Don't Stop Believing

by Eve Langlais

  For distraction, I spent some time in my shop, removing the things I knew were trash. Affixing the sign I’d printed that read, Closed for Repairs.

  I had lunch at the diner counter. Orville only peeked from the kitchen briefly. He didn’t come out. It bothered me. He’d been gruff before but always nice to me. Had I done something to earn his displeasure? Marjorie had said something about him seeing someone.

  Speaking of whom, Marjorie wasn’t there, nor did I know the four waitresses bustling around. A room full of people and I felt alone. The bowl in front of me held a Greek salad with grilled chicken. Green and healthy. It would be tangy and salty because of the feta cheese. A nice meal that crunched in my mouth and only increased the sadness in me that told me I should have cake.

  I deserved that spoonful of sugar, more carbs in one bite than my lifestyle allowed in a day. It would taste too sweet. But I’d have another. And another. Stuffing my face until I ate way more than I should and my stomach hurt. I’d be bloated and slightly nauseous. I’d want to nap.

  The litany of bad things helped me curb the craving. Only barely. Then the ultimate distraction sat down beside me, filling the just vacated stool at the counter.

  My Kane-sense tingled. Don’t look. I wouldn’t look. Maybe I was mistaken and just hyper-paranoid. Maybe it wasn’t Kane.

  I glanced over. My heart did a funny jump. When I felt myself wanting to smile, I tamped it down to mutter a grouchy, “Still following me?” I should be pissed he invaded my privacy like that, but there was a part of me that enjoyed the attention. Kane might confuse me on too many levels, but with him constantly coming around, I never felt forgotten.

  “Seems kind of conceited to assume I’m here because of you,” he drawled. “Did it ever occur to you I come for the excellent fish and chips?”

  “You look more like the steak and risotto that ends in a cigar with a brandy type.”

  Kane always appeared well put together. Distinguished without going overboard.

  “I’m a man of many appetites, sweetheart. Not that you’ll ever know.”

  The reply brought an unladylike noise to my lips. “Are you trying reverse psychology to get me to jump in your bed?”

  “Not anymore, sweetheart. You clearly have your panties set on Darryl, which I don’t understand. He wins. I lose. Good luck with your choice.”

  “You’re giving up?” It should have elated me. Disappointment might have lined my query.

  “Would you prefer I didn’t?” He leaned against the counter, his entire attention on me. It occurred to me that in the past few days, I’d had longer conversations with him than Darryl.

  Which only went to prove I’d been seeing him too often. If Kane gave up, that would stop. No more distractions or outrageous propositions.

  I didn’t understand why it bothered me. “What are your plans for tonight?” I turned the conversation in another direction and took a stab at my salad.

  “If I tell you I have a date, will you throw a jealous fit?”

  The fork in my hand bent. Cheap metal that didn’t last against my anger.

  Why? I shouldn’t give a fuck. Seriously. I shouldn’t, yet at the idea of him and someone else… holy jealousy followed by anger. Player. Kane the fucking player, acting all hot for me one minute, and two seconds later he was already making plans with someone else… “Why would I care if you’re dating? I say good. It will keep you out of my hair.”

  “Glad to hear it, because my date and I will probably see you and your boyfriend at the party.”

  “You’re going to the mill?” A dumb question given he was part owner.

  “I don’t think there’s a single person in town who isn’t,” was his reply.

  Meaning no way I’d miss seeing him there with his date. “See you there.”

  The light in the diner sizzled. A tremor went through my seat. The noise in the place exploded a few decibels. The person just behind me complained loudly his phone just died with an eighty-five-percent battery.

  I speared my salad.

  “I didn’t think you needed to murder vegetables to eat them,” was the murmur by my ear.

  A shiver went through me.

  I turned my head and held my breath. He was close to me. Close enough I could see the gold and rusty flakes in the depths of Kane’s eyes. Smell his cologne. The nearness of him did something unholy and decadent to my pussy. I throbbed. In public.

  The urge to kiss him was insane. I could see why when drunk I might have given in to the temptation. There was something about Kane. Something that drew me despite everything.

