Keep Me Ghosted (Sophie Rhodes Romantic Comedy #1)

by Karen Cantwell

  “Do you think she’s with Dr. Callahan?” I asked Marmi, relieved.

  “That is a logical assumption.”

  I set to work setting chairs upright, hanging pictures back on the wall, organizing papers back into the appropriate folders. Halfway through the job, while down on my hands and knees picking pens up from the floor one by one, a jiggling of the front doorknob startled me. My moment of fear was replaced by delight when Dr. Callahan stepped in. “I came to help,” he said.

  He wore a yellow shirt that popped brightly against his olive skin. And it turned out the man had a nice pair of legs showing under a pair of plaid shorts. I’m a leg woman. Some women like nice butts; I like nice, long, trim and tone legs, and he had them.

  “With the clean-up,” he added while I ogled too long. The crinkles around his eyes deepened as his smile widened, and I sighed inwardly.

  “Yes. With the clean-up. Right. Thanks.”

  “Hey, she’s my ghost, right? It’s the least I can do. I should have offered to do it myself, but I’ve been...a little distracted.” He knelt down and started lifting pens, pencils, paper clips, and sticky notes from the floor with me. “Looks like you’re nearly done, as it is.”

  “Nearly,” I said, feeling a little out of breath from the racing heart that kicked in when he arrived. I breathed in deeply and reveled in his scent. I blushed when our hands touched while reaching for the same sticky note.

  Ah geez. I was acting far too high-schoolish again. I stood and adjusted my shirt and my attitude. This was my boss, not some cute guy in science class, for crying out loud. “Tell you what,” I said. “You get the rest of the things on the floor, and I’ll finish putting these files back in order.”

  He agreed, and in no time we’d put his office back into working order, ready for patients on Monday. That was, if Moonflower didn’t show up before then and go ballistic-entity on us again. The thought of Moonflower caused me to realize that she hadn’t followed Dr. Callahan in. I couldn’t see her, and even better, I couldn’t feel her.

  “I just noticed,” I told him, “that you’re alone.”

  “Usually am,” he joked.

  “I mean, no Moonflower.”

  “Yeah. Haven’t seen her since yesterday. Great, huh?”

  “Is that common? For her to disappear for that long?”

  “Nope. From the minute she showed up that morning, she’s been practically stuck to me like Super Glue. This is a refreshing change. Maybe yesterday’s tantrum, I don’t know...sent her back to where she came from or something.”

  His comment about showing up that morning made me think of Mrs. Wiley’s client with the spell-induced ghost. “Did she just appear out of the blue one day?” I asked.

  He nodded and stood back up, his hands cupped. “Where should I put these paper clips?”

  I held out a blue bowl and had to snicker inwardly that he didn’t even know where his own office supplies went. The bits of metal clinked as he dropped them in. “I was here on a Saturday installing some new software to use with my therapy patients. Then I—” He stopped himself short. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t care about this, do you?”

  “Sure I do. I told you my ghost story, it’s about time I heard yours.”

  Brushing his shorts off, he gave a little laugh. “I suppose I do owe you one, huh?” He tipped his head. “Well, I...what was I doing? Right, I needed an instruction manual that I’d left on the desk up here, so when I came to get it, there she was.” He gestured with his hands to the middle of the waiting room. “Just staring at me.” His eyes widened. “Scared the you-know-what out of me, I’ll tell you.”

  I tried not to laugh. “What did you do?”

  “Sat down. Closed my eyes. Counted to ten. Reopened them. Closed them. Opened. Close, open. Started hyperventilating.”

  “And you’d never seen her before?”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “I’d remember that.”

  “Yeah,” I chuckled. “I guess you would. What did she say?”

  “Remember it very clearly—she said, ‘Why am I here, Johnny?’” He rolled his eyes. “I feel sorry for her. I mean, she’s a lost soul, right? Or something like that. But Johnny here is glad for the break.” He moved around behind the desk near where I stood, and looked like he was about to pick up the appointment book when he caught a glimpse of my binder, which I’d neatly labeled, Optometrist Project. He picked that up instead. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, just a little project I’ve been working on in my free time.”

