The Matchmaker's Mark (2 page)

"Ah." Lily nudged the wrapped flowers across the counter. "Please tell Maeve I said hello."

"Will do." Amy sighed and shook her head. "I'm going to take a picture of these and send it to my assistant. It might give her hope to carry on through the remaining snowy months back home."

"Be sure to come by anytime you want to chat or anything." Lily murmured adoring nonsense to Guinness and waved goodbye as the pair left her shop. Empty water bowl in hand, she faced Jim's partner. "What happened now?"

He brought her up to speed while she reached for the first aid kit under the counter. Pulling back her sleeve, she stifled a gasp. The skin around the birthmark on her left wrist was irritated all right, but not by a simple thorn. Unwilling to consider the most likely possibilities and ramifications, she smeared anti-itch cream on it and pulled her sleeve back in place, grateful for the distraction of how to get her customer out of the doghouse this time.

Later, when the closed sign was posted, she'd take time to think about the magic she'd obviously missed in the process of doing business like a normal person.

~*~

Amy left Lily's shop, arrangement in hand, her wool coat open to the lovely air, and Guinness matching her stride. It was one more ideal moment since arriving in Charleston. This daily lunch hour stroll was becoming one of her favorite activities. The sunshine and friendly people combined in an incredibly invigorating, purely delightful cure for her Midwestern winter blahs.

She greeted perfect strangers, trying to remember the last time a January smile hadn't been hidden behind a scarf and thick layer of lip balm.

"This is how winter should be," she said to Guinness, beaming like an idiot at a passing bike messenger. A native Charlestonian, she thought, catching the sincere smile, leather gloves, and thick sweater topped with a polar fleece vest.

She managed not to laugh. January in South Carolina was downright balmy compared to the foot of snow and bitter winds whipping across the University of Nebraska campus right about now. A messenger on a ten speed wouldn't stand a chance this time of year.

At Maeve's warning about cold temperatures, Amy had brought along a sweater for Guinness, but so far, he hadn't needed it.

When Guinness paused at the cupcake bakery Amy was happy her hands were full of flowers and leash. It made resisting the sweet temptation easier while the greyhound took his time snuffling at the bright pansies filling the planters flanking the door.

A man grinned, pausing on his way inside. "Gorgeous dog."

"Thanks," Amy replied. Guinness did his 'never-met-a-stranger' thing and soaked up all the available attention while she answered a few questions about the breed and the adoption programs.

"We might just have to make this interim thing permanent," she told Guinness as they resumed their journey to Maeve's house. Being a dog-friendly city only made Charleston more appealing. Besides, people here seemed to care, to actually want the answers to the typical small talk questions.

An interesting difference from the more stoic, polite approach of home. She mused on the topic as she left the shopping district behind, aiming for Maeve's neighborhood. It was several blocks, but the brisk, fresh air was an amazing treat in January, even more delightful with the scent of the harbor tickling her nose. It was almost disappointing to reach Maeve's place in the Hailstone Village neighborhood.

Inside, she toed out of her shoes and unclipped Guinness' leash, hanging it on the hall tree, under her coat. Padding into the kitchen, she deposited the wrapped arrangement on the breakfast table and smiled, anticipating Maeve's reaction.

Her friend, lover of all things beautiful, would be tickled by the flowers, even though they weren't from a handsome admirer. Men sent Maeve roses, lilies, sometimes tulips. Usually vased, always extravagant. As soon as Maeve saw the simple basket, she'd know the flowers weren't likely from any current admirer, so Amy decided to prolong the suspense. If she could ignore the agony while Maeve did her 'preserve-the-lovely-paper' routine.

Hearing footsteps on the porch, Amy rushed to open the door, one hand on Guinness' collar, a smile for Maeve on her face.

"Oh," she said, forgetting the flowers, and nearly everything else. Not Maeve. Instead she met the clear gaze of a man with a vaguely familiar face. He was tall; she had to look up to meet his eyes when he stopped on the last step. Beside her, Guinness' tail thumped happily against the hall tree. "Can I help you?"

