Old Flames (Lainswich Witches Book 9)

by Raven Snow

  “Sorry.” Rowen sat up on the sofa. “I fell asleep before I could make it to the bedroom, I guess. Didn’t even think to check my alarm.”

  “Drama in paradise?” Margo suddenly sounded interested again. “Are you and Eric fighting? Why? Is it because of Flint? Oh, I get it if it’s because of Flint.”

  “It’s not because of Flint!” Rowen snapped.

  “Well, don’t you worry. I’ll let our boss know you’re sick.”

  “Seriously?” Rowen was surprised by that level of kindness from Margo. She was the sort of woman who lived in the moment. She didn’t really trade in favors, so Rowen doubted there was much that she wanted from her.

  She was wrong. “I just want you to report back to me. Keep me updated on the Flint situation.”

  Rowen rolled her eyes. She had underestimated her cousin. If there was anything Margo liked above all else, it was gossip on people she disliked. She disliked Flint a whole lot and had, it seemed, somehow become convinced that he was responsible for Rowen and Eric’s tiff. “Fine.” It wasn’t like there was much she could give up. Flint really didn’t have anything to do with this. Besides, a day to work on these problems sounded nice. “But don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

  “Make sure you do it regularly!” Margo barely got those words out before Rowen hung up on her. She got off the sofa, already full of questions. Why hadn’t Eric woken her up? Rowen took the stairs as quietly as she was able. She wasn’t sure why she was trying to be stealthy here. She just was.

  As it turned out, there was no need to be quiet. Eric was inside the bedroom and snoring. Chester, the elderly lab, was snoozing where he did every night. She sat down and scratched the dog between the ears. So, what? Eric hadn’t even bothered to set an alarm? She cleared her throat.

  Eric jolted awake like she had startled him. Seeing it was just Rowen, he moved onto his other side and joined her in petting the dog. “Good morning.”

  “It’s barely morning anymore,” she pointed out. “Looks like we both slept in.”

  Eric glanced back at his phone on the nightstand. “I guess so.”

  “And you didn’t even think to wake me up? Get me up to the bedroom or anything?” Rowen wasn’t sure precisely why that had rubbed her the wrong way as hard as it had.

  “I thought you were mad at me.” Eric took a deep breath, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to say something specific or if there was even something specific that could be said. “I thought it was probably better to just let you get some sleep.”

  “And when were you going to wake up? You didn’t think you should maybe let me know my alarm wasn’t set?”

  Eric sat up in bed. “It’s not my job to make sure you get to the office in time. I can’t psychically predict when you’re going to be running late.”

  “You certainly don’t seem to be worried about running late.”

  “I own the business!” Eric spread his hands, like he was shocked that even needed to be mentioned. “I can be late any time I please.”

  “And you don’t think to mention that to me?”

  “Mention what? You can basically be late to work any time you please now too.”

  The idea of being late any time she wanted was scandalizing. That wasn’t like her. “I go in when I’m needed. I thought you did the same.”

  “I could operate the whole place from this.” Eric reached to the nightstand and picked up his phone.

  “But what about all of those times we take our own cars and don’t leave home together?”

  “I don’t care what you do with your free time. I figured you didn’t care what I did with mine.”

  Rowen considered that statement. Why wouldn’t it bother her? Didn’t most people like to know what their husband was up to when they weren’t around? That led her to a more troubling question, though. Did she not trust Eric? She had always assumed that she did, but did she really?

  “I thought you were way behind with work?” she asked instead of bringing up the questions that were really troubling her. “You were asking me just last night if I would stay and help.”

  “Because you work there too!” The shouting sent Chester grumbling downstairs. They both looked after him guiltily. “Look, it’ll be fine. I have some people helping out. We shouldn’t get behind again.”

  “Some people? I thought I worked with you. I thought we were partners in this and all that. Did you just hire people on without my say so?”

