Romantic Interludes Part 11

The room broke out into a chorus of "Happy Birthday," her grandmother blus.h.i.+ng prettily, hands clasped at her chest. She blew out the candles to loud applause and cut the first piece before leaving Sam to hand out the rest. Eve started toward her daughter, and Emily eyed the door.

"I don't think so," she muttered, grabbing her by the arm. "I think you and I need to have a little chat."

Emily fought the urge to whine "Mom!" like a teenager, instead allowing herself to be led to a quiet corner.

They sat at a table, Emily slouched rebelliously in her seat and decidedly not looking at Sam. And not noticing how he looked really good in that blue s.h.i.+rt. Or how his face lit up when he laughed, creating those little crinkles around his eyes. Or how she could see a little more of his tattoo, thick black lines edging out from under his sleeve and emphasizing his corded forearm.

Not. Noticing. At. All.

Her gift flared, reaching for him, and she fought it down again. Eve studied her for a moment, and Emily braced herself for a lecture on manners, or slouching . . . or ogling handsome men in blue s.h.i.+rts.

Instead, Eve smiled softly. "Did I ever tell you how many times your father proposed to me?"

Emily sat up, unable to respond for a few seconds. "No. I never knew he proposed at all."

Eve winced. "That's my fault, I suppose. Talking about your father only made me miss him more. I should have told you, though. You deserved to know him, if only through my memories."

Emily didn't know how to respond to that, so she said nothing.

"Seven times," Eve said. "The first time when we were sixteen. The last, about three months before he left." She blinked through a sheen of tears. "I said yes that time."

Emily gasped. "What?"

Eve nodded. "I'd turned him down so many times. Don't get me wrong, I loved him. I loved him deeply . . . desperately. But I always knew. Deep down I knew it wouldn't be forever.

"You were two years old and just starting to show signs of your gift, and he came home with a ring. He got down on one knee and he asked and he was just so . . . earnest and true." Her eyes glazed, a soft, wistful smile on her face. "I loved him so much. We loved each other so much, that in that moment I thought it would be enough."

Emily's jaw tightened. "But it wasn't. It never was."

"No. No, it wasn't."

"So why did you fight me then?" Emily asked, a touch of bitterness in her tone. "When I wanted to leave, why did you try to talk me out of it?"

Eve reached out to touch her arm. "Because you were turning your back on who you are. You were turning your back on love."

"But love is a lie!" Emily snapped, fighting to keep her voice down. "It doesn't conquer all. It's not a many-splendored thing. It isn't patient or kind-"

"Stop." Her mother's voice was soft, but firm. "Stop for a second and just listen to me."

She reached out to take her hand and Emily flinched, pulling back out of habit.

"Let me touch you," Eve said, almost pleading. "I need you to see the truth in what I'm going to tell you."

Emily swallowed, her hand sliding across the table as she braced herself against the onslaught of emotion. Her mother's cool fingers wrapped around hers and-slowly-she let her wall down, opening herself to her mother's feelings.

"When your father left, it almost destroyed me," Eve said, meeting her gaze. "For a long time it hurt to even think of him. It still does sometimes."

Emily felt her mother's anguish, the empty s.p.a.ce where her father should have been, and her own heart broke in response. Then, gradually the feeling changed, grew warm and soft.

"It was hard, but I had you and you were so . . . perfect." She smiled and squeezed Emily's hand. "Over time, I was able to remember more of the good times. You know what I learned?"

"What?" The word was barely a whisper. Emily felt overwhelmed by the rush of love-of joy-emanating from her mother.

Eve leaned forward, green eyes so like her own, pleading with Emily to understand. "It was worth it. I have no regrets, Em. Sure, sometimes I wish things could have been different. Robert wasn't perfect. I have no illusions about that. He was weak, and for a long time that made me so angry.

"But love doesn't need perfection to flourish, Em. I loved him anyway. And I wouldn't give up one moment I had with him. Not one." She looked across the room, and Emily followed her gaze to where her grandmother stood chatting with a young couple.

"Your grandma would say the same thing, you know," she said. "She and grandpa had twenty years together before his heart attack. Do you think she for one second regrets any of those years, just because she eventually lost him? Do you think, if she could go back, knowing the pain of losing him, that she'd decide it wasn't worth it?"

Eve squeezed her fingers once more before releasing her hand. Her emotions flitted away, little by little, until Emily was left with only her own confused feelings. Left with the doubt that comes from learning you'd based all of your major life decisions on a misconception.

