“I promise, I’m not. You said we could have coffee and discuss the book when I was done. Well, I’m done.”
“And you want to talk about the book now?”
“Over coffee. And blueberry crumble. The last two pieces in the entire town of Everlasting are sitting at Chickadee’s with my name on them. They’re paid for and waiting on us.”
“Oh, Chickadee’s blueberry crumble. That is also very good.” Now her mouth was watering along with her rumbling stomach. “I suppose that would be okay.”
“Meet you in ten minutes?”
Ten minutes? She was still wearing her work clothes. That would not do. Not when he’d noticed cat hair on her skirt. She needed to make him understand that she was not just a boring librarian. She wanted him to see her as a real person. Not a stereotype. Why that was suddenly so important, she wasn’t sure, but that’s how she felt. “Fifteen.”
Walker made it to the diner in eight. Betsy was still there, but the dinner crowd was mostly gone. Just a few stragglers hung on, some nursing coffee and pie that wasn’t blueberry. He gave her a nod as he came in.
She smiled at him. “Back for the crumble?”
“Yes, but I’m going to grab a booth.” He winked at her. “Meeting someone.”
Her smile turned knowing. “I’ll be right over.”
He walked to the back and slid into the corner booth.
Charlotte showed up ten minutes later, making her three minutes late, but he forgot all about that as she walked toward him, looking very different than she had at the library. The simple skirt and blouse were gone, replaced by snug jeans tucked into riding boots and a tight, fuzzy sweater that made her seem like she had a soft glow about her. Her hair looked freshly brushed and the warm brown shone like rich, bourbon-laced caramel.
Witchcraft. He knew that. Knew what witches were capable of, especially one with Charlotte’s gifts, but man, it knocked him back to see her go from prim librarian to…whatever this hotness was in front of him.
She looked very girl-next-door, rather than blatantly sexy, which didn’t seem like her style anyway. But girl-next-door was a look he definitely had a weakness for.
Maybe she’d cast some kind of spell to figure that out about him. He wouldn’t be surprised. And it was a good reminder of how tough an opponent he was up against. If she was an opponent, which he still hoped she wasn’t.
She stopped at the edge of the booth. “Hello.”
“Hello.” He gestured to the empty banquette across from him. “Join me.”
She slid in, putting her handbag on the seat beside her. “You really finished the book?”
“I really finished the book.” He’d never read so fast in his life. But he’d had to see her again. Had to find out more about her and determine just how powerful she was. He needed a better measure of who this woman was and what kind of witch he was dealing with.
Betsy arrived and added a set of napkin-rolled silverware to each of their place mats. She dug her order book out of her apron and held her pen at the ready. “What can I get you kids? Besides the blueberry crumble.”
Walker looked to Charlotte.
She glanced up at Betsy. “Just a decaf, please.”
“You got it.” Betsy turned to Walker. “Decaf for you, too?”
“I’ll take regular.” Caffeine didn’t affect him. And he might not be sleeping tonight anyway. He leaned back. “What’s your advice on going ala mode with the crumble?”
Betsy smiled. “I can pop it in the microwave. Warm crumble with a scoop of vanilla bean? That’ll cure what ails you.”
“Let’s do it.”
Charlotte raised her hand. “Just the crumble for me.”
“C’mon,” Walker said. “No ice cream? That’s no fun.”
“No extra calories either.” Charlotte shrugged. “This is technically my second dessert of the evening, so really, I’m good with just the crumble.”
“All right.” Betsy sighed like Charlotte had disappointed her and walked back behind the counter.
Charlotte folded her hands on the table. “All right, tell me. What did you think of The Scoundrel Prince?”
“It was…” Walker laughed softly, his eyebrows twitching with how much the answer surprised him. “So much better than I expected.”
She broke out into a big smile. “Really?”
“Absolutely. For one thing, I could see the whole thing in my head like a movie, you know? Regency London in all its grit and glory.”
“And Lady Regina? And Lord Julian? What did you think of them?” Her eyes were sparkling with excitement.
It was very endearing. Books were clearly her passion. He loved that. But it didn’t help her case. A witch who loved books was the perfect recipient for a grimoire like Middian’s. He did his best to focus on the conversation at hand, sitting back to evaluate Lord Julian’s character. “Well, he was an ass. At first anyway.”
“Right, but he had all that baggage to overcome.”
“For sure. Man, what a background. I mean, his mother – wow. And Regina was about as perfect as a woman could be. She definitely was the right one for him. I loved how she stood up to him. Told him exactly what he needed.”
“I agree. She was perfect. What did you think of the stable scene?”
Walker frowned and thought back through what he’d read. He’d read fast, but he hadn’t skimmed. “I hate to admit this, but I don’t remember a stable scene.”
Charlotte slapped her hand on the table top. “Because there wasn’t one. That was a trick question.”
His brows lifted. “You were testing me?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Don’t get grumpy. You passed.”
