Sherlock growled softly, not believing his eyes.
“What are you growling at, boy?” Claire asked.
“Oh, my God!” Tabby said, noticing what was happening, too.
Joe and Maria were lip-locked, their eyes closed, their bodies close. That kiss beats any soap opera kiss, Claire thought. But I see why Sherlock's jealous.
The kiss lasted for about five seconds—probably not long enough for Joe or Maria to slip in any tongue. That would have to be saved for a later date, Claire supposed, but when the two parted, Tabby and Claire squee-ed so loud that both Maria and Joe turned to the window. Tabby and Claire’s heads were no longer covered by the curtains; they were out in the open, all three of them.
Joe chuckled and scratched the back of his neck, a sure sign of his nervousness. First kisses, unless in the movies, hardly ever have an audience, but the one shared between Joe and Maria was as magical as the best of them.
“I better get going,” he said.
Maria took his hand, smiling. “Joe,” she said, before he could turn away and head back to his Honda.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for being such a gentleman.”
He bowed. “Thank you, fair lady, for being such a dahling.”
“Blech,” Tabby said.
Claire punched her lightly in the arm.
Maria snorted and shook her head. “Get out of here before I change my mind about a second date.”
All the color drained from Joe’s face.
“Kidding!” Maria assured him.
“Oh,” he laughed, “I knew that!” Then, practically skipping down the walkway, Joe went back to his car, got in, backed out, and disappeared down the road as Maria watched from the front porch.
As soon as the coast was clear, Claire and Tabby rushed to the door, Sherlock right on their heels. Their little run-in with a demon spider leg or whatever it had been was the furthest thing from their minds.
Claire threw open the door.
Maria still stared in a daze at the empty road.
Silence hung between them all.
Finally, Maria turned around, the color standing high on her cheeks.
“Oh. My. God!” Claire said.
“I know,” Maria answered, her voice hardly there.
“That was beautiful. Romeo and Juliet shit,” Tabby said.
“Well, gee, when you put it that way…” Claire said.
“Shut up.” It was Tabby’s turn to punch Claire back.
“Ouch!”
“Oh, don’t be a wuss!”
Maria had to step inside and break it up. “Guys! GUYS!”
“Sorry,” Claire said. “It’s been kind of an odd night…”
“What? Why? Can’t I just go a few hours without anything odd happening?” Maria asked no one in particular. She crossed the living room floor and plopped down on the old flowered love seat. The fragrant smells of what she now knew to be Oriceran wheezed out from between the cushions.
“We’ll tell you later,” Claire said.
“Yeah,” Tabby butted in, “nothing to worry about. We handled it.”
Sherlock barked.
“With the help of Sherlock, that is,” Tabby added.
Ghosts, Sherlock said, but Maria hardly paid him any attention. Her mind was on the kiss she had shared with Joe, how soft his lips were, and how, after all the garlic they ate, his breath still smelled like spearmint.
“It was just magical,” Maria said, looking off into space, reminiscing. Claire and Tabby raised their eyebrows. Maria had never been like this before. She usually was the first one to dismiss all that fairytale, romantic-fantasy bull crap as fiction, but seeing her now, you would’ve thought she was a female Cupid reincarnated. “And I don’t use that word lightly, since I’m technically magic and all.”
“Ooh,” Tabby said, “you can totally use that to your advantage! Magic him out of his shirt. I bet he’s ripped.”
Claire shook her head.
“No, that’s cheating—wait, you didn’t magic him into that kiss, did you?”
Maria looked offended. “What? No! It was just a really good night. I learned so much about him. He’s the youngest of six brothers! His dad owns a construction company. Gelepo!”
“Oh, man, I see their signs all over the city,” Claire said.
“I know, I know! I never put two and two together. His mom teaches Shakespeare and his World at Akron University.”
“Mrs. Gelepo? Oh, my God, I’ve had her!” Tabby said.
“It truly is a small world.”
Sherlock weaseled his way into the conversation. Not to be rude or anything, but I haven’t had a proper meal since I’ve gotten back from Oriceran…
Claire saw Maria staring at Sherlock, taking in his telepathic words, so she asked, “Is he talking about food?”
Maria nodded.
“He ate, don’t listen to him. I gave him roast beef and horse radish.”
Dammit, Sherlock said. Tell Claire Dog Prom is off again. Fucking traitor.
“I’m not telling her that, Sherlock. Dog Prom is not a thing, no matter how much you bring it up.”
It is! I swear. I have the invitation somewhere. Hold on. Don’t talk anymore until I come back. With that, Sherlock bolted out of the living room and into the room where his old dog crate was. It also held his bed, which he refused to sleep on, instead opting for Maria’s pillow where he could stick his tail end in her face and snore as loud as an Orc. There were toys in his crate, too. Stuffed elephants with the stuffing mostly ripped out and the eyes missing, squeaking rubber bones that had been squeezed so much that they only wheezed, and the ever-famous tennis ball, so drenched in dog spit it was a forest-green color instead of the neon green it was when fresh out of the packaging. Sometimes Sherlock liked to pretend he got mail delivered in that room, which he so haughtily called his ‘office.’ Doing that was his way of coping with the mailman, whom he could bark at constantly from inside the house. But once, Sherlock had been outside when the mailman came around, and had cowered in the front bushes, much like he had cowered away upon meeting his first Gnome.
So no, there was probably no Dog Prom invitation in there—probably.
The girls continued talking about Maria’s date, and it was obvious
