The Clumsy Clairvoyant
The Clumsy Clairvoyant
S.E. Babin
Copyright © 2018 by S.E. Babin
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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To all the girls who feel like they should dull their sparkle to make someone else feel better.
Don’t.
The world needs your shine.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Also by S.E. Babin
Introduction
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1
I was a woman in want of a husband. Thus the reason I was standing in front of the Deadicated Dating Agency yelling at the top of my lungs for someone to let me in.
I’d been here for seven days.
Not consecutively. A girl had to eat. My stalking time could be considered banker hours. From 9-5 you could see me, an average height, slim, twenty-something woman, holding an overly large cappuccino and screaming about the need for a husband. In addition to that, I’d also add on that every second they delayed my said husband, one of my eggs would shrivel and die a horrible death. Thus, by not letting me in, they would also be responsible for all of my unfertilized eggs and all the children I could have had.
I learned guilt trips from an expert.
My mother.
My histrionics had gathered quite the crowd. I figured I didn’t give a shit. I’d been waiting long enough. I was reasonably attractive. Good teeth. Decent smile except a bit lopsided. Rather than a flaw, I considered it character enhancing. My eyes were bright and blue, my nose could be considered pert...if you were the type of person who used words like pert. I had a long neck, enough breasts to fill an average handful, and a rear end that looked good in a wiggle skirt but could use the benefit of some squats. To add to that, I considered exercise to be a form of torture used by the masses to induce guilt and after midnight drunken purchases of exercise programs.
I could read, write, add simple numbers (let’s not get too crazy), and I considered myself to be quite the witty conversationalist, though no one could tell right now because of my unfertilized egg rant.
What could I say?
No one was perfect.
But even after describing myself in almost glowing terms, I had one unerasable, permanent and terrible flaw. Try as I might, I couldn’t make it go away. Some people considered me to be “blessed”. I wanted to punch those people in the face.
I was a clairvoyant. If you searched for that term on the internet, you could see the disbelief written all over Webster’s. It wasn’t described as a person with a gift, the word (as a noun) was used to define a person who thought they had the gift. The word allegedly was also used when describing us. Bunch of skeptics.
My entire family could name at least one awkward dinner moment with me when I had blurted out something creepy and weird about someone’s future. All of those predictions had come to pass, though not always in the most predictable ways. So I wasn’t a person who thought I had anything other than a real pain in the ass ability that had hampered my ability to date since the first time I thought of a penis as anything other than ewww gross.
Considering I was twenty-eight years old and the last date I went on ended with the man running screaming from the room, I’d say I was due for an epic mental breakdown in a public place.
Also, I forgot to mention the other flaw I had been blessed with. I was an unapologetic, professional clutz. Give me a clutter free hallway and a pair of non-slip shoes and nine times out of ten I would slip or find something imaginary to trip over. So far in my week long diatribe directed toward our local dating agency, I’d managed to skin my knee, bruise both of my thighs, and wound up tearing one of my good blouses. So not only did I sound crazy, I looked like I’d just broken out of my padded cell and had forgotten my meds.
If Portia Kadish were smart, she’d open the door and whisk me in just to get me to shut up. But since I’d been here for seven days, I’d bet one of two things were happening: she didn’t give a crap and had set up a wide screen television and a popcorn station so she could watch me rant or she wasn’t there and all of this was for naught.
From the things I’d heard about Portia, I’d say the popcorn station was more indicative of her personality.
But two could play that game. Today I’d brought in reinforcements. An umbrella, just in case my good weather luck didn’t hold, a lounge chair to sit in when my feet got tired, sunscreen, even though the sun acted super weird in this town, a ponytail holder if it got too warm, and a cooler full of water and snacks. I would not be able to maintain a dating agency rebellion with good snacks. If this was not a rebellion rule, it should be. Snacks were life.
I’d also brought my megaphone. This was day one of my escalated plan to win over Portia Kadish and make her produce me a suitable husband.
This was also the day I’d most likely be shunned from all the social groups in Midnight Cove. If it got me a husband, though, I’d consider it totally worth it.
As long as he was handsome.
I made myself comfortable in my lounge chair, rummaged around in the cooler and pulled out a bottle of water and a piece of beef jerky, and was just raising the megaphone to my mouth to scream another diatribe about my unused eggs, when something amazing and totally out of character happened.
The doors to the Deadication Dating Agency opened.
And out walked Portia Kadish.
This had the effect of stopping people in the middle of their steps. After all, it was basically unheard of for those doors to open. Recently there had been some rumblings around town that Portia had been making her presence known to a few lucky (or unlucky, depending on who was telling the story) residents. I didn’t think it was just a weird coincidence that there was a rash of new couples and weddings happening around here.