Chapter Five
Charlotte almost laughed at the disbelief on Walker’s face. Had he really thought she wasn’t going to try to trip him up? It was easy enough to fake that you’d read a book these days. All you had to do was go online and skim through the reviews. A lot of them were basically book reports, but they didn’t cover the fine points. And she knew the book well enough to know it in full detail. Good on him for actually reading the book and for telling the truth. If he’d been lying, he would have just nodded and talked about how enjoyable the stable scene was, or something to that effect.
He hmphed as the waitress showed up with the coffee. “If I tell you I’ve done something, I’ve done it.”
“So I see.” She was still amused by his righteous indignation.
The waitress, Betsy, deposited two cups of steaming coffee onto the table. “Unleaded for you.” She slid one toward Charlotte, then the second one in Walker’s direction. “And leaded for you.”
She pulled a handful of creamers out of her apron pocket and plopped them in the center of the table. “Be right back with the crumble.”
Charlotte reached for two of the creamers. If Walker was a little put off by her quiz, she was okay with that. She didn’t care what he thought about her. This wasn’t a date. It was…something else. Coffee. And pie. But not a date. Because he wasn’t her type, and she definitely wasn’t his. “What else did you like about the book?”
Betsy returned before he could answer. She set a plate in front of each of them, and Charlotte had a small pang of regret, or possibly jealousy, when she saw the generous scoop of vanilla ice cream melting over his blueberry crumble. “There you go. Enjoy.”
As Betsy left, Walker picked up his fork. His gaze held a subtle coolness that hadn’t been there before. “Are you genuinely interested in what I liked about it, or is this another test?”
“Genuinely interested.” She took her fork in hand. “Testing has concluded for this evening.”
He snorted. “Well, in that case…the love scenes were very moving.”
Her cheeks heated and she was powerless to stop it. The love scenes in The Scoundrel Prince were modestly detailed, but imaginative and filled with the sort of phrasing that left no doubt as to what was going on. They were some of the best that had ever been written in a r
omance novel, in Charlotte’s opinion, and she’d read quite a few.
He pointed his fork at her, complete with a hunk of pie and a dollop of ice cream on the tines. “You’re quiet. Does that mean you disagree?”
“No, I agree. They’re, uh, masterful. An excellent example of how restrained language can paint a vivid picture.” She quickly scooped up a mouthful of pie and ate it, eager for an excuse not to say more.
But the blueberry crumble was too good to be silent about. No wonder people raved whenever it came up.
She looked from the pie to Walker. He still hadn’t eaten any. “Put that fork in your mouth already. This crumble is amazing.”
He did. A second later, his eyes closed and a soft “Mmm” came out of him. It was a sound that caused a curious tingle in Charlotte. Not that it was so difficult to figure out. Especially coming on the heels of their love scene discussion. He swallowed, opening his eyes. “Wow. That’s good.”
“I’ll say.” She took another bite, savoring it this time and trying not to focus on the way pleasure made Walker’s face even more handsome.
His brows pulled together in a questioning expression. “Haven’t you had this before? You do live here, after all.”
She shook her head. “I don’t eat out a lot. A librarian’s salary isn’t exactly lavish.”
“Oh. I guess not.” He tipped his head. “But you must go out on dates. Or is this not a date place?”
“No, it’s a date place. I guess. I don’t know. I don’t go on many dates.”
The furrow of his brows deepened. “Are you putting me on?”
“No, not at all.” She poked at the pie with her fork. “I don’t get asked. Okay, I get asked once in a while. But not very often.”
“Why not?”
She sighed. “I don’t think the male population thinks I’m that interesting.”
“Then they’re idiots. But you said you get asked once in a while, so when was the last time?”
“Doesn’t count.” She sipped her coffee. Also good.
“Why not?”
“Because my last date wasn’t really a date. I was my cousin’s plus one at another cousin’s wedding.”
“You’re right. That probably doesn’t qualify as a real date. At least it shouldn’t.” He ate more crumble. “You have a lot of family around here, then?”
“Not really. They’re mostly in Boston.”
“What brought you to Everlasting?”
“The library job.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Almost four years.” She forked up another piece of pie. “What brought you to Everlasting? Just the Festival?”
“Sort of. I’m an antiquer.”
That stopped her short. “You’re a what?”
“You know, I buy and sell antiques.”
“I know what an antiquer is, but…” That was exactly what he didn’t look like. Then she realized he was teasing her. “Come on. What are you really doing here?”
“I just told you. I go town by town through all the antique shops and search for hidden gems. I hit up estate sales, yard sales, thrift shops…you’d be amazed at what I find. A lot of it needs restoration, but that’s part of what I do. Probably the part I like best.”
“Then why have you been in the library so much?”
“You noticed that, huh?” He smiled. “When I find something interesting, that I don’t know enough about, I research it. Also, I like to read. But the research helps me put a better price on things.”
She immediately thought about the book. She had no interest in selling it, but it might be fun to know the value of it as an ordinary object. If it was really worth something, she’d add it to her renter’s insurance. “Do you do appraisals?”
He nodded. “Sometimes. Mostly if someone’s looking to sell something. And between us, those people always want way more than what the thing is actually worth.” He used the spoon from his coffee, which he took black, to scoop melted ice cream back onto his pie. “Why? You have something you want appraised?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I was kind of thinking about it. Depends on how much you charge.”
