“Love you,” I whispered and squeezed him tight.
Heath chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “That’s a relief,” he said. “I was beginning to worry you might have regrets about us ever since Sable walked through the door.”
I sighed. “If I had any, it was only because of the way I handled the breakup.” That was a teensy bit of a lie, but Heath didn’t need to know that.
Heath let go of me and took my hand. “Come on, let’s get some coffee.”
Now, I know it sounds weird to go for coffee after a hot, sweaty run, but it was something that both Heath and I really enjoyed. Plus, even though it was late spring, the day was a little chilly. By the time we got to Mama Dell’s Coffee Shop, we had both cooled down and were looking forward to the smooth, rich brew that she served.
Mama Dell is a dear friend of mine. Originally from South Carolina, Mama D. is a tiny woman with a bigger-than-life personality. In years past her coffee shop had done quite well in spite of the fact that her coffee tasted only slightly better than tar, and that almost directly across the street from her was a Dunkin’ Donuts—a New England staple if ever there was one.
Somewhere along the line when I’d been in Europe hunting down spooks, some brave person had finally posted a review of Mama’s coffee on Yelp. It hadn’t been kind, but it’d been the truth. That’d sort of sparked a wave of similar reviews, but the funny thing was, almost all the negative reviews had been coupled with four stars, because everyone loved Mama Dell. What she lacked in brew know-how she more than made up for in personality.
Still, Mama D. was determined not to let those reviewers have the last Yelp. She flew to South America and took a course in coffee brewing from the best coffee bean growers in the world. Then she flew to Hawaii and cultivated relationships with some Kona Coffee growers. Finally, she even headed to Ethiopia and toured a few coffee plantations there too. She came back with an amalgamation of three signature blends, and now she’s got so much business you can almost never get in the door before ten a.m.
It’s a little quieter in the afternoons, and Heath and I found the place only modestly packed when we walked through the doors of the cozy café. Mama D.’s shop is full of kitschy touches. There’s a large rack to the side of the front door where patrons who plan to have their coffee in can select a mug that matches their mood or personality. Against one wall is a huge bookcase stocked full of dog-eared paperback mysteries that Mama has collected over the years and chooses to share with her patrons. It works on the honor system, and it’s a rare thing for a patron to borrow a book and not bring it back. It’s far more likely that her customers actually add to the collection. Near the register is a large pastry case chock-full of tasty delights fresh baked that morning, from Mama’s famous banana nut bread to fruit tarts created by her husband, known only as “the Captain.”
Deeper inside the coffee shop are cozy seating areas, where overstuffed chairs, perfect for taking a load off or sinking into a good book, beckon all who enter. Mama D.’s clientele rarely tap away on computers or phones—that’s frowned upon by Mama—and those that continue to resist the unspoken rule soon learn they’d be better suited to hanging out at Starbucks for such activities. Mama Dell’s place is for relaxing, chatting with friends, enjoying the ambience, smooth coffee, and delicious pastry. It isn’t a substitute workplace, and she makes sure her patrons know the difference.
I think that’s the real reason she has such a loyal following. At Mama’s you can completely relax, not stress yourself out by reading an e-mail, or seeing that your friends on Facebook are having a better time. Here you can unplug, and it’s wonderful.
“Well, there’s a sight for sore eyes!” I heard her call as Heath and I picked through the rack of mugs, hunting for just the right ones for our coffee.
I turned and saw her wiping her hands on a towel while she quick-stepped it over to me. “Afternoon, darlin’!” she sang as she wrapped me in a hug before turning to Heath to hug him too. “How y’all doin’ today?”
I felt my shoulders relax. Mama D. has the loveliest Southern charm about her. She reminds me of home, and my own mama. “We’re good, Mama D. You?”
“Oh, Lord!” she exclaimed. “What a morning it’s been! The Captain’s been with the architect all morning and I think his head’s about to explode. We’re going a little over budget, but we need the space.”
