By Magic Alone (18 page)

Pulling my towel tighter, I turned. “Is Leslie here?”

Kara crossed her arms over her chest. “No. She’s working today. Some big case they just got.”

“Oh.” I wheezed. “Okay. That’s good.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to fill her in.” Confusion streamed into Kara’s green eyes. “Damn, Julia. This is huge. You seriously like Scot?”

“I—I don’t know. Maybe?” This was all so new. Hell, less than three days since bizarro world started. I was still trying to catch up. “I haven’t actually . . . um . . . decided that for sure.”

“Oh-kay. Why don’t you give it some more thought while you get dressed? I’ll be in the living room.” Kara didn’t say anything more, just left me alone.

Fuck, right? I backed up to the edge of the tub and sat down. I gave myself a couple of minutes to pull my ragged emotions together. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe once Kara told Leslie—because she would—Leslie would let me out of this agreement. And yeah, she’d be ticked. No doubt about that. But as long as the impossible didn’t happen—like falling head over heels for Scot—she’d get over it. At least I hoped she would.

Then I’d just have to go through the motions for the next couple of weeks until Scot decided our pretend relationship had run its course. It wouldn’t be that bad. Then I’d be able to carry on as normal. Focus on my real life again: trying to keep Introductions afloat, meeting my parents once a week for dinner, hanging out with my friends here and there. Reasonable. Logical. Sound. The
proper
way to proceed.

But the quick burst of disappointment that sank in was not reasonable. The craving to kiss Scot again couldn’t be described as logical. And the sudden wish that Verda was right, that Scot and I were somehow meant to be together, wasn’t sound in the least. For many, many reasons.

I sidled out of the bathroom without looking into the living room. Safely in my bedroom, I closed the door for privacy and threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. My gaze landed on the journal, which I’d brought in this morning. It sat on my nightstand. I’d pretty much decided that last night’s hastily scrawled entry and Scot’s abrupt arrival at my door were nothing more than weird coincidences. Because thinking it was
magic
that had propelled him to return wasn’t only idiotic, it was . . . well, nuts. He’d left his jacket here. He came back to get it. I was tipsy and threw myself at him, we kissed. That
simple. But a tiny, infuriating voice in my head reminded me of the numerous things I’d written off to coincidence over the last few days. Maybe too many?

“Let’s prove it once and for all.” I rifled through my nightstand’s top drawer to find a pen, picked up the journal, and without any hesitation at all, flipped to a clean page. What should I wish for?

“I wish Kara hadn’t let herself in and heard what she heard,” I whispered. Yeah. Perfect. I wrote the words and waited. Nothing happened, so I underlined the sentence and thought the wish again. Still nothing. Hm. Maybe the eerie stuff only happened with the first wish.

I eased my bedroom door open a crack and peered out. Nope. I could just make out the edge of Kara’s shoulder. So she was still here, last night
had
been a coincidence, and that was that. The barest twinge of regret settled inside.

Unless . . . I chewed on the end of the pen.
If
the journal really had the power to grant wishes, maybe changing events that had already occurred was impossible. So focusing on the future, on events that hadn’t yet happened, might be the best way to go. Excitement replaced the regret. This made sense. Otherwise—wow—think of the havoc I could create with history.

I bit my lip and wrote.

Light-headedness hit the instant my pen stopped moving. The writing—
my
writing—glowed in shimmering sparkles for several seconds before returning to normal. Had that happened last night? Ugh. I couldn’t recall. Again, though, the
air grew in weight and volume, shifting and pulsating against me, drawing painful attention to every breath I drew in and out of my lungs.

No wine today. Inebriation wasn’t to blame for the warmth suffusing my body or for the rapid goose bumps coursing along my skin. I was wide-awake, alert, and more than a little awestruck. I swallowed, gripped my hands into fists, and used the same breathing technique that had gotten me through before.

When the effects subsided, I closed the journal and tucked it into my nightstand drawer. Standing, I slicked my damp palms down my pants. I ignored the twisting in my stomach. I ignored the way my hands trembled. Kara was waiting. I’d flip out later. “This is it, Verda,” I said. “Let’s see if you know what you’re talking about.”

I found Kara on the sofa. She had one leg crossed over the other and was bobbing it up and down as if she were a battery-operated mechanism set on high speed. She planted her gaze on me and kept it there while I slid into the chair across from her.

