How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead (4 page)

She huffed out a breath of relief.
“Or I could pick you up in like…an hour.”

“Oh, bold. I like that.”

She’d called him, after the article
had suggested to quit being a wimp and go for it. Bold was a good
feeling. She was in control of her destiny. She was grabbing life
by the horns. The article was right—this was better.

He gave her his address, and she
wrote it down. It turned out he only lived three miles away, and
they’d met in the middle this morning—like it was fate—it felt like
fate. She and Daniel could be fated to be together, and they’d
needed to bump, well, slam into each other twice for them to take
the hint.

Exactly one hour later, she was
knocking on his door. From the barking and scrambling on the other
side she could tell the dog had made it there first.

He answered the door, and then stood
there, staring.

“What?” she asked, embarrassed. He
was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before.

“Nothing. You’re just…beautiful.
Hang on. Let me go throw Sherlock in the back.” He dragged the dog
through the house while the dog resisted and howled the whole
way.

It gave her time to press a hand
over her heart and convince it that his opinion on her looks didn’t
matter. Much. She wasn’t going to get all gooey because he said she
was beautiful. Much.

Roger had said she looked
“great”—though, Jerry may have disagreed.

Still, it was not a big deal.
Don’t make it a big deal.

Then, he was back with a jacket
thrown over his arm.

Even though it was October and
Portland, the weather had turned early this year, and the air had a
bite to it. While they were standing in line for the haunted house,
she scooted closer to him to be warm. As if it was the most natural
thing in the world, he put his arm around her and kept
talking.

Just like that.

No drama. No hair shirts. No Jerry.
It almost felt too easy. A relationship should feel more awkward,
shouldn’t it? He was too nice and perfect. She was too comfortable
and happy. This was magic, the giddy feeling in her heart seemed to
agree with that. It had never felt this good to be with a
guy.

“What?” he asked, seeing her
smile.

“Nothing. Just you. I think a
twenty-one year old version of me would have really liked you is
all.”

He looked perplexed, not that she
could blame him. “Does this other version of you have a different
name…and is it Jerry?”

She laughed and snuggled closer to
his side.

The line moved, and they inched
along with it, but he kept his arm around her. “How does this
current version of you feel about me?” he asked.

“This current version of me thinks
you’re pretty great.”

It took another fifteen minutes of
standing in line for them to get to the entrance. He’d put both
arms around her and was rubbing a circle on her lower back in a
slow, sensual rhythm that had her almost closing her eyes and
purring. Hard to believe they’d met only that morning in the fog.
When they did hit the beginning of the line, he dropped his arms
from around her and only held her hand. If only the line had been
longer. They should have let people cut ahead.

They went into the haunted house and
someone reached out of the first corner to grab her. She bit back a
scream.

Daniel laughed. “This is fantastic.
I haven’t been in one of these in years.”

They were chased through a graveyard
by a horde of zombies growling with their chainsaws
buzzing.

“I would never give a zombie a
chainsaw!” Daniel shouted over his shoulder.

“I don’t think someone gives them a
chainsaw—they take it along with your brain.” One had chased them
clear to the edge of the room. For a mad second, she’d thought he
was actually after her, but apparently that roaring, rag-covered
creature had a real dedication to the craft.

From there, they entered rooms made
to look like an insane asylum. People were strapped to tables in
rooms covered in blood. There were mad doctors and monsters.
Screams and flashing lights. She jumped at noises, even as she
laughed. Her heart pounded, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her
face.

They were holding hands.

They were getting screamed at by a
scientist holding a fake brain.

His hand was in hers, and she was
pressed tight against his side.

“Do you feel at home?” she asked as
they passed a man wearing a strait jacket who was strapped to a
table. He jerked around on the table acting as if he was battling
his own personal Jerry. It was insane how much energy bounced
around the spook house and its actors. That was insane. They must
go home exhausted.

“What?” he asked, leaning
down.

“I asked….”

He tilted his head, and it was most
likely accidental in the dim hallway they’d moved into, but his
mouth rubbed hers. His lips bumped slowly against hers—and all her
nerve-endings went on high-alert.

Oh. Wow. Just. Wow. Never had
friction generated that much heat. His mouth was so soft and dry
and…wow.

“That…,” he said.

“That,” she agreed, even if she
wasn’t sure she knew what she was agreeing to. That had been
amazing for being accidental and short, and she needed more. A lot
more. She slipped her hands into his hair and pulled his mouth
against hers. She could hear an actor getting fake electric shock
therapy in another room and see the flashing lights that
accompanied it. In this hallway, it was electric too. Her veins
felt like they were conducting electricity from the hot connection
of their lips. It wasn’t meant to feel this good. It was too sudden
and too magical, so she doubted it could last. It didn’t matter.
She wasn’t going to be afraid of being rejected. She was going to
be bold.