When word of this possibility got back to me, I began to plan my attack. Granted, it made me look like I was a) desperate and b) crazy, but what wouldn’t you do for love? I was well aware this was not a romantic comedy. If it had been, the time that passed between me arriving and the doors opening would have been no longer than an awkward pause to allow for tension in the setting, and not a lengthy seven days where I was forced to bring snacks and bug spray.
But, alas, fiction was usually way cooler than real life, but right now, with the woman standing in front of me with her lips pressed together in a firm line and wearing an angry glare, I had to admit my life had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting.
I slowly set the megaphone down and awkwardly got out of my lawn chair. There was simply no graceful way to get up from one of those.
Portia’s hair looked glorious, like a unicorn and a tiger had gotten into a fight and decided instead to make a baby. It waved around her head in wild curls, making it look like a mane surrounding her face. Sometime since she’d last been seen, she’d added in pink and blue swaths, making her look like an angry Rainbow Brite.
She rolled her eyes at me and let out a little snort through her nose. “You are a very annoying woman, Grace Banner.” She turned and flicked a hand at me. “Come inside before the public finally reports you as a nuisance.”
I turned to stare at the crowd, surprised to see many of them blushing and looking away. Was I the only one who had appreciated my firm stance on the lack of husbands around here? I let out a scoff and trailed after Miss Kadish, careful to watch my steps so I didn’t faceplant on the way into the agency.
I navigated the steps with care and swept past Portia and into the cool air of the mysterious agency.
The first thing that struck me was the atmosphere. I could always tell when there was tension in a room or a place of business, but any sign of tension here was nonexistent. Laughter filtered down the hall, but the only annoyed person here was Portia. The doors slammed with a loud whoomph and without waiting for me, she continued down the long corridor and into the heart of the building.
2
Lucas
“No,” I said, trying my best not to get pissed off at my well-meaning brother. “I have no interest in dating desperate women on the internet!”
My brother, Sam, the exact physical opposite of me, also looked like he was trying not to get pissed off at me. “These are not desperate women on the internet, you tool. These are women hand-picked by Portia Kadish. If you know anything about her, you know if you aren’t right for the woman you choose, she won’t set you up!”
I stared at him. “How the hell would I know what Portia Kadish is doing or does with her women?” I shouted.
“Because she runs the whole damn town, Lucas, and people we love have been set up by them! Do you not pay attention to anything?”
“I pay attention to important shit. Not who has the cutest outfit on or who likes long walks on the beach.”
My brother let out a long-suffering sigh and threw the sheet of paper at me. “It’s for a month. We all went in on it, including Mom and Dad. Do you really want to answer why you didn’t use a gift from Mom over Christmas dinner?”
I glared at him and swept the paper up from the ground. “I hate you,” I muttered.
“Which is exactly why you need a woman to soften those edges. If you don’t get one, we’re going to hold you down and use sandpaper.”
I snorted with laughter and called him an asshole.
Sam rolled his eyes at me and shook his head. "If I'm an asshole, I have no idea what that makes you, because you are occasionally the worst. I have no idea why you're so resistant to meeting someone. This dating thing was not my idea, by the way, but I couldn't figure out another way to get you to see reason."
"So you chose parental guilt?"
Sam shrugged. "Hey, it's been working since the dawn of time. No reason for it to stop now."
I had every reason in the world not to want someone to settle down with. First, I had no desire for a woman around lamenting about the state of her hair or nails or asking me if she looked fat in something. If you looked fat, nine times out of ten you knew it, and you were either a) looking for flattery or b) looking for someone to lie to you. Neither one sat well with me. Also, I didn't really want to get married. I mean, sometimes I'd think about it because that's something most people want, but with the statistics surrounding marriage these days, I had to admit, the numbers weren't on my side. Or anyone else’s for that matter.
Also, I couldn't care less about Portia Kadish and her dating service. Part of me thought it must be some kind of creative sorcery on her part, because no one stayed together for as long as she could claim. At least happily. I'd seen a couple of people who'd been the result of her handiwork around town and they looked happy. I looked happy also, but inside I was hiding a secret that could send the foundations of our town crumbling down around us.
I know that sounded super dramatic, but it was true. And it was the final nail in my dating coffin. I did not want some woman around me asking questions and getting her nose into something that didn't concern her.
Also, I was unsure I could actually fall in love. Genuine affection? Sure. But soul aching love? Meh. Didn't seem like my kind of bag. Now don't get my wrong. I loved a pretty woman in a short skirt. Or pants. Or pajamas. Or nothing tended to be my favorite, but actually spending copious amounts of time with them and not being annoyed? Hadn't happened yet. I wasn't sure it ever would.