“I’ve been trying to decide if I should cheer and congratulate you or be pissed and scream at you.” Her tone was soft, tense, and bewildered all at once. “You’re Leslie’s friend. Why’d you agree to help her with Scot if you like him?”

“Because she
is
my friend. And I never said that I like Scot,” I pointed out, grasping on to the truth, even if it hung on a technicality. A slim one at that. “I said
maybe.
Maybe I like him. I don’t know how I feel, Kara.”

“You expect me to buy that? You either like a guy
that way
or you don’t.”

“I’m stupid, then.” I joined her in the leg-bobbing tournament. “And it isn’t as if I have a ton of experience in this area.”

Her mouth formed an O. “That’s right. You’ve dated, but you haven’t actually fallen for a guy since Ricky Luca, have you?”

“I was twelve. I don’t think that counts.”

She snickered. “It counts, all right. But—” My glare made her rethink her words. “Okay, then. You don’t have much one-on-one practice with guys that make you . . . um . . . get all hot and bothered. Wow, Julia. You’re probably megaconfused, huh?”

“Exactly. Yes!” I nearly shouted, pleased she understood. Not that being clueless about men at the age of thirty-three was something to cheer about, especially when the clueless woman owned a dating service. Er . . . a failing dating service. Sheesh. “Have you gone through this?”

Kara sucked in her cheeks. Probably to keep from laughing. “Of course I have. The first time was when I was thirteen. Maybe fourteen? A wicked long time ago.”

“Can we drop teenage love from the conversation? I’m an adult, not some gooey-eyed girl with a crush on the football captain.”

“Oh, sweetie. The feelings are the same, no matter how old you are. The way we deal with the feelings might change with experience, but—”

“Do you have any advice?” I interjected. “Because I’m drowning fast.”

Her eyelashes dipped in a slow, puzzled blink. In the length of our friendship, I’d always served in the counselor role. “You’re asking
me
for guidance?”

“Yes.” My request was sincere. Whether the journal proved to be magical or not didn’t alter the fact that I was sinking in emotional quicksand. “Please.”

Kara’s leg ceased bobbing. “When you look at him, do your knees turn to Jell-O?”

“Jell-O?”

“Uh-huh. You know, ’Watch it wiggle, see it jiggle, Jell-O brand gelatin,’” she sang in an upbeat voice. “Do your knees wiggle and jiggle?”

“I know what Jell-O is,” I said. “And isn’t it ‘watch it jiggle, see it wiggle’?” Okay, and that mattered why? “Never mind. To answer your question, yes. Sort of. Maybe more like jelly. Not quite as wiggly as Jell-O.”

Her lips twitched, but she nodded. “And when you’re near him—like smelling distance near him—does your heart go all shaky and fast?”

Fuck. “Sort of. Maybe. Fluttery?”

More mouth twitching ensued. “Do you find certain parts of his body utterly irresistible?”

“Sexual attraction doesn’t mean I
like
him!”

“Answer the question, Julia.”

“Do freckles count? Smiley-face freckles, in particular?” I winced as soon as the ridiculous question left my mouth. “Don’t answer that.”

“Oh, honey. Freckles?” Kara gave me a look filled with amused pity.

“All those questions prove is that I think Scot is sexy. I thought the same thing when he and Leslie dated. Nothing new there,” I admitted in a rush. “So that doesn’t help me at all.”

“This so blows.” Kara sighed. “I’d be ecstatic if it weren’t for Leslie. I’ve waited for this to happen to you. You deserve to have a crazy, heart-pumping,
fairy-tale
relationship once in your life. Every woman does.”

“This isn’t a relationship! And I said nothing about fairy tales or . . . or . . .”

“But it
could
be. Look, the reason I popped in this morning was to talk to you about this. Leslie gave me the entire scoop
last night.” Kara hesitated and gnawed on her lip. “Convincing Scot to give them another go-around is such a bad idea. Do you know what it was like when she was dating Scot?”

“She liked him. A lot. But couldn’t deal with his blue-collar trade.” Scot worked in construction. That was about all I knew. “So you two went out one night and she hooked up with someone else.”