The author inside Amy took mental notes. Brown hair, highlighted by sunshine, which seemed out of place this time of year. You're in the South, not the Midwest, she reminded herself. His eyes, a warm brown, were shadowed by dark circles. His smile seemed sincere, but weary at the edges. Maeve insisted Charleston was a safe community so Amy relaxed her grip on the door and tried to think hospitable thoughts. He was probably a friend of Maeve's anyway.

"Good day. I'm Darian Knoll. Would Amy Campbell be in residence?"

She was stuck on the formal 'Good day' to the point of nearly missing his use of her name. "Pardon me?"

"Amy Campbell? I've a message for her."

Amy stared, trying to remember where she'd seen his face. He wasn't in any sort of uniform, didn't hold a clipboard, an envelope, or even one of those electronic tracking thingies the express services used. She looked beyond him for a bike or car, anything to validate his presence. Then it hit her. He'd been at the flower shop. A chill skated down her spine. "She's not here."

He arched a brow and she bristled at his arrogant assumption of her lie.

"Who are you?" She cleared her throat, reached for the calm voice she used in the lecture hall. "Do you have a card? I'll give her a message."

"Darian Knoll," he repeated, frowning. "I've followed you –"

"What?" That was just creepy. She wasn't the sort of female men followed. "I think you've got the wrong address," she mumbled, easing the door closed.

Guinness whined, the opportunity to make a new friend denied. "Some people are strangers," she whispered as she backed away from the door. She couldn't pinpoint it, but there was something off about the guy. She just knew she didn't want to hear what he had to say. "Go away, go away," she murmured the words like a mantra until she heard his footsteps leaving the porch.

"Well, hello, sugar." Maeve's sultry Southern voice carried up from the sidewalk. Amy could tell she'd added the extra dose of charm she reserved for the opposite sex.

Through the door, Amy heard Maeve answer the obvious question. "Never heard of her. But you're welcome to come back by if you find yourself looking for me."

Amy wanted to simultaneously slug and hug her best friend. A shameless flirt and the best kind of protector all wrapped up in a beautiful package.

Amy tiptoed to the kitchen, wary of both the creaky floorboards and the knots in her stomach, and waited for the inevitable lecture on turning away a prime piece of male real estate.

"So you are here. Thought you'd made a run for it out the back door."

Amy glanced up into the clear blue eyes of her best friend. "Thanks for that. But you can't be mad at me for being shy. There was the – the whole creep factor."

Maeve blew out an aggrieved sigh, fluffing up her sunny blonde bangs. "You've got issues. He didn't look creepy to me."

Guinness leaned into Maeve, begging for his usual kiss between the eyes. Best friend or not, Maeve had a way with males of any variety. "You were looking at his shoulders," she grumbled. "And you didn't hear him say he'd followed me."

"Actually, I –" Maeve's eyes landed on the wrapped flowers. "Oh! What's this?"

Amy was doubly grateful for Lily's attention to detail. "They're for you."

Maeve started making all her normal girl noises, oh-so-carefully undoing Lily's wrapping. "Oh, my. They're beautiful."

Amy agreed. The basket was perfect for Maeve's French country kitchen, just as the florist had said. "Lily says 'hi'."

"That girl is amazing. What was in her window today?"

Relieved to be off the topic of the stranger, Amy gave a detailed description of Lily's springtime display, then launched into her impression of the cooler, followed by her opinion of the shop in general.

Maeve was grinning. "Yeah, that would push your buttons for sure. Why do you stay in Nebraska if you hate it so much?"

"Good football?" Amy offered.

"Uh-huh. So why turn away the eye candy?"

Amy shot her a look. "That discussion is closed."

"Not when you toss out lame answers like 'football'. It's in the rulebook." Maeve pressed the paper into a neat, smooth square. "What was wrong with him?"