Thus me staring at the slip of paper I'd picked up like it was a snake poised to strike.
"Well, thanks for that," I said to Sam. "May the winds of revenge gently fluff your hair right before it unhinges its jaw and bites your head off."
My brother blinked at me. "Creative and violent. Nice. You're stepping up your game."
"I will pay you back for this and it will be glorious."
Sam grinned at me, showing a mouth full of wide and perfect teeth, complete with two sharp fangs. "Go right ahead. I, in the meantime, will be watching you try to avoid this. I can't wait until we have dinner with Mom and Dad."
I clenched my jaw together. It was family tradition to eat with our parents once a week. Usually it was nice. Lately, things had been tense, no thanks to me. My mom could ferret out a secret like a dog realizing its owner was hiding a treat. So I had to tread carefully during dinner time time these days. And I knew she knew it because she'd drop questions innocently to probe and I had to catch myself from an automatic response. She was tricky, that one.
My brother punched me in the shoulder and pulled me in for a brief hug. "Relax. This will be fun. And, if it's not, all you have to do is go on a few dates to show our parents you're trying." Sam shrugged. "Not sure they're going to believe Portia didn't find the right girl for you, but that's on you to work out. I'll do what I can, but I think this is going to be good for you. You're almost 30, dude, time to start thinking about progeny and wills, and estate planning and your ultimate demise."
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
"We're vampires, dumb ass."
Sam grinned as he started to walk out of the room. "Yes, but if you piss off your date by cheaping out and she brought something pointy along...you can't say I didn't warn you."
The door shut behind him and I stood staring at the space he'd left behind. He might think this was going to be good for me, but I could almost guarantee it would be a disaster. And I wasn't so sure Portia hooked everyone up who was right for each other. Then you wouldn't get to play the field, so to speak.
Not that I was interested in playing the field. I could do that easily enough right now. But I was into the women who didn't want anything from me except a free dinner and some recreational sport. And I wasn't talking about football.
I looked at the crumpled sheet of paper in my hand. Dinner was on Thursday. Four days away.
"Shit," I muttered. There was no way I was getting out of this.
Grace
I looked good. Or...presentable, which was usually good enough for me. But I'd gone out of my way a little bit tonight. After all, it was my first date. I'd hoped it would be my only one, but Portia had gotten a little cagey when I mentioned it. So...maybe he wasn’t the only person I'd have to date, but I hoped I wouldn't have to catch too many frogs. I was ready to catch a prince.
Well, within reason. No one prettier than me. That would be a deal breaker.
I smoothed down the sides of my royal blue a-line dress, fluffed my hot rolled hair and leaned in to the mirror to make sure my eyeliner hadn't been smudged. I'd gone for an almost nude lip because I'd done a smokey eye and a light blush.
I didn't quite look like myself, but I was okay with that. Didn't everyone try their hardest on their first date?
The doorbell rang and I let out a deep nervous breath before I slid into my perfectly appropriate pumps and sailed to the door.
I opened it, a wide, excited smile on my face, only for said smile to sag and eventually droop into the carefully prac
ticed blank face I'd perfected over the years.
"Well," I said to the man standing at my doorstep, "it appears I'm overdressed."
I'd been assured the man I was set up with was both cultured and handsome. Maybe he had the potential to be handsome. But right now, he looked like a cross between Paul Bunyan and the Unabomber. He wore a faded red and black flannel, half untucked and ripped at the bottom. The pair of jeans he had on were stained all over and had a large hole in one of the knees. He wore a beanie, but I could tell his hair was blond. And he had a beard so long I wondered if he had to tie a napkin around his chin from ear to ear.
He grunted at me. Grunted. Like I was a pack horse or something. "I'm sure it's fine," he said in a rolling baritone, not unsuited to his unorthodox appearance.
"Right," I said, even though there was a lot that was not right with this situation. I wasn't even sure I wanted to invite him in. Or share a car. Or...anything.
I pushed down my worry and told myself that Portia was famous for putting some road blocks into her dating tricks. So...maybe he wasn't an uncouth lumberjack or serial killer. Maybe he was a...farmer. Or socially introverted. Or...something besides terrifying. I squashed my fear down and held open the door. "Come on in for a minute. I'll put something else on."
The man stared at me with his deep, dark eyes. Totally blank. "You look fine," he said.
"Fine?" My gaze narrowed. I'd spent two hours on my makeup and hair and bought a special dress for tonight. And I even managed to find comfortable heels. What a douche canoe!