  “Project?”

  “I hope you don’t think it’s too forward of me, but I had an idea for bringing new patients in.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “Are you okay with it?”

  “I don’t know what it is yet.”

  I took the folder from his hand and opened it to reveal a spreadsheet. “I’ve been gathering names and addresses of optometrists in and around Stephens City. This list isn’t quite done. I’m only to the S’s, but then...” I flipped to the next page. “Then I drafted this idea for a letter that we—I mean, you—could send them. Sort of an introduction of who you are, that you’re a local developmental optometrist, and that you’re here if they ever need to refer someone in need of vision therapy. It’s only a draft, of course. When I was done entering the names and addresses into the database, I was going to ask you to look at the letter. Fix it or change it as necessary.”

  He flipped the pages back and forth, studying them intently. His face was flat and expressionless. My face flushed red from embarrassment that I’d crossed a line I shouldn’t have. And just when we were having such a nice time. Finally, just before I decided to apologize and offer to quit, he closed the binder and handed it back to me. The beginning of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You did that for me?”

  “Yeah. Well, for us. In case you didn’t really get it, I need this job badly. You win, I win, right?”

  His smile broadened and my heart skipped a few beats. My knees went wobbly.

  “I like it. Let me know when that letter is ready. I’ll sign it.” His eyes locked onto mine.

  I tore my gaze from his to set the binder back down next to the keyboard. “Okay.” I collected up the pens and pencils that we’d piled on the desk, and slipped them into the pencil cup, then slid it back into position beside the phone.

  Dr. Callahan looked around the entire front office area. “Looks good here. I guess our work is done.”

  Sadly, it was. “Yeah, I guess so,” I sighed.

  “Hey,” he said. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

  I tried not to get too excited. He’d asked that question before. “You didn’t find another support group did you?”

  He grinned. “I deserve that.” Then he leaned against the desk. “No. I thought we could use that Winston’s gift certificate tonight.”

  Outside, I remained cool and composed. Inside, I was dancing a jig. “Oh, okay.” I reached over and lifted the steno pad from the far side of the desk, holding it up for him to see. “A working dinner, right?”

  “Yes,” he said with a nod. “A working dinner. Definitely bring the steno pad.” He cleared his throat. “And a pen. What time should I make the reservations for?”

  Keep it calm, Sophie. “I don’t know... seven?”

  “Seven. Seven’s good. Seven it is.”

  I gathered my purse and keys, working hard to keep my excitement concealed. “I’ll meet you there then.” We walked to the door together and I entered the code on the security keypad.

  Dr. Callahan opened the door and we stepped outside. “Save your gas. I’ll pick you up. Six forty-five.” He locked the deadbolt.

  I wasn’t going to argue with him. Saving gas money sounded good to me. And more time to spend with him. I hoped he was thinking the same.

  Marmaduke appeared in the car as I drove home. “So you have a date, do you?”

  “You were there the whole time, weren’t you?”

&
nbsp; “Would you have preferred I be more obvious?”

  “No. Although I’m surprised that you weren’t—you do like to interfere in my love life.”

  “I do no such a thing. You cut me to the quick. Besides, I approve of this fellow. I cannot say the same about those others.”

  “I approve of him too. I’m worried though. What if Moonflower shows up at the restaurant?”

  “I suppose it is likely she could make an appearance.” He seemed to think about that a minute. “And certainly, she has a history of causing trouble.”

  “You’re supposed to be encouraging me, not making me more anxious.”

  “Sorry, Sophie. I often misunderstand the modern constructs and rules of friendship. How shall I encourage you?”

  “Tell me she won’t show up.”

  “I do not think I can say such a thing with certainty. For, while she has not been present this day, we do not know that she has evacuated this plane entirely.”

  “You’re not helping, Marmi.”

  He became quiet while I fumed at a stop light, then he disappeared altogether.

