It's Just Love (2 page)

Turning to go inside, she heard the gate click again and
spun back. A thin young man in jeans and a polo shirt stood on her path. His
blond spiked hair featured indigo tips that bobbed when his head moved.

“Do you have an appointment?” She had no more clients
scheduled for the day, and she only worked on referral. No walk-ins allowed. No
sign on the fence advertising her services. The tall, lean twenty-something did
not have an appointment, and wasn’t dressed like a traveling missionary. That
left salesman, process server, and guy with the wrong address. She was betting
on the last.

“Are you Coral Nixie?”

Well, there went the wrong address notion. She didn’t know
of anyone suing her, but in lawsuit-happy Southern California, it happened from
time to time.

She nodded. “And you are?”

“Tom Hardy. Are you the love potion witch?”

Her stomach churned. Not again. Her spells and potions were
always spot-on, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been dragged into small
claims court by someone who got what they asked for. Prince Charming had a
tendency to have warts that didn’t show until he moved into a girl’s condo or, worse,
married her.

She frowned. “I think you’d better come in.” Waving him up
the path, she called over her shoulder, “And if you’re a process server, say so
now before I serve you tea and cookies.”

No matter what his reason for showing up at her gate, she
wouldn’t have a conversation about her business in the yard where passing
pedestrians and nosy neighbors could listen in on every word. They already
gossiped about her at the bistro on the corner, or so she assumed when she
wandered in for a latte and a scone and all conversation died. No need to fuel
the flames.

He trailed behind. “I’m not. I just need to talk to you for
a minute.”

She opened the door and beckoned him in. “Fine.” Passing him
in the hallway, she entered the kitchen. “Have a seat at the table. I’ll get
the tea.”

He took a seat at her round bistro table. “And cookies?”

“What?” She stepped outside, returning with a jar of sun
tea, which she set on the counter.

“Cookies, you promised cookies.”

She grinned, opened a cupboard, and took out two glasses and
a sugar bowl. Spike Boy watched, tapping his foot. Last, she took a square
Tupperware container from a low shelf and moved over to set it on the table.
“Here you are.”

He popped the lid. “What kind are they?”

“You’re picky for a guy with no appointment who’s getting
free snacks. They’re oatmeal cranberry, and I made them last night.”

She tossed the teabags from the jar in the trash, emptied an
ice tray into the glasses, and then poured the warm liquid over the clinking
cubes. “You’ll have to add your own sugar, I like it straight.”

“No,” he said, accepting the drink with a beaming smile,
“this is fine.” He bit into his third cookie—or fourth?—but she enjoyed his
enthusiasm.

She sat across from him and sipped her tea. After a few
moments, the cookie stash was nearly depleted and she was tired of waiting.
“Why did you say you were here?”

“I didn’t.” He crunched on the last cookie and frowned at
the container as though more might appear if he stared hard enough.

“Well, would you?”

He looked puzzled.

“Tell me?” she said. “Why you wanted to talk to me?” Fun was
fun, but she’d become curious. A bird chirped on the windowsill, and she
glanced then returned her gaze to his face and to the cookie in his hand.
“Where did you find another cookie?”

“Oh, it was in the bottom of the bin, but I think they’re
all gone now.” He frowned. “Unless you have some in the cabinet?”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicion tickling the back of her
mind, but she set it aside. Surely her guest hadn’t conjured a cookie? Minor
magic occurred every day in her world. Some people didn’t even notice when they
manifested their desires. It was merely a cookie, after all, and he still
hadn’t answered her question.

“No more cookies. You ate them all.”

He looked disappointed, but shrugged. “I’m here to invite
you to be on television.”

Her shower time game returned to heat her cheeks.
Holy
crap! I really am going to be on My Strange Addictions.
“But I don’t eat
that much of it.”

“Much of what?” His blond brows arched.

Oh no. I need to keep my fantasies straight.
He’d
think she was a crazy Pagan for sure. “Nothing at all. You said something about
television?”

