A Captivating Conundrum (23 page)

"Why not?" She shrugged.

"Intelligent? I need that."

She nodded. "On par."

I leaned forward. Although there was such a woman, Beth was polishing the actual dull reality to a high shine. She was a writer, after all, so Beth was used to making characters look better than they were. I laughed. "Great cook, great wife and mother, supportive of my career, won't be jealous of any Hollywood crap that comes along—just absolute perfection is waiting for me back home?"

"Exactly! Mark my words, I know these things." She tapped a perfectly-manicured fingernail on her forehead and winked.

"You're psychic, too?"

She waved her hand in front of her face. "Oh, sure. Psychic, tarot cards, the whole nine yards. I even have a crystal ball under my bed. I use it for when Bobby comes out of his room in the morning; I roll it down the hall so he'll trip and fall over the balcony. Sometimes I even make him wear my turban and convince the locals that they're connecting with their dead cat from beyond the grave. Makes a little extra cash on the side."

I couldn't help but laugh at her silly face. And I
did
like some of the attributes she gave my future wife, only… "I wouldn't want to settle."

"Settle?"

"That woman you described, the future Mrs. McKenna? I wouldn't want to settle for her; it would be mean."

"Why would it be settling?"

I took a deep breath and pushed out the honesty. "Because you're on the planet."

The smile faded, but her eyes held mine in their intense and slightly confused grip. "You need to go back to California after the charity event is over. You have a big life that's going to get a heck of a lot bigger, Matthew—you need to go back and live it." Her voice was solid and sure.

I'll play.
"I have my dreams."

She nodded.

"And now I want another one."

"I'm not it."

"Why?"

Taking a deep breath, Beth reached for the script on the table that I'd brought along for the 'business end' of dinner. "Because you've known me for three days."

"There's that rule again," I mumbled, tossing my napkin.

"What?"

I exhaled loudly. "How long did your parents know each other before they got married?"

She looked down at the table. "Not the same thing."

"Why? It's just a question. Did they grow up in this town together? Knew each other since infancy?"

She hesitated, bringing her gaze back to me. "They met later in life; they were in their thirties."

Just like we were
, I thought. "How long?" I was not about to let this go.

"A month."

"
Really
?" I said, a bit sarcastically. "Racing into it like that, I'm surprised it lasted."

Her cheeks flushed. "They weren't kids."

My eyes widened. "I'll be thirty-five. You?"

The same confused and frustrated look glazed her pupils. "I thought…I thought you were just being nice."

Now I was confused. "Nice about what?

"Well…everything. This dinner, hugging me when I cried earlier, dancing at the bar…"

I took a breath. "I would hope I was portraying something more than just nice."

Shaking her head, brushing the conversation off her shoulders, Beth handed me the script. "Let's work."

"I think we should finish this."

"And we will, but right now I want to hear you."

"And I want to kiss you."

She stared at the script. "Please?"

Sighing, I sent her a curt nod across the table. As I opened the script, I closed my eyes. Maybe if
I
couldn't get through to her, her character could.

Seventeen

~ Hers ~

Man, I'd been off my game. This guy snuck up on me like a thief in the night and, for some reason, my normally responsible brain was discarding all the excuses I could think of.

I definitely wasn't Matt's dream. In fact, I would make a horrible one for him, seeing as that he was on a grand stage and I was pretty much a normal ding-a-ling. There was simply no way on earth 'Once Upon a Time' could ever work.

I watched Matt move around the dining room, and listened to his amazing voice go from a baritone to a tenor to a struggling man who screamed at the top of his lungs. There was no music, no band, and no song about being positive and happy. What he gave to me were my words. He was in that character—that young man who'd been hurt but had gone on to get his dream, only to look back and wish there was another facet to his life. He yelled, cried, cursed; he'd discarded faith and now wanted someone to give it back to him.

The performance was so strong I was lost in the world Matt was locked inside. I was completely enthralled by the emotions that showed in every line of his face. His eyes gleamed blue as he ran his hand through his short, thick hair in frustration, calling out to angels he didn't even believe in for a second chance…a new life. His square chin remained hard and solid until the little girl in the play showed him what it was like to believe; then the angles moved and the chin quivered, as a mixture of happiness and tears shot forth.

This was a man who was learning you
could
have it all; that there was a way to live grand in front of an audience of worshippers, and still have the ability to head home, dump the fame at the door and simply be.