Her mother, of course, knew what she was thinking. Allowed her to sit in silence while the party swirled around her as she tried to get a grasp on what all of it meant. Finally leaned forward and touched her cheek, sending another wave of love her way.

"Don't run away from this, Em," she said, and Emily's eyes automatically flashed toward Sam.

He smiled widely at a little girl as he handed her a piece of cake, and her stomach flipped wildly.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

"I know," Eve said, just as quietly. "And maybe it will all fall apart. Maybe it won't work out." At Emily's stunned gaze, she added, "Or maybe it will. Maybe you'll be together and happy forever. Do you want to risk missing out on the best thing in your life because you're afraid?

"Now," she said, tapping the table lightly. "I need a drink, and maybe some of that cake." She glanced significantly across the room. "It does look good, doesn't it?" She winked and got up from the table. "You might want to grab it before it's gone."

Emily knew she wasn't really talking about cake.

She watched her mother cross the room to take a piece of cake from Sam before joining her grandmother. They laughed, and Emily smiled at the sight. Then, she felt his eyes on her . . . felt her gift flare up in response. Out of habit, she fought it back down, re-building her wall. Yet, she stood up. She straightened her skirt. And slowly, she made her way across the room to him, meeting his gaze the whole way.

He offered her a tentative smile and a plate. "Cake?"

"Thanks." She took the plate, fiddling with the fork, but not taking a bite. "I'm sorry . . . about before-"

"I wasn't trying to go behind your back."

"I know."

"Although my baked goods have been known to win the hearts of many a protective parent." He smiled, and she realized he was going to let her off the hook.

"Many?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm that good."

"And so modest."

"It's part of my charm."

She hummed slightly, turning her attention to the cake and running the tines of the fork through the frosting. "You got my message? About Jessica?"

"Yes. I was devastated."

She looked back up to find him grinning widely. "You really didn't give me much to work with, you know? You could have put forth a little effort."

He snorted. "Maybe you're just not that good a matchmaker."

She bristled. "I'm an excellent matchmaker!"

He sobered, leaning toward her slightly. "Then how come you couldn't tell she wasn't right for me?"

"The algorithms-"

"Forget the algorithms," he said, reaching for the plate and taking it out of her hands. "I'm not interested in algorithms." He stepped closer and her gift flared, anxious, her heart thudding in her chest.

"What are you interested in?" she asked, frightened of the answer, but needing to hear it.

"Dancing," he said with a smirk.

She blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"

He held out a hand. "Dance with me?"

Emily stared at him for a long moment, years of guarding her heart warring with the prodding of her gift . . . the longing she felt to reach out and take what he was offering. She looked into his eyes and didn't need her gift to see the plea there . . . the desire . . . the wondering if she felt what he did-if she was willing to find out where this would lead if she would only take the chance.

Her eyes dropped to his open palm, and she took a deep breath, her mother's words echoing in her brain.

And she reached out.

His hesitant smile grew as he led her out onto the dance floor, a soft melody heavy with saxophone playing through the speakers. Sam took her in his arms and she braced herself, moving stiffly with him to the music.

"Relax," he said, his breath brus.h.i.+ng past her ear. "Let go. It's just a dance."

Emily knew it was more than that, though. It was hope and fear and excitement and no turning back.

She closed her eyes and let the wall inside her collapse, brick by brick. She let herself feel his hand holding hers, his arm around her waist, her fingers brus.h.i.+ng the skin just above his s.h.i.+rt collar.

She gasped as her gift swelled, wild with abandon, and finally allowed to run free. It filled her-surrounded her-with a feeling of love, of rightness, and of absolute peace.

"Are you all right?" Sam asked, straightening to look into her eyes. "You look a little flushed."

Emily smiled, but didn't answer. Instead, she rose up on her tiptoes, her hand curling around the back of his neck, fingers tingling where they touched his skin. His eyes widened and dipped to her mouth before rising questioningly to meet her gaze. She nodded slightly, her breath catching as he bent slowly to press his lips against hers.

Heat surged through her, electricity tracing over her skin at the touch of his lips and his body against hers as he drew her closer. In that instant, she felt all that they could be-the potential and the promise, their future together, whether days, weeks or years. As he smiled against her mouth, then tipped his head to deepen the kiss, she felt the love that would grow over time, stronger and deeper. She knew, in the way only she could know, that there would be no other for her. Regardless of compatibility or common interests, he was her perfect match.

