"You would think that, wouldn't you?" I agreed wryly. "People are funny creatures, though."
"Oh, Ms. Daise!" Janice floated by again, this time holding a wreath of dead flowers. Nothing screamed romance like the dried husks of failed date offerings. "A word?"
Ruth's eyebrows shot above her glasses, and her eyes did a side-bounce. I pulled my face in an equally worried expression, mouthing, "Oh no."
Cal rolled his eyes. "The only thing you two have in common is your catastrophizing."
"Quiet," Ruth and I glowered in tandem.
Janice smiled blithely, unaffected by our exchanges. Sometimes, I wondered if Janice would even blink if I told her that her frizzy, gray-streaked hair was on fire. I left Ruth and Cal and weaved between cocktail tables and boxes of decorations to follow Janice. She stopped by the waterfall wall across from the entrance elevator where she placed the crusty wreath on a table that had been set up with event programs. She turned to me, folding her weathered hands together. "Gemma, how are you?"
I held out a hand in a helpless gesture. "I mean… okay, I guess. Why? Did I do something wrong?"
Janice chuckled. "I must agree with Dr. Reed. You and Ms. Coldwell do share a similar trait. No, Gemma, you haven't done anything wrong. You're an exceptional matchmaker."
For everyone but myself,I reminded myself automatically. "Oh, thanks," I said, plucking at the hem of my ribbed top.
"What I meant to ask was, how are the things we spoke of a few weeks ago? You appeared to be in some distress, and I admit, you have been somewhat distracted." Janice spoke like I imagined an owl might. Her head tilted, her eyes blinked wide, but her body rarely moved. It was both disconcerting and reassuring in equal measures.
I opened my palms and looked down at the lines she had read at the beginning of the month. She never had told me what she'd seen, but in her strange Janice way, she had actually solved my problem that day. Well, in a roundabout way. Technically, I could blame her for all my predicaments at the moment, too. "I guess things kind of worked out and got worse… somehow."
Janice's lips pursed, fighting a smile. "I wondered."
I shoved my hands in the pockets of my plaid skirt. "I'm handling it."
Janice nodded once. "May I offer a tidbit of advice? And then I'll send you on your way to your date."
I frowned. "What kind of advice?”
"Well," Janice winked. "It’s about the date, actually. Your love line wraps all the way around your palm, Gemma."
I gave her a blank look. "Oh."
"So," Janice added, turning to leave, "you're meant to be bound up in love."
I choked. "Bound… up?"
Janice dipped her chin in affirmation once. "If it feels too easy, too free, then it's wrong for you. Keep it in mind."
Chapter sixteen
Knox
Rule #4: Dogs are amazing. Keep the dog.
Itried to stay at work. I tried to focus on patient files and updating our EHR, but by the time 6:00 rolled around, I found myself staring angrily at my reflection in the computer monitor instead. So, I left work and went back home, but it was only to find two absurd animals and no Gemma. I poured myself a splash of bourbon and leaned my forehead against the wall of windows that overlooked the small city, trying to gather my thoughts. I usually prided myself on my methodical, straightforward way of thinking, but when it came to Gemma, apparently, I was no better than a bewildered lamb in a dating agency office. Nothing made sense to me in the way it should have.
I rolled the glass tumbler against my cheek, staring at the muted lights that gathered together in a denser cluster toward the middle of the city like a miniature Milky Way. My legs were stiff from a difficult delivery a few hours earlier, and I felt my patience dissolving faster than a sugar cube in boiling water.She's on a date with Spencer. I shouldn't care. It shouldn't matter. If Gemma doesn't think it makes things complicated, then why should I? If she dates Spencer, then he'll understand when I make her my fake fiancée. It's an ideal situation. So, why the hell am I panicking right now?
I sighed, swallowing a bitter mouthful of smokey bourbon just as the elevator hummed open. I turned in surprise, immediately assuming that Gemma had changed her mind and had come home instead of going on her date. I moved away from the windows, holding back a sharp question that I knew would only cut her.
But it wasn't Gemma's heels that clicked out of the elevator and into our apartment. It was my mother's. She wore glossy black pumps that matched her formfitting peacoat and short-brim, felt hat. Only her bright turquoise gloves cut through her funeral home director ensemble, and she wore a pinched frown that matched her gloomy fashion choices. Moving her handbag from her fingers to the crook of her elbow, she eyed me imperiously as she clacked across the hardwood floors without so much as a look around the apartment she owned. Her eagle eyes fastened on me with purpose. "I'm surprised to find you home."
I panned a look across the apartment, holding up my drink in question. "Why would you be here if you thought I'd be gone?"
"My tenant, of course," Silvia replied cooly.
My curiosity rolled into a torrent of fury. "What do you want with Gemma?"