As it came to a close, I could picture Amber being carried in his arms as Matt danced her around the stage and sang the song to make the audience feel as if they needed that family—that child to bless their lives.

Matt had brought my piece to life, and I was absolutely in love. The only frightening part was that I was more in love with the actor than I was with the character created in my own mind.

Breathless, Matt stopped. Sitting back down, he held a quiet stare.

I have never been speechless.  

"Well?" The handsome face broke into a smile.

"You're…it was…,"
You're a writer, stupid! Words should never be a problem!
"Matthew," I said, taking a deep breath. "You are…enchanting."

He grinned. "Now, you see? That's the one thing your 'perfect woman' for me would never be able to do."

I tilted my head.

"Remember my name. All they remember is the character."

"You will
always
be my Matthew."

He swallowed hard. "Kiss me."

I searched my brain, looking for the dreamy girl, the crabby old woman, the librarian—every member of my repertoire I could think of to help me out, and not
one
advised me to leave the room.

As I began to stand, to walk the one step I needed to take in order to wrap my arms around him and feel those soft lips against my own, the moment was shattered. And unlike the victims in all the Wes Craven movies, I heard it coming.

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall to the table. I was not shocked in the least. Considering Fate's sick sense of humor with me since birth, this was definitely not unexpected.

"What is it?" Matt asked, as I stared up into a pair of very confused eyes.

The horrific music exploded in my driveway; the deep drum beats sounded like an evil monster's heart. Now
that
was more like Wes Craven.

Matt turned and looked out the window. "What the hell is that?"

The music went silent and I heard the door slam.

"I'm about to have a headache," I moaned into the crook of my elbow.

"Aren't you using just about the oldest excuse in the book to get out of kissing me? I would expect something more imaginative from a bestseller."

Looking up, I nodded at the teasing smile that I knew was about to fade. "Trust me. You're about to have a headache, too."

"Huh?"

"This is penance, you know," I snorted. "Because we never go to church."

Sitting back in the chair—no, crumpling in the chair—I watched Matt jump almost two feet in the air as the door was suddenly thrown open.

Nicole entered the room as if a Calcutta monsoon was blowing in behind her. "Surprise!"

The 'almost' fairytale evaporated.

Eighteen

~ His ~

The miniscule woman raced into the room with a bag at her side and I wanted to burst into tears. Yet another moment was ripped from my hands, as Beth's agent marched forward and took my seat at the table; the one I'd jumped out of when I thought a tornado had struck the house.

I watched her tap Beth on the head, as Beth stayed completely motionless with her head still buried in her elbow.

"Hello? It's ME! You sick?"

"I am now." The voice came from the bowed head.  "What are you doing here?"

"Tomorrow's 'game day.'" Nicole looked up at me as if she was confused by the slightly odd greeting she was receiving. 

"You hate sports." Beth said, slowly raising her head in the air. "You despise it."

She shrugged. "I know, but I have to talk to you about something so I'll just have to put up with it."

Beth sat back in the chair as if suddenly pummeled by a gale force wind. "What?" 

"I brought a keg of beer!" Nicole's voice was upbeat, as if her gift of alcohol could possibly make me forget about the other, more thrilling gift she'd just stolen from my lips.

"That's right, right?" The woman glanced up at me again with black eyes that seemed to demand me to answer. "Beer is what you need for the sports crap?

"Yup." Beth sighed. "Might as well tap it now. This night is over."

My heart sunk, knowing that she was absolutely right. I did want to know, though—was she going to kiss me before the Wicked Witch of the West appeared? I needed to know.

"I have THE news!" Nicole said, knocking my fork to the floor in the process. 

She stared at me and then at the floor, as if I should be bending over by now and picking it up. "Whoops, sorry about that." It was as if she suddenly looked at the table for the first time. "Oh, look! Dinner!" 

Nicole smiled wide. "Lasagna. I love lasagna."

"Help yourself," Beth replied in a monotone.

"Oh, no." Nicole flinched, touching her tiny stomach. "Trying to watch the weight."

I snorted. "You weigh nine pounds soaking wet."

"Why, thank you, handsome." Nicole winked. "Grab me a glass, will you? I love wine."

I simply nodded and turned to the kitchen, calling out to any supernatural being that may exist to please turn back time.