A long time later, he pulled back and looked into her eyes, and she realized she was wrong. She wasn't the only one who knew. Even without a gift like hers, he knew it, too.

Across the room, Eve and Ellen Valentine watched with satisfaction.

"How's she look?" Eve asked.

Ellen smiled at the sparkling aura surrounding both of them-gold and silver enveloping them both in ribbons of s.h.i.+mmering light as they swayed on the dance floor.

"Perfect," she said with a smug smile. "You think she'll be mad when she finds out we're the ones who got him on Jessica's list?" she asked, taking another bite of cake. She groaned at the rich, dark chocolate and licked her fork.

"Maybe. Probably," Eve said. "We should wait a while to tell her. Say, after the wedding?"

Ellen laughed. "Good idea."

"Who knew that computer cla.s.s would come in so handy?" Eve said with a grin.

"Well, to be fair, it wasn't the cla.s.s. It was the extracurricular instruction with my friend, Javier."

Eve snorted. "Only you would befriend a hacker."

"He prefers 'accessibility expert.' "

Eve took a sip of her champagne and turned back to watch her granddaughter dancing, her head on Sam's chest, his cheek resting on her hair. "It was worth it."

Ellen smiled, taking another bite of cake. "Love always is."

MORE by T.M. Franklin Category: Young adult Publication date: Oct 4, 2012 ISBN (paper): 978-1-61213-123-8 ISBN (ebook): 978-1-61213-124-5 Summary: Haunted by terrifying nightmares and certain she's being watched, college student Ava Michaels finds an unlikely ally in Physics tutor Caleb Foster. But Caleb isn't quite what he seems. In fact, he's not entirely human, and he's not the only one.

Together, the duo faces a threat from an ancient race bent on Ava's capture, and possible extinction. As Ava fights to survive, she learns the world's not what she thought.

It's a little bit more.

Coming November 2013 The Guardians by T.M. Franklin The second book in the MORE Trilogy I COULDN'T BELIEVE THIS WAS HAPPENING, but in retrospect I guess I should have seen it coming. In my mind, I'd done everything I could to avoid this situation. I'd changed my schedule at work, shut off my phone, and hadn't accepted any offers from friends to go out to the clubs on the off chance I'd see him there. In the end, my efforts hadn't made a difference.

It was six forty-five in the morning on a cold Sunday in February. He never worked on Sundays. I knew that. Yet, there he was, standing in the middle of the emergency room waiting to receive his patient a.s.signment, just as I was.

The ER seemed calm when I arrived, which never turned out to be a good sign. Quiet in this place usually meant all h.e.l.l was about to break loose. I didn't mind the chaos. I could handle a multi-vehicle accident or a couple of cardiac arrests. Not this, though.

Not dealing with Mitch after the way I'd left things.

I'd walked into the hospital in my usual morning haze. I'd never been a morning person, and unfortunately, I'd run out of filters at home and couldn't make my morning pot of coffee. Wrapped in a thick sweater and in desperate need of caffeine, I'd dragged my sorry b.u.t.t over to the nurses' station to get my a.s.signment without so much as a glance toward my coworkers. When Grace called out his name and a.s.signment, I had snapped my head up in alarm. Our eyes locked immediately, and I felt my stomach flip. Without waiting for my name to be called, I walked away at a quick clip. The need to escape, to hide, sat heavy on my chest and my heart began to pound.

I heard someone call my name, but I didn't stop. Feeling insecure and foolish at the same time, I jetted around a corner toward the fast-track hallway. A few of the night staff saw my rapid approach and gave me a couple halfhearted, groggy smiles. Annette, the guard, stood at the receiving gate and gave me a morning greeting, but all I could do was offer a m.u.f.fled reply. My thoughts were spinning out of control, and I wondered if it was too late to go home sick.

"Christine!"

Anxiety and anger flooded my chest. He'd followed me; I knew he would. Mitch wasn't the type to give up easily, and his pride had surely been damaged a bit by my constant avoidance. He'd probably put on an act of innocence if that meant he could save face in front of our coworkers. But I knew the truth, and even if he apologized to me, it didn't change a thing.

"Christine, d.a.m.n it . . . What's wrong with you?"

"What are you doing here, Mitch?" I whirled around, trying to keep my voice down to avoid unwanted attention. It was bad enough a few of the staff were looking my way with surprised expressions. I didn't need any more attention drawn to our broken relations.h.i.+p-that was for sure.

"I work here."

"It's Sunday. You never work Sundays."

"Well, Sal needed a trade. He and his wife have plans tonight."