“Sales have been slowing on
Compatible Pair
,” Aaron
said, glancing at a printout on his lap. “The publisher’s marketing department
has asked what you plan to do to make
The Factors
even bigger.”

Gage Middleton leaned back and half-turned his chair to face
the city view outside his seventeenth floor window. Westwood and the Pacific
Ocean lay at his feet, the late afternoon sunshine gleaming on it all. He had
years of training, a PhD from USC, and a series of successful self-help books
under his belt. He fought the annoyance rising from his chest. “Bigger? I think
my record speaks for itself, Aaron.”

The gray-green ocean appeared serene from this distance,
with white dots of sailboats and one giant oil tanker passing. He had a boat
docked at the marina. A forty-foot motorsailer he hadn’t visited in months. His
books and practice paid for it, but didn’t allow him the spare time to use it.
He made a mental note to inform the rental service to take its listing from
part to full-time availability. Why not make a little money on it instead of
letting it sit at anchor, unused? Or maybe sell it? But he hated that idea. As
long as he owned it, he could imagine a day when he guided his sleek boat over
the waves, warm sun and brisk wind washing away the tension of years.

“Gage?” Aaron wouldn’t let it rest.

He turned his back on the ocean. “Okay. Do your job and set
up the tour. Radio, television…the usual. I wouldn’t even mind doing some of
the local morning shows. I’ll need an itinerary so I can fit it around my
practice. You do remember I have one, right?”

The agent snorted. “I’d try to get you to quit that, except
it gives your golden words credibility. Along with that pretty lady of yours.”
Aaron nodded. “Yep, you are your own greatest success story. How many of the
ten factors on your list did you match with Geena?”

“All of them,” he said proudly. “She’s my perfect 10. Now,
if you don’t mind, she asked me to stop by her place this evening, and I have
one last client to see—” He glanced at his watch. “—in five minutes.”

“I’m going.” Aaron stood and headed for the door. “I’ll get
back with you about those interviews. See if your lady would be willing to
appear with you.”

“I am sure she’d be delighted, her own schedule permitting.”
She’d be great eye candy as well. Tall, slim, redheaded Geena never failed to
draw the right kind of attention. And they were well matched physically. One of
his factors. They stayed in shape, ate well, and watched their weight, making good
health a priority. Even if TV added ten pounds, Geena would appear thin and
gorgeous.

They’d spent their last vacation undergoing a cleansing fast
at a Palm Springs health spa. Her idea. So practical, always concerned about
his well-being and his camera presence. He tried to ignore a twinge of unease
at the memory of the colonic provided to guests on the final day of their stay.
He’d suggested a cruise, ready to relax and just have fun for once, but she’d
been horrified at the thought of all the food served onboard. “Even with that
tiny workout room, we’d gain a ton before we got home. Have you seen the
pictures of the midnight buffets?” He had, yes.

Escorting Aaron to the door, Gage glanced around his waiting
room. His receptionist had left early for an appointment, leaving the sign on
her desk that said:
Please have a seat and the doctor will see you at the
time of your appointment. Thank you for your patience.
He frowned at the
empty room. If his clients were ten minutes late, he would cancel the appointment
and invoice them anyway. Did they realize how lucky they were to have his
services? With their wedding approaching, the young couple had explained they
wanted to make sure that they stood the best possible chance of success in
marriage. His specialty.

His outer door opened, and the pair strolled in, arm in arm.
“Hi, Dr. Middleton. Are we late?” Bob Johannes asked. “I’m afraid we got a
little distracted in the car.”

Tracey Sikik rolled her eyes. “Shh, the doctor doesn’t want
to hear that you put the moves on me again, right in the parking lot.” She
giggled. “And I can’t resist him.”

Bob wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a
squeeze.

Gage looked at his watch again. “No, you’re fine. Please
come in.” He led them into his office, ready to impart his good news.

Fifty minutes later they left, trudging toward the elevator
with slumped shoulders. He sighed. With six factors of compatibility, they had
a sixty-forty chance at success. Still, better than most people’s—yet they took
it badly. Why had they come to him if they were going to be such poor sports
about it and argue with the facts? It puzzled him how often clients reacted in
such an emotional way.