  That looked like it had caught Eric by surprise. He clearly hadn’t given this a whole lot of thought. “Well, we hadn’t really been working together, so—”

  “Don’t give me that.” Rowen stood, no longer comfortable sharing a bed with her husband just now. “Did you or did you not hire on new people to the business?”

  “It’s not like it’s official.”

  “So you’re hiring people under the table?” That seemed even worse. That was even worse.

  “It’s not under the table,” Eric corrected quickly. “It’s more like…loopholes. We’re not going to get into any trouble over this.” He massaged the bridge of his nose between his forefingers. “Look, it’s not a big deal. I thought you trusted me with this stuff.”

  “I did before you started keeping things from me and doing all sorts of illegal nonsense. You’re supposed to keep me updated.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re supposed to keep me updated too, and we both know about how well that goes.”

  Rowen didn’t stay to formulate a retort. She couldn’t think of one. Instead, she headed for the door and stomped downstairs. She wasn’t sure why she stomped precisely. Had any good ever come out of stomping? Probably not. Rowen recognized that she was acting childishly. She just couldn’t bring herself to care right now. She was too mad.

  Downstairs, Rowen fed the dog and made herself a small meal of cereal. Eventually, Eric came down wearing his office clothes. His button-up shirt was tucked into his fitted brown trousers and his suit jacket hung over one arm. He’d even taken the time to slick his unruly hair down a bit. Rowen looked up from the television, frowning. “Where are you going?”

  Eric looked at her, an eyebrow quirked like she’d completely lost her mind. “To work remember? Too much to do. Gotta fire new employees and file all that paperwork and—”

  “Stay home,” Rowen grumbled.

  “Why?”

  “We should talk.”

  Eric watched her for several long seconds. Finally, realization seemed to hit him. He looked at the clock on the wall. “You just want me to help with this dinner for Flint.”

  Rowen cringed. She had been hoping that Eric wouldn’t call her out on that. “I was going to cook last night and get you to help me, but then other stuff happened and we have to do it now.”

  “He can take a rain check.”

  “No.”

  “We can go out to eat then.”

  “No!” Rowen snapped. “It needs to be now.”

  Eric set his jacket down on the edge of the sofa. “Why does it need to be now?” he asked, his tone so patient it hurt more than anything he might have said today.

  Rowen set her cereal aside and assumed a more serious tone. She hated staying angry with him. There wasn’t anything good that would come of that. Better they talked this out like adults. “I want him to see what a nice home and relationship we have. I want him to be depressed.”

  “That’s stupid.” Eric picked his coat back up.

  “Where are you going now?” Rowen demanded, getting up to follow him.

  “To the store. Where else? You’ll be deciding what we’re going to cook for this oh so special guest of ours, I guess.”

  They ended up cooking goulash. It was an old recipe Grammy had used. Well, it wasn’t actually a recipe. It was loosely whatever they had in their fridge. Rowen’s aunts had turned it into more of a recipe. It involved ground beef and noodles and red beans and a whole lot of spice. Eric expressed some surprise that they weren’t taking this in a fancier direction t
o try and impress Flint. That was fine, though. He would be happier tasting something from home. Rowen had always brought goulash when they met up for picnics. It was usually always in the fridge.

  “Fine, but I get to put my own spin on it,” Eric insisted.

  Rowen didn’t argue with him. She wasn’t going to claim to be a better cook than him when he wanted to be. While he cooked, she worked on tidying the whole place up. It had gotten a little cluttered in recent weeks. Well, maybe cluttered was an understatement. To walk from the kitchen to the dining room meant you were about shin deep in stacked papers and cardboard boxes of files. Rowen did her best to cart what she could upstairs. She might not be able to tidy everything up before their guest got here, but she could at least put it out of sight.

  Rowen felt a rush of cold when the doorbell rang. She put down the box she was holding. “Is that him?” Eric asked over Chester’s barking.