Mama D. has plans to expand into the office space next door, as the rug dealer that’d previously occupied that space had gone out of business. If they go through with their plans, Mama D.’s will double its square footage.
Our host continued to chat happily at us as she crooked her finger for us to follow her over to the counter, where she ducked behind the pastry case and came up with two slabs of banana nut bread and her delicious honey butter without even waiting for our order. She then filled our cups and waved her hand at Heath when he tried to pay. I saw him put a ten in her tip jar.
And then she said, “Oh, do you know who came into the shop this morning, M.J.? Dr. Sable! And guess what! He’s engaged! He showed me a picture of his fiancée, oh! What a pretty girl!”
All that tension that’d fallen away walked right back up my spine. Mama D. had set up my first date with Steven, and even though she knew we’d split up, she still remained a big fan of his. As she chatted on about how well he looked and how good it was to see him, I pushed a big old smile onto my face and nodded like a bobblehead.
“We saw him this morning,” Heath said, subtly placing a hand on my lower back. “And we’re meeting Steven and his fiancée for dinner.”
Mama D. clapped her hands together. “That’s wonderful! Oh, I’m so happy y’all are getting along so well.”
I was grinding my teeth together so hard that I couldn’t really respond, but for Mama D.’s sake I kept that big smile firmly planted on my face, and thankfully, a group of students approached the counter with mugs and hungry expressions. Heath and I managed to move off without looking rude.
We found a love seat near the fireplace and I sat down with a sigh. “Maybe we should cancel,” Heath said after a minute of silence.
I’d been staring into the fire and I pulled my eyes away and pushed the smile back up. “It’s fine. I’m fine, Heath.”
He nodded. “Oh, I know you’re okay with it. But I’m not so sure about it.”
My smile became real and I rolled my eyes a little. Heath was just saying that to make me feel better. I reached out and took his hand. “We’ll go to dinner,” I told him. “We’ll meet the fiancée and see what’s up with her brother. It’s cool.”
Heath arched a skeptical eyebrow.
“I pinkie-swear I’m cool,” I insisted. If I said that a few times, maybe it would be true enough soon. “Let’s go to dinner, and hear what they have to say.”
Heath nodded. “It’s just a job, right?” he said.
“Yep. Just a job. And if at any point during dinner you think I’ll need reminding that it’s just a job, feel free to say something.”
“What’s just a job?” I heard a voice ask.
Looking up, I saw Gilley standing there nibbling on a puff pastry. “Hey!” I said. “Where’ve you been?”
“Seeing Michel off,” Gil said, adding a pout as he took a seat across from us. Michel was Gilley’s new boyfriend, whose mother is French, but his father is a Scot and so is Michel. We’d met him a few months earlier as we were wrapping up our final shoots for our cable show, and he’d proved very good with a handheld camera in some rather dicey situations.
“Seeing him off?” I said, sitting forward. “You didn’t break up with him, did you?” I liked Michel, not only because he was a lovely person, but also because he’d taken the annoying right out of Gilley. With Michel, Gil had lost fifteen pounds, smiled more, pouted and complained less, and was just a general delight to be around. Without Michel, Gilley’s charming company co
uld be used by the CIA to extract information from terrorists.
“No,” Gil said with a sad little sigh. “He’s got a job in New York. He won’t be back till the weekend after next.”
Fourteen days. I wondered if we could all last that long without Michel as a buffer.
“Anyway, I talked to Ma,” Gil said next, eyeing his puff pastry with more than a hint of guilt in his eyes. He’d been doing so well on his diet.
Abruptly, I remembered the gold charm bracelet. “Yeah? What’d she say?”
“Well,” Gil said, picking away at the pastry, “it seems your dad has a girlfriend.”
I choked on my coffee. “What?”
He smiled wickedly at me. “It was only a matter of time, M.J.,” he said. “Or in your daddy’s case, twenty-three years.”
I coughed for a bit as Heath patted my back. Mama Dell even rushed over with a glass of water. At last I felt I could breathe without sputtering. “Who is she?”
