, I’ll certainly consider naming it Sweetie Pie. How about we discuss this over dinner?”
“Okay. I have to go potty first.”
He stepped back. “You go ahead and do that.”
She scampered off.
“I don’t have to pee,” Zach said.
“Put your backpack away then wash your hands,” Maddie said.
He scampered off.
“Just talking to them for five minutes tires me,” Logan said. “I don’t know how teachers do it.”
“They should get hazard pay.” She took a deep breath. “Thanks for making dinner.”
“I had a spurt of energy. Don’t expect it every day.”
“I don’t expect anything from you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll change. I might even go potty, too.”
His lips curved up, but his eyes were so dark they looked navy. “How long will Zach’s friend be with us?”
“Her mom picks her up about seven. I don’t know how good I’ll be at thinking up a story tonight. I’m pretty tired.”
<
br /> “A story a night. That’s our deal.” He gazed at her with a slight smile, and she had the feeling he wanted her to get annoyed or even angry at him. Wanted her to glare and to say cutting words.
She didn’t know why he was like this. If it was because of her or the kids. Or maybe it had nothing to do with her. It could be he always got this way when he made lasagna. Or maybe he’d heard from his dark queen. All she knew for sure was that she was not going to respond in kind.
“You’ll get your story.” She lowered her voice, not taking her gaze from his. “You’re not the Big, Bad Wolf, though you might like to think you are. You shoveled the snow and made dinner.”
“It was exercise. I like to move, I like to eat. I like doing other things, too.”
“It was still kind of you.”
“Kind?” The tension left his face, changing to a sensuality that froze her as he reached out to touch her hair, and his fingers brushed her cheek. A spark shot straight to her lower belly, and her breath caught, her semblance of serenity whizzing out of her. His eyes glowed, as if there were a flame in them. She’d never seen blue eyes before that looked so warm.
“Anything I do isn’t out of kindness.” His warm voice wrapped around her, like a velvet blanket. “When you get around to looking me up, everything you read about me that’s bad, believe it.”
She stepped back from him. She needed space to keep from melting into a puddle. “When I get around to it?” She managed to speak with her voice only a little breathless. “Are you kidding? I looked you up first thing this morning.”
“So now you know the worst.”
“I read a lot of innuendos, but you managed to stay out of the public eye.” Except for his photos with actress Olivia Verdine. If he was sex personified in a male form, the dark-haired woman clinging to his arm in every picture was his female counterpoint, leaving men staring at her with their jaws open.
Taking a deep breath, she wiped the images out of her mind before continuing. “Your accomplishments are impressive. You produced six films, and two are among my favorites.”
He stilled. “Five were from other people’s screenplays, not mine. And believe this: what people accomplish in films doesn’t mean they’re better than anyone else.”
