Jennifer Probst - Searching for Someday

But she had to know.

The busboy reached for the plate, giving her date a sidelong seductive glance. Kate dragged in a breath and brushed his hand with her arm at the same time her fingers touched her date’s.

A tiny shock shivered across her flesh and vibrated through her body. Bradley smiled at the busboy, his face carved out with pure want.

Ah, crap.

It was over.

She fought a sigh and surrendered number one hundred. “Bradley, I’ll be right back. I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

“Of course.”

She grabbed her purse and ducked down the hallway. After a few minutes, the busboy walked past and she reached out to touch his arm. “Excuse me?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

She glanced at his name tag. “Gabe, I’m sorry, but I wonder if you can relay a message to my date? I’m not feeling well and need to leave. I’m sure he’d love to stay if possible. Would you be willing to buy him a drink on your break?”

Gabe’s face reddened. “Aren’t you together?”

Kate smiled. “No, I’m not his type. I’m sure if you offered, he’d be interested.”

Recognition sparked in his dark eyes, and he nodded. “I’d be interested.”

“Thank you. Good luck. I’m going to slip out the side door.”

She vacated the restaurant, caught between despair for her plight and happiness she had made a match. Damn, her gaydar completely sucked.

The March night was brisk and cold in Verily, and she breathed in, not wanting to go home yet. The shops stayed open on Saturday night, and it was only eight thirty. Her high-heeled boots clicked on the pavement as she walked, enjoying the artsy Hudson River town that boasted a variety of stores and cafés with an edgy, funky feel. White lights glittered around the trees that lined the sidewalk, and music spilled from Mugs, the popular bar that also served as a nightclub. A full moon hung suspended over the river line, illuminating the Tappan Zee Bridge, which glittered in the distance. She weaved her way through pedestrians with dogs on leashes and giggling groups of college students, and dropped a buck in the pail of the young man playing a guitar and singing about broken hearts.

Loneliness hit. She was so tired. When was it her turn? When would she finally find the connection for herself? Unless . . .

She never found it. Bruised from the consistent disappointments, she wondered if maybe giving up on the dream of finding her match would serve her better. Maybe, just maybe, there wasn’t a man or woman meant for everyone. Maybe, just maybe, she was meant to be alone.

She fought the sudden urge to cry and wallow in a self-pity party. She was done. If she went on one more disappointing date, she didn’t think she’d recover. The hell with love. She’d buy a new book, go home to Robert, and snuggle under a blanket.

Kate paused in front of the used-book store. Time for a change. No more dating. No more chasing love. She’d concentrate on her business, her friends, and doing things that made her happy.

With her head up and her new resolution firm, she stepped inside, and the bell tinkled. Scents swarmed around her in wonderful familiarity. Leather. Paper. Mothballs. Perfection.

She crossed the worn carpet and stopped in front of the marked and battered front desk. “Got anything for me, Hector?”

The boy behind the counter was reed thin, with a smattering of pimples and spiked purple hair. Hector shook his head with a grin. “Been waiting for you, Kate. I’m holding a new box of used books in the back. I had no time to sort them yet, so you may not find anything.”

She shivered with the lure of the unknown. Would she ever get tired of ripping open a new box of books and sifting through the treasures? “No worries. I’ll go through them if that’s okay?”

The teen motioned toward the back of the store. “Help yourself. It’ll save me some work.”

“Thanks.” Kate walked down the deserted aisle and into the storeroom. The cramped space held an array of boxes, file cabinets, and papers in an extremely unorganized fashion. The new shipment was clearly marked, though, so she pulled it down from the pile and ripped it open with her own hands, rather than with the box cutter. She’d never be able to keep a perfect manicure anyway.

Kate sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor and pulled them out one by one. Romance. Biography. Some dieting. She kept to the side a few that she wanted to try, then found a great one on love signs that seemed several years out of date. Hmm, you never knew what you’d glean from the eighties. Could be helpful. She added it to her growing stack. An interesting book on how males relate to dogs. Definitely couldn’t pass that one up. And then—

Her fingers closed on a fabric-covered book and she pulled it out. Bright violet assaulted her vision. The Book of Spells . Simple title. Small, square, not a novel but more of a how-to book? She cracked the binding a bit and glanced through the first page.

A low hum vibrated to the tips of her fingers. Her belly wobbled, as if she’d just seen a hot male prospect rather than a simple book. The hum grew stronger as she flipped through, making notes of an ancient love spell and a chant to Earth Mother. Fascinating. She’d never seen anything like it; there wasn’t even an author noted. How was that possible?

Definitely a keeper. Maybe something fun for her clientele.

Kate dropped the book on her pile.

A crackle of electricity shot through her body like a wet plug in an outlet. She yelped and yanked back, staring at the purple cover. What the hell was that? Maybe the fabric gave some type of shock. But damn, that hurt.

“Need any help back there?”

Hector’s voice echoed through the store. Shaking her head, she pushed to her feet and set the box back. Careful not to touch the purple book, she scooped up her treasure pile and made her way out of the storeroom.

“Got everything I need. Hector, I took six books. Charge it to my account, please!”

“You got it. Have a good one.”

Feeling a bit better over her new purchases, Kate headed toward her car and the typical Saturday night with her books and her dog.

Good-bye, number one hundred. That date belonged in the record book of disasters.

It was going to be a long time before she had the stamina to even think about one hundred and one.

I’M MOVING OUT.”

Slade watched his sister drag her oversized floral pieces of luggage down the hallway and drop them at the front door. A strange panic roared through his system, but he stood frozen in the foyer, watching the scene unfold. Hell, no. She wasn’t ready to go anywhere on her own yet, but somehow he needed to convince her without looking like a crazed control-freak brother. He kept his voice gentle and firm.

“Jane, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I know you want a place of your own, but I don’t think you’re ready. Besides, I’ll get lonely by myself. Give it some time, and I’ll help you find an apartment.”

Jane turned fast, hands on hips, that furious female scowl he knew well. Bottom line, he’d screwed up his words again. “First off, give me a little credit. I’m ready. I appreciate you letting me live here, but I should’ve moved out a year ago. And the only reason you’re lonely is your refusal to stay with a woman past one night.”

Slade winced. Unfair. He was always discreet when it came to women, not needing his sister to try to bond with any of them, since long-term commitment was doomed from the start. The statistics alone of marriage breakups caused a shudder.

She marched into the open living room and headed toward the bookcase to grab a few off the shelves. Crap, was that The Chew ’s new cookbook? He hadn’t even looked at the pictures yet. “Be reasonable, Jane. You have nowhere to go, and I don’t want you staying at a crappy studio in Manhattan. It’ll cost a million dollars and won’t be safe. Are you still upset over your breakup? We can go slash his tires, get drunk, and watch chick flick movies. That’s what women do, right?”