He looked up from the crumble. “Dinner.”
“Hmm?”
He smiled, but for the first time there was no confidence behind it. Charlotte found his sudden tentativeness engaging. “You could make me dinner the night I come over to do the appraisal.” He glanced down at his plate. “The food here is good, but there’s nothing like home cooked.”
She snorted. “You’re assuming I know how to cook.”
The self-assurance she was used to seeing in his eyes returned. “Of course you’re a good cook. For one thing, you love books and you told me that includes cookbooks.”
“I also told you I’m no chef.”
He waved the comment away. “Just you being modest. For another, you just told me your librarian’s salary doesn’t allow for a lot of eating out. That means you know how to feed yourself. Which means you can probably feed me too. And I’m happy to bring wine and a dessert.”
He wasn’t wrong. Which sort of irritated her that he was analyzing her, but it pleased her at the same time that he was paying attention. There was something special about a man who took notice of the things a woman said.
She sat back and crossed her arms. It would really be interesting to know what the book was worth. And also spend a little more time with Walker, who was actually a pretty decent guy. Even if he was out of her league. And not her type. “It won’t be fancy.”
His grin broadened. “Do I look like a fancy guy to you?”
“I’m serious. Spaghetti and garlic bread.”
“Perfect. I’ll bring red wine and tiramisu.”
“Are you making that tiramisu?”
He laughed. “I’ll be making the trip to Frisiello’s to buy it. Does that count?”
Against her better judgment, she chuckled. “Half credit.”
Frisiello’s had amazing tiramisu, among other things. They were sort of the go-to spot in town for fancy Italian food. Something she only knew because she’d won dinner for two there in last year’s Cranberry Festival raffle.
“Half credit is better than no credit. I’ll take it.” He angled his fork at her. “Tomorrow night, then?”
“I suppose. But…how do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
He shot her a look. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“You don’t, but the odds are in your favor. Women only make up fifteen percent of the serial killer population.”
“Is that so? In that case, I hope I don’t get lucky.”
She snorted before she could stop herself.
He leaned in. “Here’s what you do. Tell everyone you know I’m coming over. Make it public knowledge. Have your friends call you throughout the night to check up on you. Maybe tell the cops to do a drive-by. Post it on social media. Invite a friend over. Whatever makes you comfortable is fine by me.”
She smirked, but she was actually going to do a couple of those. “All right. Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock.” Maybe she’d light a candle for protection, just like she was going to light a love candle for Millie when she got home. Couldn’t hurt. Unless she used the ustulo spell again and incinerated the building. If she didn’t perfect that spell soon, she was going to get arrested for accidental arson.
He forked up the last bit of his pie. “Then it’s a date. Our second, to be exact.”
And just like that, she realized that despite everything she’d wanted to think, a date was exactly what she’d been on in the first place.
Chapter Six
The next night, Walker showed up at the address Charlotte had texted him. He had a couple minutes to spare, but that was just being smart. It gave him a chance to scope the place out.
Not much to scope. She lived in a small apartment building built in the very economical New England salt box style. Its twin sat beside it, divided by a strip of common area that had a p
ath worn through from foot traffic. Each chalk-white building had three floors, faded blue trim around the windows and narrow balconies served by a set of sliding doors.
Two single-bulb street lamps lit the small parking lot, but the buildings had security lights at the corners and at the stair landings on each floor. The right-hand building wore a sign that said Seaview One. The left hand, Seaview Two. Neither had an actual sea view.
The only other interesting note was the slight sourness of dark magic. It was a common smell and pretty much everywhere these days. So common he often ignored it unless he was on a mission. Which he was. And in an apartment complex, there was no telling what might be going on in some of those rooms. But then again, it could be an indicator that the book was here.
He’d know for sure very soon.
Charlotte lived in Seaview One, apartment 2D. He took the wine and boxed tiramisu out of his truck, then headed up to the second floor.
The aroma of spaghetti sauce met him as he approached, wiping out the sourness he’d picked up in the parking lot. Garlic and the sweetness of tomatoes, plus something herby. Oregano or basil maybe. She was cooking for him, and he was here to determine once and for all if she was the enemy or just a hapless pawn of the Collective. Didn’t seem quite fair. He really hoped she was the later. And if she was the first, he also hoped she wasn’t putting any potions or poisons into his food. Wouldn’t be the first time a witch had tried to take him out that way.
He raised his hand and knocked. He was glad he’d spent a bit extra on the wine. Even if Charlotte was potentially the enemy, something that was getting harder and harder to remember, he didn’t think she got to experience the nicer things in life that often. At least not based on what she’d told him about her income and now seeing the place where she lived. That made him a little unhappy.
Of course, if this was all part of a ploy to hide who she really was, then he was a sap.
Charlotte answered. She was wearing an apron and wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her hair was twisted up in a clip, but a few pieces had fallen down to frame her pretty face. His stomach growled, but the delicious aromas were only partly to blame.
Witchful Thinking: A Cozy Paranormal Mystery (The Happily Everlasting Series Book 4) Page 4