Gil shrugged. “Ma doesn’t know much other than that her name is Christine Bigelow, originally from Jacksonville. She moved to town about three months ago and took up with your daddy soon after that. Ma says she bought the Porters’ old place and there’s nothing but construction crews up there day and night.”
My brow shot up. The Porters had been a prominent family in Valdosta since before the Civil War. Their home was one of those great big plantation estates with Greek columns, grand porches, and lush rolling lawns. Over the years the Porter family had left the area one by one, venturing to more bustling communities like Atlanta, Jacksonville, and the like. I’d heard that the Porter mansion had been all but vacant in recent years, but I was still surprised to learn now that the house had gone up for sale.
I imagined that although the place might be grand, it’d likely need some major renovation to make it livable. “She bought the Porter place?” I repeated. I was still stunned that my father had taken up with someone. To my knowledge he hadn’t so much as looked at a woman since my mother died. I guess I’d taken it for granted that he never would.
Gil nodded. “She’s got some bucks apparently.”
“What does she do?” I asked next.
Gil smiled slyly. “Do? She doesn’t do anything, M.J. Her husband died and left her a boatload of money. Now she spends that and hangs out with your daddy.”
“How . . . how did they meet?” I didn’t know if I was happy or upset about Daddy dating again. I was bordering on upset because, even though it’d been well over twenty years since Mama died, it still felt a bit like he was cheating on her.
“She went to see him to help set up a trust fund for all the money her husband left her,” Gil said easily.
I wasn’t surprised Gilley knew all these intimate details. The gossip vines in Valdosta are like kudzu—they’re everywhere and cover everything.
“This is good news, right?” Heath asked, peering at me as if he couldn’t understand why my eyes might be watering.
I swallowed hard. “It is,” I said, already wondering if I could send back the charm bracelet.
“Hey,” Gilley said, sitting forward. “Your daddy has been alone for a really long time, honey. It’s okay to let him have some company, right?”
“Sure,” I said, but my voice sounded flat. “Yeah. It’s a good thing.”
Gil and Heath exchanged a look, and it irritated me. It said they thought I might be taking all this a little too hard. I cleared my throat and stood up. “It’s going on three. I’ve gotta get showered and changed for tonight.”
Gilley and Heath got up too. “What’s going on tonight?” Gil asked.
I completely forgot that I hadn’t told him yet. Heath beat me to it. “Sable stopped by the office this morning.”
Gil’s eyes bulged. “Oh. My. God!”
“He asked us to dinner,” Heath went on. “With his fiancée . . . the neurosurgeon.”
It was Gilley’s turn to choke on his coffee. “Whoa,” he said when he could speak clearly. Then his gaze shifted to me. “Awkward . . .”
“Steven has a job for us,” I said quickly, trying to make light of the fact that my ex had gotten engaged mere months after we’d broken up. Also, I knew I’d have to try to rope Gilley into helping us if we decided to take the job. “The fiancée has a brother who’s having some trouble.”
Gil cocked his head. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“The spooky kind,” I said.
“Yikes. Well, thank God I’m free this evening. What time is dinner?”
“Who said you were coming?” The last thing I needed was a snarky, acerbic-tongued dinner guest when we met Steven’s fiancée.
Gilley rolled his eyes. “Honey, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
I glared at him. “No.”
Gil gave me an appraising look. “Sugar,” he drawled, “you’ll need me.”
“Ha!” I scoffed. “Like a hole in the head.”
Gilley shook his head and tsked. “So, you’re going to rely on Heath to have your back when you meet this gorgeous neurosurgeon with a giant rock on her finger?” Glancing at Heath, Gilley added, “No offense, doll.”
Heath narrowed his eyes at Gil. “None more than usual taken, Gil.”
But I was more focused on what Gilley had just said. “Who said she was gorgeous?”
“Oh, please, M.J.,” Gil said. “Have you ever known Steven to date anyone who wasn’t gorgeous?”