  Desire churned and urged me to lean forward and kiss him. I wasn’t drunk this time. How would it feel? I doubted it would be the sweetness I got with Darryl. With Kane, wantonness drove me. As if I were drugged.

  Or bespelled.

  I jerked back. “You’re using magic on me.”

  “I am talking to you.”

  “You’re seducing me with your words,” I accused. “You did the same thing that night at the bar.”

  “That night in the bar you were drunk.”

  “My friends think you slipped me a mickey.”

  “Drugged you?” He laughed. “That wasn’t me. You were showing signs of slurring before we ever spoke.”

  “So you admit you knew I wasn’t myself yet took me outside and took advantage of me.”

  “First of all, you asked me to take you outside for some fresh air.”

  “Then you proceeded to maul me.”

  “Maul you?” He sounded so surprised. “Do you really not remember your greedy hands all over my body? You were the one kissing me. My back was against the car because you had me pinned there.”

  “Now I know you’re lying. I’m not aggressive like that.” I only had fuzzy memories of that night. Most of it reconstructed based on what Trish told me. She hated Kane, though. Would she have lied to get him in trouble?

  “You took charge of that kiss. Was it any wonder I gave in?”

  Staring at him, I did remember. I recalled my hands fisting his shirt as I leaned against him outside. My blood boiled, and I rode his thigh, humping it.

  My memory had him cupping my face, holding me and saying, “Slow down.”

  I didn’t want to slow down, though. I’d wanted him to do something about the ache in me.

  Then Trish arrived and tore me away. I blinked at him. “You’re a good kisser.” The words fell out of my mouth, and I couldn’t take them back.

  His lips curved, but rather than something arrogant, he said, “Did you think the attraction between us was one sided?”

  Looking at him, I had a hard time believing he was that attracted to me. “I think you’re playing me.”

  “To what end?”

  “You want me to dump Darryl. To hurt him. Because you hate him.”

  “Hate?” He shook his head as he leaned away to his own space. “It is more complicated than that.”

  Had he just admitted he used me as part of a vendetta?

  “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

  “You won’t. Consider this our goodbye.” He slid off the stool and left.

  I stared at my bowl of salad. A great big soggy hunk of sadness. My gaze strayed to the chocolate cake, thick with icing. I tossed money down and ran out of there.

  17

  My encounter with Kane frazzled me. Especially since I saw it in a different light. If Kane had never drugged me or assaulted me, then I’d been hating him for the wrong reasons.

  Not that it mattered now. Even if I didn’t have Darryl, I still wouldn’t date Kane. He was crude and stubborn. For all that he’d saved me that one night in the woods, I still didn’t trust him.

  And why was I even still thinking about it? Darryl was the man for me. A simple, hardworking guy who treated me with respect. Hopefully a little less respect tonight.

  Once I got home I did my filial duty by checking on Geoff, who was planning a night of gaming with his online friends. Mother gui
lt hit me, and I offered to cancel my plans. He refused, whereupon I profusely apologized until he yelled at me to go get ready and stop trying to chicken out.

  Me, a coward?

  Damned right I was. My stomach had a stampeding herd of butterflies that made me want to throw up. Should a first date feel like morning sickness?

  I wanted this. I couldn’t wait. I was just nervous. It would be fine. People went on dates every day. I could do this. It wouldn’t kill me.

  I fled to my room and got prepping.

  In my younger days, it took minutes. A bit of gloss, dark blue shadow and eyeliner, a quick shave, and hair shoved in a sideways high pony. In my forties it involved more prep, and I was glad I’d recently sprung for a pedicure. Marjorie had insisted in case my feet ended up around someone’s neck. I didn’t think I was that bendy, but I did like my red toes.

  I drew the line at being waxed. That kind of pain just wasn’t my style. No, apparently, I preferred to sit in my tub, leg hauled up on the side, cramp in my other thigh, so I could squint and hunt for those pesky dark hairs around my ankle that could grow an inch overnight. I removed every single follicle I could reach.

