I Want You To Want Me. Kathy Love

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      “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

      As Erika stepped out of the psychic’s shop, she felt irrationally upset with Philippe and his reading. Which was hardly fair to him. He didn’t make the future, he just foretold it.

      Besides, what had she wanted him to say? She wouldn’t lie to herself, and claim she wanted no love interest in her future. Maybe she just wanted the fair-haired, dark-eyed prince he’d seen over and over to turn into a knight with dark hair and pale eyes, just to rule out her boorish upstairs neighbor.

      But no, Philippe couldn’t even give her that. And now her prince was right above her, no less. All signs seemed to point to Vittorio. All signs, except the ones where he seemed to like her.

      She sighed and headed toward her favorite bookstore, dying for one of the caramel lattes they made in the little café in the back. Decaf, because frankly her agitated body really didn’t need any more stimulation. And her headache wasn’t going anywhere soon—caffeine or no.

      At least Philippe had assured her the art show was going to be a huge event. She should be focusing on that.

      But no. She was focusing on a potential love interest who blatantly wasn’t interested.

      Lost, once again, in the rehashing of last night’s encounter, she rounded the corner onto St. Louis Street and ran pretty much face first into another pedestrian. Right into his broad, very hard chest.

      Stumbling СКАЧАТЬ