Moon Struck: When Were & Howl Book 1, Page 2

  Chapter 2

  After we righted equipment and returned staplers and tape dispensers to their proper locations, I tackled the files. The awkwardness had lifted, and Rob and I were back to talking as if nothing happened. I don't hold a grudge long.

  Picking up a stack of sticky notes, I glanced up. Our eyes met and suddenly I imagined those brightly colored little squares in places no man would want them and started giggling.

  With broad shoulders and deep blue eyes, Rob probably would have melted the sticky right off the paper anyway. I giggled harder. Rob glanced up from righting a chair. “What?”

  Some things were not meant to be said out loud. “I'm just having an Ali moment.” Alison Carter or Ali for short is my best friend, and if I'm thinking of a man covered in sticky notes, it's her fault—somehow.

  Rob cleared his throat, uncertain how to change a subject that has not yet even been broached. Of course, as a real estate agent, Rob was a great verbal wordsmith. “We don't have an appointment until one. Your desk would go perfectly in the corner of my office. We'll put a chair there for show.”

  “That would be good.”

  What I really wanted to say was, Do you need me to smear some perfume on that desk so that you'll keep using it and stay the heck away from mine?

  I enjoy spending time with Rob. He's a bit of a cut-up. Funny. Not mean-funny the way some people are, but goofy funny. No one would think it looking at him. He looks great in jeans, but only wears them on Friday. His chest is broad and he has an easy charm that makes him a ready target for all of the single women in the city. He doesn't seem at all like the kind of guy who might be interested in geeky pursuits or in making funny faces. He spends weekends painting model ships and swimming. Get him alone and away from the business crowd, and he cracks me up.

  He really turned on the charm at the furniture store. I know he felt bad about me walking in on well, him and that other werewolf. He was trying to make it better for me. I forgave him without trying. It's not like we're dating or anything. It's not like I have any claim to his heart.

  I shut off the part of myself that thought I might actually care what he did on moon nights and concentrated on finding a good solid desk.

  But I wasn't beyond teasing him. Rob pointed out a beautiful desk with a dark walnut finish. It was better than the one he had in his office. “What do you think of that one?”

  I trailed my fingers along the side of the desk, weighing his height and frame to the size, “It's a bit big, don't you think?”

  “It's perfect. You'll have room for all of your files.” Rob grinned.

  He set himself up for it, so I asked, “How big do you suppose it is?”

  Rob rattled off a few numbers by the foot.

  I nodded and with a cheerful smile said, “Hmmm...maybe I could find fitted sheets in that size. I'll take it.”

  He didn't quite know how to take that joke. He laughed, but as we were walking out of the store, a strange look passed his face and he turned to me, “You were just kidding?”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “Putting sheets on the desk.” Rob held the door open for me, looking a little troubled.

  “Stay away from my desk.” I was firm, but kind and gave him a dazzling smile when I said it. It was the tone my grandmother used when one of us kids misbehaved and the same smile. Too bad I didn't have any peanut butter cookies to go with it.

  “Yes, Ma'am.”

  By the afternoon the office looked reasonably put together with all of the large items, computers, staplers and tape dispensers, in their proper place and wall hangings rehung. Yes, someone. I won't mention names since we all know it's Rob, but someone pulled the calendar and a motivational poster off the wall.

  The furniture store delivered my desk, and restoring the office was actually a lot of fun. Right on the hour, Francis Edwards, vampire extraordinaire, strolled in.

  In case you were wondering, I’m bitter about vampires, too. They get great press in the movies, but most of it is spin. No one in their right mind would choose to kiss a walking corpse. I’m sorry, but there, I said it. A vampire is a blood-drinking dead thing that needs someone else’s life to animate itself.

  From what an acquaintance told me at an office Christmas party (the job before this one), vampires weren’t interested in kissing humans either, unless they got something out of it, and I’m not talking sex here. She acquired this knowledge through personal experience of the kind I hope never to have.

  Anyway, my own personal feelings aside, Francis definitely looked the part, jet black hair, pasty complexion, and lips far too deep a shade of red for my liking. He must have had lunch before coming. I guess I should be grateful.

  Rob opened the door with that ever-charming smile lighting up his face. “Come in. Can I get you something to drink?”

  I wanted to shout at Rob. Are you crazy? You don’t just offer a vampire beverages. I’ve had a bad enough day without being someone’s slurpy. Guess I was wrong because Francis accepted a coke.

  Rob likes me to sit in on his appointments, generally to take notes and get an impression of the customer’s needs. I’m pretty good at that. I fidgeted under the gaze of ancient eyes. Francis stared a lot, and I had the feeling that I was just a speck of curious flotsam in the chain of life compared to a vampire like Francis who by legend has probably lived a thousand years.

  In reality, I have no idea how long a vampire lives. What I do know is that sunlight doesn’t affect them much, other than to do what any other source of light does and point out the flaws a reanimated corpse has, such as a certain inflexibility in the facial muscles, kind of like botox.

  The plastic vampire face really gives people the heebie jeebies. I tried very hard not to stare at Francis, particularly the lines in his face, but I caught a glimpse now and then with my not-staring. I’m pretty sure that’s the real reason vamps prefer the night-time. That and people get drunk at night and a drunk is generally easy to feed off of.

  I’m not sure how many people have been to an open casket funeral. I went to my grandfather’s. He was missing the essence of him, that spark of spirit or soul that living people have. Watching Francis was like looking at someone who had lost that essence and yet still talked and moved and even drank soda.

  When I saw the way Francis moved his tongue around the soda can, I finally figured out why creative types started the fascination with vampire sex. Francis knew how to work his tongue. Still, cold and dead is cold and dead.

  When Francis told us what he was looking for, I’m sure my face reflected the shock. He told us that he wanted to buy a ranch. “I need enough acreage to raise a couple of horses, cattle, chickens, dogs, the whole works.”

  The whole works, as if he were ordering a burger. The look on Rob’s face was priceless. He recovered quickly, though. Me? I’m afraid my mouth just hung there a few moments wondering if I would ever shut it again. I said, “Chickens?”

  Francis smiled, disconcerting on a vampire with those plastic-looking laugh-lines, but the smile was in his eyes, so I guess it was genuine enough. “It’s been a life-long dream. Once I joined the undead, I thought the dream lost. Vampires are not known to be ranchers. But I’m just not satisfied with life as it is and I want to make a change.”

  Now that fascinated me. I had to ask. “What are you going to do with the cows?”

  Rob scowled at me, but I pretended not to see. Hey, I was curious.

  “Whatever is normally done with cows. I’ll raise them for beef.” Francis spoke with that smooth knowledgeable affectation that most people take when they are pretending confidence they don’t have.

  I nodded without further comment. I wouldn’t cost Rob this commission even if he did make wild passionate love on my desk with someone else, leaving wolf hair and spots to show for it.

  Francis went on and on about his requirements, and I asked pertinent questions every now and then while writing everything dow
n on a yellow pad. Rob did most of the interviewing. That’s what it’s like, interviewing for a perfect house. Our discussion went smoothly and Rob showed Francis a few properties online. A brown hair was stuck to the monitor, and I felt a wild giggle when Rob brushed it off, shuffling papers as he did so to draw attention to left hand while his right hand did the deed. To his credit, he didn’t even seem the slightest bit embarrassed.