  “Surely not.” It was an hour and a half before he was supposed to be here, at least. Then again, who else could it be?

  Rowen ordered Chester to calm down and sit. She went to the door and looked through the peephole. “What in the world?” Rowen opened the door to Flint standing there holding something in a plastic container. “What are you doing here so early?” Rowen demanded.

  Flint’s smile didn’t waver. “Just some precognition,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I saw yesterday that you were in store for some,” he lowered his voice here, “drama. And you never were one to tidy up something until you were out of time to do it. I figured I’d show up a little early and do my part to take some of that stress off your hands.”

  “Well, you may have just added some.” Rowen wasn’t so sure about his intentions. It felt a lot like he’d had a slow night and wandered on over for some excitement.

  “Who is it?” Eric came into the living room. He raised his eyebrows when he spotted Flint, but hardly looked shocked. “A little early, aren’t you?”

  “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to help out.” Flint always had this relaxed nature about him. It was enviable and, sometimes, difficult to get angry at. “Is that a problem? If it’s a problem, I can go do some shopping, maybe see what’s popped up out in the country since I’ve been gone.”

  Eric shook his head immediately. “It’s fine. Dinner isn’t finished or anything, but if you want to sit in the living room and catch up with Rowen, she’d probably—”

  “I can help cook.” Flint went straight for the kitchen, shoving the container he’d brought along to Eric as he passed him by. It was bread. It smelled freshly baked and garlicky and delicious.

  “Does he usually show up this early?” asked Eric.

  “I don’t know,” Rowen admitted. “We always had pretty loose plans when we were teens. It wasn’t like we were allowed to spend much time at each other’s houses or anything.”

  Flint made himself right at home in the kitchen. It was like he intuitively knew his way around it. He brought over more spices for the pot of goulash before even tasting it. “Needs more oregano and a little chili powder.”

  “Was that how my family cooked it?” Rowen asked before Eric could flat out reject the help. This was his dish, after all. It was alarmingly bad for someone to just barge in and take over.

  “Not sure,” Flint admitted. “But it’s how this is going to taste the best.” He poured in the spices before Eric could stop him then wandered into the adjacent hallway. He had noticed all of the boxes and files. “I hope these aren’t all the Lainswich Inquirer.”

  “Mostly no,” Rowen said quickly, still feeling embarrassed that he had seen a portion of the clutter she was partially responsible for. “A lot of them are from Eric. The detective agency. You remember.”

  Eric glared at his wife for not even trying to share some of that blame. Rowen bit the inside of her cheek and glanced away. “We’re both working on getting things in order.”

  Flint nodded, like no judgment in this department was going to be forthcoming from him. “I might be able to give you a hand with all of it, if you want. I’m fairly good at organizing, and my staff is too. I imagine what you’ve got on your hands is too much for just one person. I find that getting everything in order ASAP then hiring a team to keep it that way is the way to do it.”

  “That’s what I tried to do!” Eric made an emphatic hand motion at Rowen, implicating she was the only one standing in his way here. To be fair, she sort of was.

  Flint looked at Rowen for an explanation. “You work with him too, don’t you? This would be less work for you.”

  “Okay, but the people he hired are illegal.”

  “As in—”

  “Criminals, probably. The way he made it sound.”

  “White collar criminals,” Eric corrected, like it made a difference. Apparently it did to Flint.

  “Oh, sure, you can always pay someone under the table for it. It’s what I’d do if I was helping you out. It’s easier for everyone involved. Makes better financial sense.”

  “What?” Rowen looked from her husband to Flint then back again. They were both smiling.

  “You invited me over here for dinner,” Flint reminded her. “I don’t remember being told to pick sides. I just happen to agree with your husband.

  “It’s just how we’ve always done it.” Eric turned a strained smile to his wife. “I know it’s not right, but it’s how my family showed me to do things.”

  “Mine too!” Flint sang, clearly delighted to have something else in common with someone.