  Since I wasn’t sure what the status was on fuzzy thighs, I shaved those, too. My pits got taken down to the skin, and I grimaced at the shadow my roots left. If I wasn’t a pussy for pain, I’d wax them.

  I left the dreaded bush for last. I eyed the thatch, wiry and strong. The collagen I took in my coffee didn’t just strengthen and thicken the hair on my head.

  I performed a test swipe where my thigh creased against my pubes and the thin border of my pelt. The blades clogged. I’d need more powerful help.

  “Got any clippers?” I asked aloud. Perhaps the house kept a set of garden shears nearby.

  Thump.

  The noise came from the cupboard under the sink.

  I eyed it. Demon in hiding waiting to spring or the house providing? Just in case it was the first, I grabbed the toilet paper rack—the kind that held multiple rolls—and brandished it as I reached for the cupboard.

  Opening it, I squeaked, “Not funny!”

  The house had managed to wedge a weed whacker in there. I swear I felt it shake in mirth.

  “It is not that bushy,” I grumbled. Total lie. It was a jungle down there.

  When I turned around, the stool by the tub held a regular shaver with an attachment. With much cursing, contorting, and a hairy murder scene in the tub by the time I was done, I managed to tame the locks down below to a sleek pelt. I wouldn’t do a full-on shave, mostly because I feared it would rash before I got to the main event.

  I had to shower to make sure I got all of the residue off. Then I moisturized. Face. Body. Feet. Even my girl parts got a bit of pampering, so they’d smell pretty.

  Then came the tucking of my boobs and belly into my underwear. I wasn’t model perfect, but I was pleased with what I saw. I cocked a hip and posed. Even blew a kiss.

  I wasn’t too old to be sexy.

  Next came the hair, which I’d been getting into the habit of blow drying every other day and keeping it nicely shaped and colored. All part of the new me. Looking good made me feel good. For tonight, I added more than the light mascara and gloss I’d adopted. I dabbed a bit of blush to my cheeks. Some sparkle to my eyes.

  A sultry stranger looked back at me in the mirror. I couldn’t wait for Darryl to see me.

  When the doorbell rang, my heart stopped, and I had a moment of panic. Tonight was the night.

  Trish was right. It did feel like I was losing my virginity all over again.

  I skipped down the stairs to find Geoff at the door, Grisou by his side. The cat who sometimes thought he was a guard dog. The pair stared at Darryl, grilling him.

  “So,” my son drawled, “you’re taking my mom out. I’ll expect her home before dawn. And no drinking and driving.”

  “Geoffrey!” I yelped his name and blushed, which drew masculine laughter.

  Darryl peeked at me around my son and whistled. “You look amazing.”

  The compliment only made me bubble with happiness. I couldn’t help but blush. “Thank you.” Had he noticed I’d worn the brooch he’d given me for Christmas?

  “I can’t wait to show you off.” As I slid on my boots, Darryl said to Geoff, “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Naomi.”

  I hoped so. Really good care.

  He helped me into my coat then out to his truck.

  Only once he climbed in the driver side did I exclaim, “I forgot my overnight bag.”

  Darryl winked as he said, “You won’t be needing any clothes for what I have planned.”

  “Oh.” A hot exclamation that went with my surely red cheeks. “But what about the people at your house?”

  “We won’t be going back to my house.”

  Had he rented us a hotel room? Romantic. Tawdry. Nerve wracking. Holy moly, it was going to happen.

  The conversation was light on the drive over. Me mostly babbling about the shop, and even the damned cat. When we stopped, I was surprised to see us parked at the front of the mill given the packed lot.

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get towed?”

  “They wouldn’t dare tonight.” He offered me a hand to get out of the truck. He grabbed me and slid me down his body. The thrill was cheap and cheek heating. I smiled at him and got one back.

  “Shall we go inside?” he said, holding my hand to lead me into the mill.

  It appeared almost majestic with thousands of small lights giving it a grandeur it lacked in the reality of day. Overhead, a bright moon shone. The papers claimed we’d see a rare red moon, expected to reach its peak of color around midnight, when the New Year began. I wondered what kind of omen it portended, good or the end of everything, as one newspaper had been claiming of late.