“I’ve only known him to date me,” I said levelly.
Gil inspected his nails. “I rest my case.”
“Em,” Heath said, wrapping an arm around my waist. “It’s just dinner. You’ll be fine no matter who shows up because I’ll be there to make sure Sable knows I got the better end of the deal.”
I looked up at my sweet, sincere, sensitive boyfriend and caressed his cheek. Then I turned to Gil and said, “Dinner’s at seven. At Tango’s. Be there on time for once.” And then I headed out of the coffee shop to sprint home and get ready.
Chapter 2
Gilley didn’t disappoint. He showed up at my condo in the middle of a full-scale wardrobe meltdown. “How’s it going?” I heard him ask as I threw one of the last remaining pairs of slacks out the door of my closet.
“How do you think it’s going?” I replied. Behind me the bed was a mess of rumpled clothing, hangers, and shoes. I had absolutely nothing suitable to wear because for much of the past ten months, I’d been dressing for demons—not ex-boyfriends and their gorgeous, brainy fiancées.
I heard Gilley clear his throat. “This might work,” he said.
I turned and poked my head out to see Gilley standing there with a garment bag and a shoe box. “What’d you do?”
“Took care of you,” Gil said lazily. “Just like always.”
I grinned and rushed over to take the bag from him. Unzipping it, I peered inside and my breath caught. Inside the garment bag was a gorgeous sheath dress in oh so touchable electric blue suede. Cinched smartly at the waist, it also had a deep V-neck, and a slight slit in the back of the formfitting skirt cut just a few inches above my knee.
I pulled the dress out of the bag and marveled at it. Then I caught sight of the four-hundred-dollar price tag. “Gil!” I yelled.
He rolled his eyes. “Honey, that was before the markdown.”
My brows lifted along with a little hope. “You got a discount?”
“Of course,” he said easily.
“How much?”
“Ten percent.”
I hung my head. “I can’t afford a three-hundred-and-sixty-dollar dress, Gil.”
“You can if you’d do a few readings,” he reminded me. Now that we were on hiatus, Gil had been pushing me to read for some private clients again. I’d resisted because we were awaiting a big bonus from the network for shooting at a seriously dangerous location,
but the network was dragging its heels on the money, and the latest rumor was that we weren’t going to see the check until the middle to the end of the summer.
We were also supposed to make a ton of money off the movie that shoot resulted in, but before heading home from Wales, we’d been told that it’d take at least a year or two for that to be released and then another year before we saw any money from it.
And people think that all you have to do is get on television and your money worries are over.
Still, I was reluctant to commit to readings because I’d gotten so burned-out the last time I opened myself up to readings that I was still put off by that exhausting experience. Readings really take it out of me.
“Just a few a month,” he coaxed. I used to command two hundred dollars a session. It was really good money, and it’d allowed me to put a sizable chunk down on the condo when I’d bought it. “And just until we go back to work for Ghoul Getters,” Gilley added.
I made a face at him, but I realized I was still clutching the dress to my chest. I reeeeeeally wanted to wear it, and I’m no longer that girl that tucks the tag in and takes a dress back after only wearing it once. If I wore the dress, I was keeping it. “How many readings a month?” I asked Gilley.
He smiled. “No more than twenty.”
I did some more mental calculating. That would be really good money. And it would save Heath and me from having to be so careful about our budget. While I wavered, Gilley added, “I’ve already got a few booked for Heath.”
I blinked. “Heath is doing readings?”
Gil nodded. “He didn’t want me to tell you because he wants to buy you something nice for your birthday, and he said that living in Boston for the summer is crazy expensive and he doesn’t want you to worry about trying to survive on a tight budget all the time.”
I lifted my chin to look out into the hall. I could hear the news broadcast on the TV and I knew Heath was out there lounging on the sofa, waiting for me to figure out my wardrobe for the evening. “He’s a good man, isn’t he?” I whispered to Gil.
The Ghoul Next Door Page 3
