by Willow Mason
“Only three-year-olds have Velcro,” I protested, folding my arms. “A grown man should know how to tie his shoes.” Ben opened his mouth, and I raised a finger in warning. “How is the wedding preparation coming along? Remember the bit of the ceremony when the celebrant asks, ‘If anyone knows of any reason…?’”
“Good point.” He mimed a zipper closing his lips, then immediately launched into speech again. “We’ll need to strip that out, I think. Nobody needs the general public weighing in on our decisions.”
“Note it down.” Mum grinned, and I buried my face in my hands. “Make sure the entire ceremony is Elisa-proof.”
Reggie and Brody sprinted up the path, having been for a run together. It was good practice, given the job interview my cousin had been stressing over was as a personal trainer at Oakleaf Glade’s one and only gym.
Unlike his role as a server at the Tavern Café, it was guaranteed I’d never encounter him on the job again.
Totalling up the number of people inside, even my extraverted soul clamoured for solitude. Maisie floating through the wall didn’t help matters, especially as she began recounting an amusing anecdote to my mother, who didn’t even know the ghost was there.
“I might pop upstairs and change,” I said, inching towards the staircase.
“Bags the shower,” Reggie said, flying past me and claiming the bathroom as his spoils.
“Don’t change again.” Mum grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me over to stand beside her. “Tell me more about this young man you’re seeing.”
“So you can make fun of him sometime in the future?”
“Only if the situation demands it,” Ben said with a chuckle. “Hey, Brody. Can you explain to me again where you are on the family tree? I’m tasked with sending out wedding invitations.”
“Well, there’s my grandmother.” Brody gave me a wink. “Who, despite Elisa’s claims to the contrary, is not the youngest daughter of her family and definitely isn’t dead.”
I shielded my eyes for a second, counting back from ten. “It seemed a reasonable assumption.”
“Hurtful, you mean. My poor Nana.”
“How was I meant to know your Nana Ramble was actually Rose Spicer? Nothing about that name tells me anything useful. My pixie magic showed me my great aunt’s grave. I didn’t know Desiree had a plaque commemorating her there, as well.”
“You knew I didn’t come from your side of the family and that Esmerelda didn’t have any children. Surely, a process of elimination would have landed you in the right place?”
Ben jumped to my rescue. “It was a very stressful time,” he said in a measured voice. “I think there should be a town ordinance that insists upon nametags when you store dead bodies inside your walls.”
It was hard to agree or disagree with that statement, so I opted for silence. Soon enough, Brody and Ben walked away, chatting about who should make it onto the invitation list.
My phone beeped, and I’d never felt so grateful to have an excuse to leave. With a smile, I read Lucas’s quick message, then sent him a text asking him to wait outside. The last thing I wanted was for him to walk in through the front door and be ambushed.
“Gotta go.” With a quick wave, I hightailed it out the door on a wave of protests and increased my walk to a jog when I heard footsteps following me outside. I gestured to a surprised Lucas to keep the engine running and lunged for the door handle. “Go. GO!”
Once we’d turned the corner, I sighed in relief and sank back in the passenger seat.
“Are you embarrassed about your family or me?” Lucas asked, wrinkling his nose at me.
“Neither. I’ve just had my fill of friendly advice for the day. Maybe later we can go through the awkwardness of introductions.”
“It might be much later,” Lucas warned, giving me a sideways glance. “The day is hot, the sea is warm, and I know every ice cream vendor at the beach by name.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
He gave me a lazy smile and reached out to twist a curl of my hair around his finger. A tingle of excitement zapped across my skin and nestled in my belly. “You know, you really suit having your hair down.”
I patted it self-consciously, then wound the window a fraction to let the wind catch at its length. “That’s good.” I caught his hand and gave it a kiss before releasing it back to him. “Because I think I might wear it this way more often.”
Even with a further ten-minute drive to reach the ocean, I could taste salt on my tongue. Since arriving in Oakleaf Glade, I’d revelled in discovering about my pixie heritage, and putting my magic to good use.
Still, after an adventurous month, having a break from my strange new world felt overdue. Good company, sand, surf, and no supernatural abilities sounded like the perfect day to me.
About the Author
Willow Mason is the author of Witchy (and Pixie) Paranormal Cozy Mysteries.
She lives in a small town in New Zealand, far too close to the beach and fantastic walking trails to get nearly as much work done as she should. Until someone bestows magic powers on her, she’ll just keep hoping for the invention of self-cleaning dishes and self-washing clothes.
www.willowmason.com
Also by Willow Mason
Pixie-lated (Newborn Pixie Cozy Mystery)
A Bone to Pixie (Newborn Pixie Cozy Mystery)
Pixie Me Up (Newborn Pixie Cozy Mystery)
Selective Spells (Beezley and the Witch)
Vexatious Voodoo (Beezley and the Witch)
Muddled Mutt (Beezley and the Witch)
Beezley and the Witch: Books 1-3