  “I wonder why the mill invited the whole town,” I said as we followed other couples toward the main doors.

  “So that everyone might see the fulfillment of a dream years in the making.”

  Puzzling. I’d not known Darryl was that caught up in the doings of the mill.

  I didn’t ponder it long, as, just inside, he removed my coat and held me steady as I switched my boots to shoes. Those at least I’d managed to bring, but only because I slipped them into the pockets earlier. I’d worried I’d forget indoor shoes and spend the evening in my Sherpa-lined suede winter boots.

  No heels, because I wanted to remain upright, but even if they were simple, I felt like the belle of the ball with my handsome beau. Darryl had dressed up, wearing a mauve silk button-up shirt, paired with an ashy gray coat and pants. He made it unique with the bolero and cowboy boots.

  I hugged his arm, so happy I could burst.

  Inside the mill, I oohed and aahed at the transformation achieved by lights and streamers strung all over. In the massive room, which I’d recently seen housing bottles and crates, were people. More people than I’d ever imagined could live in town. They gathered in clusters, talking, dancing, drinking, eating. I’d swear they all kept looking my way.

  I clutched at Darryl as a hint of panic filled me. Too many bodies in a room too small. I tugged at his arm. “Can we go outside for a minute? I’m feeling a little claustrophobic.”

  “It’s freezing out there. Here. Use this to calm down.” As a waiter bearing a large tray with drinks passed, Darryl snared a glass and pressed it into my hand. The liquid was golden and clear. Champagne? Wine? Before I could figure it out, I realized Darryl held a glass, too.

  “Aren’t you driving?” I asked as he downed it quick.

  “Don’t worry about that. Drink,” he urged me, even as he snared another.

  I wanted to say something. Clarify how we’d be getting to a hotel or home. What if he got angry? Could be he had a romantic plan that involved us having a limo pick us up? I might ruin the surprise and my chances if I got all pissy about him having a few drinks. Surely Darryl wouldn’t do anything irresponsible that could get us both killed.

&
nbsp; “Happy New Year’s Eve,” I said, lifting my glass in a salute.

  He clanged it. “To the new era.”

  A strange thing to say and yet I heard it over and over as we toured the room. Perhaps some kind of local mantra. Of more interested was Darryl. He strutted across the mill floor as if he owned it, stopping to talk to more people than I ever imagined anyone knowing. Introducing me to everyone. Full name. Naomi Rousseau. It got me more curious stares than I liked.

  But it did please me to know he wasn’t ashamed to be seen with the town witch. Talk about a difference from when we first met.

  An hour into the party, I caught a glimpse of Winnie in a corner, dressed in a silver sheath. It had been a few days since I’d seen her. She’d not been by the house while I was home, so I resorted to leaving a dorky message on her voicemail—‘Hey Winnie, it’s your mom, just wanted to wish you a happy New Year’s eve. Call me.’ She didn’t. Probably busy with her new beau.

  I hurried to say hi, ditching Darryl ,who was off to the side whispering with a crony.

  A smile tugged my lips. “Winnie! I didn’t know you were coming. You look so pretty.”

  She saw me and froze before giving me a tight smile. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Long time, no see. Is everything okay? Are you here with your new friend?” I glanced around, wondering who her date was.

  “Yeah.” She fidgeted. “Listen, we need to talk. There are things you don’t know. Things I have to tell you.”

  “Is this about the book of spells you ruined?”

  Her lips flattened.

  “Why did you wreck it? Surely you could have—”

  She cut me off. “There’s so much you don’t understand.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I can’t. It’s complicated.” She hesitated before saying in a rush, “You’re in—”

  “Evening, Naomi.” Jace slid in close behind my daughter. Too close. His hand on her waist made my gaze narrow.

  Jace and Winnie. To my relief I didn’t feel any jealousy, even if Jace was an attractive guy more my age. But I was annoyed. What was Winnie thinking getting involved with another older guy? On the heels of the ire came the hurt. Not only did Winnie keep it a secret, she’d been next door this entire time and not once popped in to see me.