I Want You To Want Me. Kathy Love
poured tea into a cup and sat down at her kitchen table, a round café-style table that she’d painted bright yellow. The color usually reminded her of sunshine and made her feel cheerful. Right now the color seemed glaringly bright and just made her head throb even more.
She glowered up at the ceiling, aiming her irritation toward the man up there somewhere, probably sleeping soundly and oblivious to the annoyance—and headache he’d caused.
“Not that he’d care anyway,” she muttered, then took a sip of her hot tea. The sweet liquid tasted wonderful and she waited for it to work its magic. Tea always calmed and relaxed her.
Not this morning, clearly. He had been so rude! She set her cup down with more force than necessary. But more than that, his cool attitude had goaded her into being rude back. And she wasn’t normally a rude person. In fact, she prided herself on being quite nice.
But that man! She pulled in a calming breath, then reached for the tea. After several sips, she did unwind a little.
“Okay, so let’s be reasonable,” she said aloud to herself, and Boris, if he happened to be listening. “So you don’t get along with him. You can’t expect to like everyone. And have everyone like you.”
That was all very reasonable and true, but there was another fact that was still adding to the continuing pain in her head. She’d spent a majority of the night recalling all the things she did like about him.
Okay, they were mainly physical, but despite her aggravation with the man himself, her body did react to his body. Very intensely, in fact.
She sighed. Why would she be attracted to a man who was so distant, so repressed? Those traits went against all the things she looked for in a man. She liked her men fun and open and kind, definitely kind. Serious was a bore. Her dad was serious, and look at the relationship she had with him. It was strained at best.
So why couldn’t she stop thinking about Vittorio? Why had she found herself thinking about him even from their first short meeting?
Groaning with frustration she rose and placed her cup in the sink. These were all thoughts and questions that had plagued her last night. Nothing new and still no answers.
And really, she didn’t want someone so emotionally cut off in her life anyway. For a friend or lover. No sooner had she finished telling herself that—again—when an image of Vittorio kissing her filled her head.
Growling, she shoved the image aside. She glanced over at the sculpture that had become the bane of her existence, and decided that with her headache and her irritation, she just could not face that too.
Instead she headed down the hall to get dressed. She needed to go out and remember why she loved this city. She needed to find her creativity. And she needed to think about something other than an unpleasant upstairs neighbor.
And maybe she knew where to go to get answers to the questions she’d had swirling through her mind since her run-in with said neighbor.
“Erika! Good to see you back, sweetheart!”
Erika smiled at the man standing in the doorway of the small room in the back of In Your Cups Tea Room. He was tall and a little thick in the middle, but he had sparkly eyes, highly arched eyebrows and a wide smile. Erika would classify him as cute—in a very camp way.
Philippe pushed aside the curtain that served as a makeshift door and sashayed into the room. “Where have you been?”
Erika smiled, deciding Philippe’s brand of warm attention was just what she needed.
“Working.”
He sat down across from her at a small table, then leaned in, his eyes filled with interest. “How is the show coming along? Henry and I cannot wait to go. I have a gorgeous vintage Bob Mackie pressed and ready.”
Erika laughed. “Friday, October thirty-first. At seven p.m.”
“Well, even I can remember that date.” He wiggled his immaculately groomed brows. “Halloween. A very auspicious date.”
“Let’s hope.”
“Have I been wrong yet?” He gave her a pointed look, and she laughed again. No. He hadn’t. Since the first time she’d met him on a vacation down here nearly eight months before, he’d gotten her life eerily accurate. Right down to the sudden interest in her art and to her moving to New Orleans. He’d only seemed to be wrong on one topic.
“Speaking of which, let’s see what your cards say today, shall we?”
Erika nodded as Philippe handed the deck of worn tarot cards to her. She shuffled them, concentrating on her question. When would the prince that Philippe had predicted arrive?
He’d mentioned this prince the first time they’d done a reading—and continued to do so with other readings. But as of yet, no prince, no knight, not even a page. Or even a court jester. Nothing. Maybe Philippe had simply been wrong. He was an amazing psychic, but even the best could have an off day.
She handed the cards back to him, and he arranged them on the table into a Celtic Cross. The large topaz ring he wore on his left index finger flashed in the candlelight as he flipped the first card.
“Oh, sweetheart, you are still struggling with your love life, aren’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?” Erika smiled, albeit a little feebly, but she was not surprised he’d gone right to the subject bothering her. Philippe was good.
He reached out and patted her hand. “Only in the cards, honey.”
She appreciated that. Knowing she looked outwardly desperate wouldn’t help her headache.
He turned another card. “Well, dear, it’s here. Finally. Lord, that prince of yours has been slow, hasn’t he?” He frowned at the card. “Yes, he’s definitely here now though.”
Erika’s heart jumped. “Are you sure? I don’t think I’ve seen any prospects.”
Philippe regarded her for a minute in the way he often did. She was sure he could read a person just as he did the cards. It could be a tad disconcerting—which it definitely was now.
“Oh, I think you have a prospect in mind.”
As he’d been doing all day, Vittorio popped into her mind. But it couldn’t be him. She hadn’t met a man who was less interested in her. Heck, his feelings went beyond disinterest straight to dislike.
Philippe didn’t wait for her to respond. He turned the card at the top of the cross. “Well, surprise, surprise. There he is.”
Erika peered down at the card that had appeared in every one of her readings over the past two months—and in the first reading all those months ago. The card depicted a regal-looking man with long blond hair riding a white horse and carrying a sword straight in the air. A prince headed into battle.
“Your blond-haired, dark-eyed prince.” Philippe sighed as if the beautiful man was real and standing right in front of them.
“Are you sure?” Erika still had doubts about the reality of this person. She certainly hadn’t met anyone who fit that description…well, except her new neighbor. And while he did fit the look, he didn’t fit anything else.
Philippe nodded, staring at the card. “This man is your soul mate. He’s right here in the layout, as clear as day. A dark-eyed prince. Right there above you.” He tapped the card below the knight, the card that represented her. But she didn’t see that card. She only heard Philippe’s words.
Right there above you.
Vittorio was literally above her apartment. But was she honestly supposed to be with Vittorio? And how the heck was she going to do that? He’d literally dismissed her last night. Dismissed her and then walked away without a backward glance. Not an auspicious start for soul mates, in her opinion.
Chapter 4
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