Hearts and Stones - Robin D. Owens Page 0,50

taste for both of them, and they broke apart. Lark noted their female driver looking envious. "HeartMates," the woman murmured, shaking her head.

"Oh, yeah," Holm said, then lifted Lark's hand to press a tingling kiss in her palm, fold her fingers over the slight dampness. "A kiss for luck."

"Looks like some damn good luck." The driver glanced at Lark.

"Not for her," Holm said with a devastating smile. "For me."

That got him a long stare.

"You will be fabulous," Lark stated, sending positive energy that should diminish his doubts. If he let her words into his stubborn head and heart.

She turned to her driver. "Please take Holm to his place of business which will be opening in a septhour, Holm's Training Studio, 300 Caer Street."

"Sure thing!" The woman beamed and punched him on the shoulder with congratulations and an airy statement that she'd drop by sometime.

And as Lark watched the glider slip away, Holm casual in the back, she recalled that he'd spent many years training in The Green Knight. He'd probably realized this would be more familiar to him than anything else, lately, including having a regular lover and HeartMate.

He must have missed the work, as she would have miss hers.

Absolutely, he'd be fine. She'd only check their link every few minutes or so.

When the emergency alarm sounded, Lark ran to the Hall, focused on her own work.

WorkBell rang and the studio opened for business. Holm stood, feet braced, on the polished wooden floor of his new fencing and fighting salon, awaiting students. He swallowed hard, hoping people would respond to his simple announcement in the newssheet.

Now, he waited. He'd opened the doors separating the main training room from the entryway, and propped open the outer door to the street, too. He'd wanted to stand near the outer door and welcome people in, but though that felt right to his notion of hospitality, it also felt desperate to be a success.

No Holly—hell, Apple—should ever be desperate under such ... commonplace circumstances as opening a business. Unexpectedly launched into space to circle the planet then fall back down into untracked mountains, yes. Sinking in quicksand and dying, yes. Not standing alone in a room and looking at the huge block of sunlight stream through the open outside door and waiting for students.

He'd placed a sidebar at one end of the entry room and stocked it with caff and cocoa and a pile of freshly baked pastries. Holm waved a hand and sent delicious smells wafting out the door.

What if no one came?

That would be a blow to his minuscule pride indeed. He'd been considered the second most skilled fighter in the whole world, after his father, FirstFamily GreatLord T'Holly. Hopefully his reputation drew clients.

He had the skills and knowledge to train others, he just didn't know if he had the talent to teach. That took different kinds of abilities, like patience and understanding. Ah, he'd work on those aspects of himself to bring the best to his clients.

If students came to Holm's Training Studio. And if students didn't appear, he'd be humiliated as well as pretty battered. His shaky sense of a new self would explode again.

What would he do if the fighting studio didn't work? He didn't know. He had few other skills.

"Ahem," a man coughed, pulling Holm from his thoughts. When he looked up, the middle-aged guy faded back, nearly stumbled. Holm stopped himself from smiling in relief, that would look bad, as if he laughed at the guy's lurch.

"Greetyou, Sir." Holm bowed and prowled toward the atrium. "Welcome to my studio. Would you like caff or cocoa?" He gestured to the set-up.

The tall and gangly man who didn't move well, didn't seem well-seated in his body, eyed the drink and pastries. "Better not. I'm, uh, here for a lesson and probably best to eat afterward?"

"Indeed," Holm said. At The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon one of his cuzes who staffed the reception desk would step forward and get all sorts of particulars, schedule a training course, set up sessions, whatever. From the man's nerves, Holm didn't think he dared activate a simple calendarsphere.

He held out his forearm to clasp. "Welcome, again. I'm Holm ... Apple and I offer hand-to-hand fighting training that will help you with your balance, as well as weapons training. That is, knife, dagger, main gauche, short sword and rapier, broadsword and others of that like, as well as blazer pistols."

The man paused in his step to clasp Holm's arm, swallowed, then narrow fingers curved