  Rowen wondered if she had ever mentioned that. Apparently not, given the way Eric now seemed more interested than ever. “Really? Is that why you became a lawyer? Did they push you into it?”

  “Most of my family lives in Tarricville these days. Back then they were still in Lainswich and…well…let’s just say I wanted to get out of here.”

  They left the boxes for now and went back to the kitchen where Flint sat on the floor, petting Chester. “This is a nice place you have here. I like it a lot.” He seemed to have endless compliments for just about everything in the house, including Chester.

  Rowen set the table, not sure how fond she was of her husband and her ex being quite this chummy. It was what she had initially wanted, but now she and Eric had had a fight. She wanted someone else on her side.

  She could always call a family member, but even that sounded like an atrocious idea. Forget it; she would just ride this out. It was rude to want them to dislike each other just because she was mad. Worse than that, it was horrible and petty.

  Rowen resolved to be happy about their potential blooming friendship and set the table. It was a bit cluttered as well. She quickly set about moving boxes and stacks of folders and the like. She did so quickly, hoping to have it finished before Flint caught on and tried to help. She could hear them laughing about something or other together.

  The food smelled delicious once it was on the table. Flint’s bread had been reheated in the oven, and Rowen could swear it smelled more delicious than anything else in the meal. Chester was ordered into the kitchen because he wouldn’t stop sitting there, staring at them expectantly. They ate and made small talk.

  “This is great.” Flint pointed to the bowl of goulash. “You’ll have to give me the recipe.”

  “You probably know it better than I do.” Eric laughed. “You made most of the changes to it.”

  “It’s an old recipe of Grammy’s.” Rowen worked her way into the conversation. “You always seemed to like it when I brought it over.”

  Flint looked down at the bowl and nodded. “How’s she doing, by the way?”

  “Not well. Her health has been in decline for a while now.” Rowen admitted. Her family would have killed her for saying that. Even Grammy would have been mad that she mentioned it. “Those Stonewells are going to charge right over and take over this town again,” Grammy would say if she knew. Rowen didn’t think the Stonewells actually cared or that they had anything to gain from taking over Lainswi
ch. Still, she wished she hadn’t said it if only to lighten the mood a bit.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Flint sounded like he meant that. “Tell her that I send my best…Well, not me specifically.”

  “I’ll tell her some mysterious man on the street wants her to get better.”

  Flint laughed. “She might still think that’s me!”

  “So, what’s the deal with you and her family?” asked Eric, before they could steer the direction of the conversation elsewhere.

  Rowen and Flint exchanged looks. “It’s not a very exciting story,” Flint warned. “I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell you herself.”

  Rowen shrugged. It still didn’t feel like it was her story to tell, even if Flint didn’t care either way.

  “Well, it was just after she and Ben had broken up,” Flint began. “We were friends before that.”

  “Well, sort of,” Rowen corrected. “We didn’t know each other all that well. We’d played in the park together a few times like kids do but our families put a stop to that pretty fast.”

  “Why?”

  Flint grinned. “Oh, it was just tragic. Our families hated each other, you know? We were just like the Montagues and the Capulets.”

  “Oh, please.” Rowen kicked him under the table. “Our families were both sort of…” she trailed away as she tried to find the correct words. “Sort of founding magical families in this area, I guess. There was this whole ridiculous feud thing going on before we were even born.”

  “Why?” Eric asked again, putting down his fork. This probably wasn’t easy-to-process dinner conversation.

  “Let’s see.” Flint leaned back in his chair and considered the question. “I guess the biggest reason would be that the Stonewells hated the Lainswich people. They absolutely despised them. They used to curse them every other week until the Greensmiths began to interfere.”

  “Your life if sooo much more interesting than mine can ever hope to be,” Eric grumbled to his wife. “So, what? The Stonewells were trying to kill Lainswich? No wonder the town is so wary of magic.”