bittersweet memory made his smile fade a little. Maybe someday he could think about his parents without feeling that sense of loss and loneliness.
With the music sweeping through the rooms, he grabbed his wine and ambled down the hallway. If he wasn’t mistaken, the description of the house had included a media room. He doubted he’d have time to watch movies, but the film buff in him had to see if the rental came with the latest equipment.
The media room contained four large recliners and a wide-screen television, along with a sizeable assortment of DVDs. Some of them were new releases, but he picked up one that was still in its plastic wrapper.
“Casablanca.” He smiled to himself. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought the rental company had stocked this particular title just for him.
In the distance, a dog barked frantically. He tried to ignore the sound as he perused the rest of the movies. Singin’ in the Rain, Roman Holiday, An Affair to Remember. The classic romantic films spoke directly to his own personal taste, even though he seldom watched old movies with Susan. She preferred modern, cerebral dramas, and he sat through them dutifully, although they usually left him cold.
The barking grew louder. Spencer looked up from the DVDs when he heard Mozart’s annoyed howl. Something thumped and a woman’s voice cried out in warning. His heart raced when the unmistakable sound of a record scratching ripped through the noise.
The sounds were coming from inside the house.
Still holding his wineglass, he rushed out of the media room—and immediately collided with someone. Chardonnay went everywhere, including all down his pullover.
Spencer stared down at the elfin blonde woman from the train station, the one with the cute face and annoying dog. She stared back at him in shock.
“You!” he exclaimed.
“You!” she said at the same time. She wiped wine off her shirt, her hands skimming over the camera hanging from her neck.
Mozart leapt up onto the kitchen counter and hissed at the dog, who pawed at the counter and barked frantically.
“What’s your dog doing in my house?” Spencer demanded.
“What’s your cat doing in my house?” the woman fired back.
He rushed forward to grab Mozart, cradling her to his body and keeping her away from the excited dog.
“Actually,” the woman demanded, “what are you doing in my house?”
“That’s an easy one. It’s not your house. It’s mine.” He hurried his cat toward her carrier, still waiting in the foyer. “Come on, Mozart. Let’s get you somewhere safe—away from that animal.”
As he tucked Mozart into her carrier, he heard the woman say, “He has a name. That’s okay,” she added softly, presumably for the dog’s benefit. “You’re not a mean dog. No, you’re not. Shh. That’s fine, buddy.”
Spencer strode back into the living room. The woman had clipped a leash onto the irritating dog’s collar. But he barely saw that. All his attention was focused on the phonograph and the record spinning on the turntable.
“Please don’t be scratched.” Anxiously, he knelt down and took the needle off the record. “Please don’t be scratched.” His pulse jumped as he examined the LP, terrified at what he might find. “It took me an entire year to find this album.”
“Can’t you just download it?” the blonde asked with a look that said, What kind of idiot buys records?
He glanced at her with annoyed disbelief. “It’s not the same. It’s like the difference between sunshine and a…” Spencer looked her over. She was just as attractive as she’d been at the train station, except now she gazed at him with exasperation. “A tanning bed.”
There were no scratches on the record. He felt himself calm slightly. Standing up, Spencer faced her. “Okay, would you like to tell me what you and your dog are doing here?”
“Look, all I know is I rented this house for spring break. See?” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and held it out to him. “I had to fill out this whole questionnaire.”
Taking the paper from her, he squinted at it and walked to the kitchen.
“And then I go out to walk my dog,” she said, “and I come back, I find you here, drinking my wine. I picked it up on the way here.”
His face heated. “Oh. I thought it was a gift from the rental company.”
“Nuh-uh,” she said as he pulled out his glasses from their case.
He slipped on his spectacles and reviewed the paper she’d given him. From his briefcase on the counter, he pulled out a similar document, except his wasn’t wrinkled or covered in feminine cursive, like hers.
“I filled out the same questionnaire,” he said, placing his sheet of paper next to her. She glanced at both lists of questions.
“Starting today,” she noted.
“Starting today.”
“Obviously,” she said, “there’s been some sort of mistake.”
“Obviously. But I don’t know how. It was a very personal questionnaire. They seemed to have every other detail covered.” When he’d filled it out, it had seemed particularly strange, but he’d shrugged it off and attributed it to the house owner’s peculiarities. “I mean, Favorite Color, Favorite Food, Favorite Movie.”
“What did you answer for food?” the blonde asked.
“Italian.”
She eyed him. “Me, too.”
“Favorite movie?” he asked, expecting to hear her name something like Titanic or Bridesmaids.
“Casablanca,” she said without hesitation.
“Me, too.”
They stared at each other. Never would he have believed that a woman her age would love that film. But it seemed that she did.
“Well,” she said slowly, “maybe they thought we’re the same person.”
He considered this. “Maybe.” It made an appalling kind of sense.
She held out her hand. “Laura Haley.”
Spencer lifted an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”
“If we’re going to be stuck in the same boat,” she said, “we better know each other’s name. Mine’s Laura Haley. What’s yours?”
“Spencer,” he said as he removed his glasses. “Spencer Hodkins.” Seeing as how it was the only polite thing to do, he shook her hand.
A current of awareness passed through him when their hands touched.
He shook his head, dismissing it. Clearly, he was tired and confused. He had a girlfriend, and