“Yeah, but even before that—” Kara shook her head, interrupting herself. “She was always saying how things weren’t going to go anywhere with them. That he was looking for a certain type of woman and she wasn’t it. But she
wanted to
be that woman, so she tried. She wasn’t herself with him.”

This was a front-page bulletin. “In what way?”

“He wants kids. You know Leslie doesn’t, but she told him she did. He’s a major Cubs fan and Leslie hates baseball, but she pretended she loves the sport. Literally, everything he likes that she doesn’t, she said she did.”

Oh, dear God. “But Leslie despises fake people.”

“I know! Don’t you see? She shouldn’t be with any guy she can’t be herself with, and she isn’t herself with Scot.” Kara frowned. “And sorry, but the cheating thing isn’t cool. And if she really fell for a guy, I don’t believe she’d cheat. So I wanted you to talk her out of this. She listens to you more than she does me. But if you like Scot, then you can’t. Because she’ll think that’s why, and it will turn into a huge thing.”

“I don’t know if I—” I breathed in deeply. “Doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to come of whatever is going on with Scot, so quit worrying about that. I can handle Leslie. I can handle Scot.” Well, I hoped so, anyway.

“She has the right to have this information. If you don’t tell her, everything will be worse later.” Kara’s shoulders slumped forward. “I don’t see her with Scot, but she’s my friend.”

I understood. Kara believed in the sisterhood of friendship:
total honesty, total trust, total acceptance. Usually, we were on the same page. “I will if there’s anything to tell. But for now, I need you to keep this between us. Let me work this out, Kara. Please?”

Her face scrunched up. “Don’t ask me to do that.”

“Just for a little while. Until . . . well, until I have the chance to get a grip.”

“I can’t.” She stared at her toes. “If it were you, I’d feel the same.”

Huh. Not magical, then. A new surge of disappointment gathered in my gut, which was dumb. In a brisk voice, I said, “Fine, Kara. I get it. I do. I’ll figure out how to tell her tonight.”

Relief erased Kara’s frown. “Good. It will be hard, but it’s better if it comes from you. And maybe she’ll react okay. Maybe she’ll give you her blessing.”

“I don’t need her blessing,” I said, suddenly exhausted. “Scot is cute, yes. Sexy, yes. But honey, he and I are very different types of people. He’s not my winning lottery ticket.”

But man, he was a jackpot for some lucky woman.

Kara’s eyes clouded, grew darker, as if she were lost in thought. It was odd. Not to be rude, but Kara isn’t exactly a heavy thinker. Not that she isn’t smart, because she is. She’s just the lighthearted, bubbly, live-in-the-moment type. Fuzzy tingles swept down the back of my neck. Was this it? Magic?

“Kara? Are you okay?”

“Maybe I was too hasty,” she murmured. “You’re sure you can handle this—Scot and Leslie and whatever’s going on for you?” Her voice sounded hollow and faraway.

“Yes! I promise that I’ll deal with this.” And then I took a leap of faith of the magical variety. “But . . . um . . . if you could just keep this quiet until I’m ready to talk to Leslie myself, even if it takes a few weeks, I would so appreciate it.”

Magic. A freaking magical journal. My rational brain continued to scream
Coincidence! Only a coincidence!
as I—trying to expend my jumpy energy—cleaned my entire apartment, did a week’s worth of laundry, and reorganized my kitchen cupboards. Well, only one of the cupboards. Jangled nerves and my preoccupation with Scot, Leslie, Kara, and
wishes
wouldn’t allow me to move on to the next.

So I chickened out and decided to cancel my date with Scot. I pretended to myself that my decision was the
smart
choice, that I needed more time to consider how to proceed before seeing him again. But the down and dirty truth was that being in his presence so soon after locking lips turned my knees into—as Kara suggested earlier—Jell-O.

But I didn’t have his phone number, and he either wasn’t listed or he wasn’t listed in a way that I could find him. Of course, Elizabeth’s bakery
was
listed, so I called there, hoping she’d be around on a late Saturday afternoon. She was, and while she found my request odd, she gave me both of Scot’s numbers. Now I just had to work up the courage to call him.

I checked the time. Three hours to go before he arrived. I was already pushing the boundaries of proper protocol. Canceling this late was rude. But, come on, if dialing the phone brought about a sweat of cold fear, what would the evening be like? I’d try his home number first.