  “Marmi?”

  Remaining invisible, he spoke. “A moment of silence please. I am thinking.”

  “Okay,” I muttered under my breath. Why, oh why, couldn’t I have one day without a moody ghost around? I wiped sweat from my forehead and wondered how many paychecks it would take to fix the A/C. I turned up the radio, hoping to find an upbeat tune to shoo away my anxiety. Witchy Woman. Ugh. I flipped the radio off and decided that sometimes a person has to make their own attitude adjustment if they want to be happy.

  Forget Moonflower. I’d go home, shower, pull that cute little blue dress out of the closet, and make myself positively irresistible. Dinner would be spectacular.

  “So,” said Marmaduke, appearing in his seat again. “You are not to worry.”

  “It took you that long to figure out how to be positive?”

  “Are we not friends?”

  “Yes...”

  “Then as your friend, I am here to reassure you that your evening shall be free of ghosts. Literal ghosts anyway. I can not offer immunity from metaphorical ghosts.”

  “Are you up to something?”

  “You can thank me later.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BEFORE HEADING TO MY APARTMENT, I stopped first at the cute little boutique next to the Coffee Grinder—Julie’s Jewels—and splurged on a pair of earrings I’d had my eye on for months. The aqua stones would match the blue dress perfectly. At home, I watched the clock carefully while primping, knowing full well Dr. Callahan would arrive precisely at six forty-five. I will admit that I’ve never been ready when a date has arrived at my door. It’s a fault I’m not proud of. Yet, that night, I was one-hundred percent prepared when my doorbell rang at six-forty-six. Aha. The man was late.

  I snatched the steno pad and my clutch purse from the table and opened the door, surprised to see Dr. Callahan holding a bouquet of daisies neatly tied at the stems with a blue ribbon.

  Did he know daisies were my favorite flower? And the blue ribbon—surely it was a sign. My heart thumped double-time. I wasn’t sure what caused the palpitation—the flowers or Dr. Callahan, who looked particularly dashing in a tan sport coat and white collared shirt open at the neck. I decided it was both.

  If I were a more forward woman, and if I didn’t think I’d jeopardize my employment status, I would have been inclined to jump his bones, run my fingers through that soft, golden hair, and have my way with him, right on the spot.

  Working to hold my smile down to working-dinner-appropriate, I pointed shyly to the bundle in his hands. “I thought this wasn’t a date.”

  “I know,” he sputtered, shoving them at me. “There were these kids outside my barber—collecting money for the homeless shelter. They gave me these for donating twenty bucks.”

  Yes, that was part of the dashing new look. He’d had his hair trimmed. My fingers ached to brush it. Ah geez. Down to earth, Sophie. Come back down to earth.

  “They’re nice.” I took them. “Hang on.” I ran to the kitchen and pulled my one and only flower vase from the cupboard over the fridge, filled it with water, and slipped the daisies in.

  “Do you like...marigolds?” he asked when I returned happy and content.

  His incorrect flower classification made me chuckle. “They’re daisies, and yes, I love them. They’re actually my favorite flower.”

  “Not roses?” he asked as I pulled the door closed and locked the deadbolt.

  “Roses are overrated. Give me a daisy or a lily any day. I’ll bet moonflowers are your favorite.”

  He laughed loudly while we made our way down the stairs. “Uh—no. Actually, now that I think of it, I don’t even know what a moonflower is.”

  His left hand slipped to the small of my back while he opened the glass entrance door with his right. My body tingled all over. Somehow, he’d been lucky enough to snatch a parking spot right in front of the building—not an easy feat on a Saturday in my apartment complex. Sometimes people had to park clear out on the main drag. I silently thanked the god of parking spaces, since my feet weren’t generally used to the high heels I’d chosen for the occasion. Summer for me meant flip-flops and flat sandals, not heels.

  Dr. Callahan scooted around me to the passenger-side door and opened it for me. Shane had never once opened a car door for me. The smile, that hadn’t left my face, widened.