She opened her mouth to his, and his
tongue swept against hers, teasing and tasting. His hands slid down
her sides and along her back and brought her closer.

Mmm. So good. So very
good.

His arms tightened.

Then, a group of teenage girls
bumped into them with screams and apologies as they moved
on.

Their lips parted, and they stared
at each other. He was breathing as quickly as her. She tried not to
be obvious about it, tried not to gulp in breaths. Her heart was
pounding—hammering against her ribcage more than it had this entire
spooky time. Even the zombies in the graveyard hadn’t quickened her
pulse to this pace.

She felt alive.

Wow.

“This is crazy,” she
said.

“It is crazy…so by your rules, that
means it’s not.”

“I guess not.”

They finished the remainder of the
house, but her heightened awareness of him left her in a daze.
Actors jumping out at her received a very delayed reaction. Her
brain was going ninety miles per hour along with her heart.
We
kissed. We kissed, and it was amazing. This was amazing. It was
everything I’ve ever wanted. My twenty-one year old version of me
was right.

The thirty-one year old kept trying
to stall her, to delay her from putting her whole heart on the
line.
It’s crazy. It’s too soon. There has to be something wrong
with him. There has to be. He is too good to be
true.

“Can I ask you something?” They were
outside the haunted house and walking side-by-side, really close.
That was something. You could always measure attraction with
proximity. He’d been quiet, but he hadn’t pulled away. And he might
be thinking about that kiss too. That’s why he wasn’t talking. If
you were close to someone, the silences were never
awkward.

“Sure,” he said.

“I have this party with friends on
Halloween. I was wondering if you’d go as my date.”

He hesitated, but then smiled. “Is
it a costume party?”

Oh, that’s why he hadn’t agreed
right away. For one awful second, she thought he was going to say
no. Maybe this whole night, she’d been wrong about him, and he
wasn’t as interested in her as she was in him. It was stupid to
think that. He’d been just as into that kiss as she had been, and
there was the proximity thing. No, he was definitely
interested.

“Some people wear costumes, but we
wouldn’t have to if you’re absolutely against them.”

“I’m not. I’ll go with you. Were you
really going as a zombie?”

“I was thinking maybe I would. It
seems easy enough. I’m not big into huge, elaborate
costumes.”

“Okay.”

This night was perfect. It was as if
nothing could go wrong—which was terrifying—this was usually when
the bottom dropped out, when she found out that she shouldn’t trust
her heart because she attracted insane men. He was too good, too
nice. This date had been too magical. It was all “too”
much.

It would happen anytime
now.

Anytime.

Daniel slid his hand into hers and
smiled down at her. Or not. Maybe not.

Standing in front of the door,
Daniel got his key out, but he stopped with it in the keyhole. “I
need to tell you something, Lauren.”

She’d been at his side, joking about
walking him to his door, but at this, her heart sank, and she took
a few steps back. “You know, there are no conversations starting
with those words that are good news.” No, this had happened before.
She got all excited about a guy—to the point that he seemed almost
superhuman in her eyes, and then he proved without a doubt, he was
most definitely human. Never to this degree of course, but that
should have told her the end would be a harder fall. “Please tell
me that you’re not married.”

“Well, that’s part of it, but….” He
grabbed for her hand as she backed up, but she danced out of reach,
holding her hands up.

It hurt so bad it stole her breath.
“No. No. No. No. I should be put in a psychiatric program for women
who are psychotically bad at picking men.” What was in her profile
on the dating site that only attracted crazy men? She dug through
her purse for her keys.

“No, I’m not married. Not
anymore.”

She froze in the act of hunting for
the keys which seemed to have dropped to the bottom of her bag.
“What does not anymore mean?”

“I was married, but she died…two
years ago. She’d had a heart condition her whole life, and it was
expected, but.… I just….” He dragged a hand down his face. “You
were my first attempt at dating again, and Nadia would have wanted
me to start dating. I thought I was ready.”

She hurt worse than moments ago when
she’d thought he wanted her, but he was married and having a
conscience attack. Now, he was being noble even though he was
available, and it stung like hell, but how could she ask a widower
to jump back into dating if he wasn’t ready?

“But you’re not ready?”

“I don’t know. I expected to know—to
feel right.”

Oh, ugh. She felt so sick. She could
hurl right at his feet. All the warmth everywhere in her body
seemed to have seeped out. He hadn’t been interested in her—at
least not to the degree she had been. It had felt completely right
to her. It had felt so right.