Did they come to him to have their fantasies of everlasting
and magical love bolstered? He snorted at the absurdity, glad once again for
his own excellent relationship.

Gage turned off the lights and locked up behind him. At
least he could be confident Geena would be on time. Another factor on his list
was timeliness. Late people and early people and on time people did not mix
well. Despite his calm disposition, a bit of excitement suffused him. He patted
the box in his pocket. If all went as planned—and why shouldn’t it?—she’d be
more than his girlfriend by the end of the evening.

* * * *

Half an hour later, Gage stood outside Geena’s condo,
puzzled. He rang the bell again; no answer. Odd. She’d asked him to meet her at
home, hadn’t she? He pulled out his cellphone to check her text as a chime
announced another from her. Relief washed over him. In Los Angeles, even the
most punctual could encounter a problem on the freeway. Geena’s commute from
downtown to her Santa Monica condo often took longer than she liked, but she
loved her view and the local community she was active in.

We have to talk. Starbucks in ten minutes.

He tried to ignore the flicker of unease. He didn’t have to
ask which Starbucks. They often went to the one near her home. But why, if she
was so close, hadn’t she met him at her condo?

Then he grinned, imagining her face when he opened the ring
box. He wouldn’t drop to one knee. Geena didn’t need all that flowery nonsense.
Practical girl, she’d know what his offer meant. What a pair they’d make, sailing
through life to old age, compatible to a fault.

Their favorite coffeehouse would be the perfect place to
propose. Wouldn’t Aaron be pleased to see the two-carat stone sparkling under
the lights on whatever PBS show he booked him on this time? A perfect
punctuation mark to his new book,
The Factors
.

Two blocks away, and in a cheerful mood, he decided to walk.
But when he arrived, he didn’t find Geena at their favorite table on the patio,
even though it was available. How out of character for his lovely, predictable
lady. Perhaps someone had just vacated it or... He peered through the window
and smiled.

She was waiting at the barista stand for their drinks.
Always considerate of his time, she’d placed their orders, knowing he’d be
along. He took a seat at their table, by the outside railing, with the view
straight down the street to the ocean. He could also see inside where Geena
waited.

She wore a white, cap-sleeved blouse and her dark suit
skirt, the jacket left in the car with her briefcase no doubt. A corporate
lawyer, she kept her hair up during the workday, but now it cascaded around her
shoulders, red waves that reminded him of flames. She laughed at something
another patron said, some tall, blond guy in battered jeans and a dark blue t-shirt.
He looked like a construction worker, but Geena never discriminated, although
she came from old money. Admirable quality. She fit in with the wealthy clients
her firm represented and had the ability to make the grubbiest homeless client
in her Saturday pro-bono practice instantly at ease.

Leaning back in the chair, he propped one foot on the bottom
railing and watched the waves roll up the beach. Out at sea, a fog bank closed
in, gradually hiding the dark green sea and the pale blue sky with a wall of
gray-white, bringing a chill. Rare for a warm late September day, yet the
Pacific had its own rhythms. Soothing, they drew him. As always…

He pulled his Palm out and made a note to suggest a walk on
the beach the next day he and Geena had free—whenever that might be. Good
exercise and excellent together time, just the kind of thing he suggested to
his patients.

He’d make time and request she do the same. Besides, it
would make a good topic in an interview, the doctor taking his own medicine.
Perhaps an interview
on
the beach with the breeze ruffling Geena’s hair.
She looked gorgeous in a hoodie and shorts that showed her long, toned legs.
He’d ask Aaron to check, because there might be problems with technical issues,
but at least some still shots, perhaps blown up as a backdrop to their
appearance.

A wedding picture would be best, but Geena would want plenty
of time to plan the society event of the season—and she’d be right.

He’d been sitting there a long time; if Starbucks couldn’t
make an Americano faster than this, they might have to switch to Peet’s or
Coffee Bean. He stood to head inside and find out what the problem was and
bumped into a hard body standing behind him.