  “Thank you, Dr. Callahan. You didn’t need to do that though.” Yes he did. Yes he did. I loved every minute of it.

  “Yeah. You can’t call me that tonight.”

  “Sorry. Force of habit. Cal.”

  “There you go.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to call you Hiram?” I teased.

  He bent his head close to mine when I was positioned in the seat and reaching for the belt. “There is probably only one reason I’d ever consider firing you, and calling me Hiram is it.” His face, flat and serious at first, curled adorably into the sweet, crooked smile.

  Ah geez, but he was cute.

  Once at Winston’s the maître d’ sat us in a dark and quiet corner, just perfect for not talking business. The plump luxury of the padded, high-back chairs were a far cry from the hard rigidity of the wooden stools at Barney’s. No offense to Barney.

  Cal cleared his throat and clasped his hands in front of him on the table. “You look really...very nice tonight.” Another clearing of the throat. “Pretty, I mean.”

  “Thank you. So do you.” Crap. That came out wrong. He’s not pretty. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I shook my head. “That is... uh, you’re...” The words weren’t forming so I was thankful that the waiter arrived on the scene.

  “Would you like to see a wine list, sir?”

  Cal turned his attention from the waiter to me. “Do you drink wine?”

  I nodded, “Sure.”

  “What do you like?”

  “Sauvignon Blanc?”

  “Really? Me too.” He turned back to the waiter. “Do you have a bottle of Cloudy Bay, by chance?”

  The waiter tipped his head. “We do.” He turned on his heels very officiously and left for the wine.

  “It’s a New Zealand winery. Have you heard of it?”

  I sipped from the water that a bus boy had already poured for us. I didn’t know anything about wines. Hanging around cops, it had been beer and whiskey or tequila shots for the past couple of years. I’d heard my mother mention a Sauvignon Blanc once, that’s why I said it. With my nervous-dry mouth soothed, I eeked out, “No. Do they make good wines?”

  He winked. “You’ll see.”

  The waiter made a big production of the opening of the wine, pouring a small bit into Cal’s glass, then waiting for Cal’s approval. I’ll admit it—I was impressed. I was equally impressed with the wine. A nice change. And I felt very elegant sipping from the enormous orbed glass.

  Cal and I exchanged smiles. He peeked at me and I peeked at him while the wait
er rattled off the evening’s chef’s specials. He finally decided on the swordfish with orzo pasta and I went with herb roasted chicken and mushroom risotto.

  The nice thing about menu-time during a date is that it eases tensions and gives a couple something to talk about. Once the order is placed and the waiter leaves, the real struggle begins. Luckily, we had a fall-back.

  I smoothed the dinner napkin in my lap. “So, what’s on the agenda for our business discussion this evening?”

  He pointed to the pad that I had set under my clutch purse. “Get that steno.”

  Darn. He really did want to talk business. Oh well. I took a big sip of wine and did as he asked. He pulled a pen from inside his sport coat and handed it to me. “Write this down,” he instructed.

  I readied the pen over a blank sheet and waited.

  “On Monday, I’ll need you to order three home therapy kits. I’m down to my last one. Okay, close that pad and put it away.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Business is over. Time for us to get to know each other.”

  “Okay.” I approved. “Who goes first?”

  “You. Definitely. I’m very boring.”

  I set the steno aside and handed his pen back. “Oh, my story will probably put you to sleep before your swordfish arrives, but uh, actually, do you mind if I ask a sort of personal question?”

  He arched his brows. “What’s your definition of personal?”

  “How old are you?”

  “I get that a lot. I look young for my age. I’m thirty-one.”

  Excellent. Two years older than me. That worked. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have guessed that. You look younger. Usually.”

  He nodded. “It can be tricky getting parents to trust me. They’re afraid I’m fresh out of school and have no idea what I’m doing. You’re... let me guess... twenty-nine.”

  “You should open up shop in a carnival. Want to guess my weight next?”

  “Didn’t really guess,” he said on a shrug and a grin. “Your birth date is on the tax form you filled out for payroll.”