"Nothing at first. Well, he looked tired, but –"

"Tired? Girlfriend! You're too picky." She shook her head and glared at Amy. "I heard the whole conversation. He said he had a message for you. What was the problem?"

"Did you see any delivery service uniform or paraphernalia?"

"So it was a line. You're supposed to use that to reel him in."

"It didn't feel like a line." Amy pressed a hand to her stomach. "I don't know. He said my name and all I could think was to get away." She rubbed her arms, feeling chilled all over again, the more they talked about it. "So I was a nervous ninny. Let's forget it. Please?"

"Fine," Maeve agreed. "Only happy thoughts. Did you bother to eat while you were traipsing about gathering flowers?"

"No." She'd been too content with the weather, too pleased with the flowers. "Do you want to go out?" She glanced over her shoulder, definitely uneasy, but willing to go if Maeve stayed close.

"Oh, good grief," Maeve said in an aggrieved tone reserved for best friends.

Amy didn't feel scolded as much as understood. It had always been that way. Maeve flirted with everything from men to more dangerous pursuits and Amy watched in awe of her absolute confidence. It was just one of those truths between them: Maeve the bold, Amy the cautious.

It wasn't a label she particularly enjoyed, made worse because she couldn't pinpoint a moment or crisis when she'd had a valid reason to choose caution over action in a relationship or any other venture. Not even the biology professor she'd been dating, the one she wasn't missing nearly enough, had come up with a valid genetic hypothesis for her habit of playing it safe.

"I'll fix lasagna," Maeve declared. "You can make a salad or some antipasto thing."

"That's a deal." Maeve came around and squeezed her shoulders. "Buck up, camper. It'll be fine."

~*~

Dare leaned against the building across the street and stared back at the house, tired and confused. He was following the Matchmaker's instructions to "find Amy and deliver this letter". Incomplete and open ended as her instructions often were, she had not directed him how to proceed if Amy Campbell refused to be found or accept said letter. According to the office staff at the Midwestern university where he'd expected to find Amy, she'd traveled to Charleston for an extended project of some sort. He hadn't listened much beyond hearing her direction and current address. Whatever brought her here, he couldn't fault her decision: the South was far better than the freezing Midwest with too much snow and too few trees.

Glaring at the townhouse, he reviewed the encounter, as well as the power that had drawn him into the flower shop earlier. He'd felt the magic there, but couldn't make a confirmation of her identity without being too obvious. Now, though, he knew the woman with the dog was indeed Amy. The clear, lake blue eyes of the Campbell females were unmistakable. He rubbed at the tension in his neck, unable to understand why she didn't want anything to do with him. She acted flighty and nervous, traits that gave him pause.

Women didn't usually find communicating with him such a hardship. Usually, they didn't offer much resistance to him on any level, personal or professional. Then again, Amy was of strong, independent Campbell stock.

Just as he plotted the right spell to spy on the household, an unwelcome thought startled him. It had been many years since he'd been on a mission so far from the company of the Matchmaker. He'd never considered the possibility of the Matchmaker's 'attraction by association' affect enhancing his personal appeal. With his own eyes, he'd seen her mere presence send humans into lovesick tailspins, but never those from the old realms, like himself. He didn't like the prospect, and even recognizing it as merely an excuse, he laid the blame squarely on the fear and general short-sightedness of humans.

Dare continued to watch the house, hoping either of the women inside would reappear. The sun set early here and as more lights winked on in the neighborhood, he reviewed his options. He could return to the hotel and try again tomorrow. Or...

He could backtrack her day and find a common denominator to help her relate to him. It was a tactic often used in the Matchmaker's line of work. While he had no designs on bedding or wedding Amy Campbell, having something neutral to talk about couldn't hurt his cause. The Matchmaker wanted him to find Amy and deliver the letter, but his curiosity meant he would stay until he received word on where to rendezvous with the Matchmaker's team.