Lost Bird [Coffeeshop Coven 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Tymber Dalton

  Oscar made his way into the kitchen and headed for the coffeemaker. “Morning,” he mumbled as he reached for his mug.

  “Morning.” John took a sip of his own coffee. He’d already showered and dressed and would be leaving for work in a few minutes. Fortunately, he only had a five-minute drive to the warehouse complex housing his plumbing business.

  At least Sabrina couldn’t take that away from me. He’d been running the corporation before he met her, taking over after his father, who’d founded it, had a heart attack and retired early.

  “Want me to make dinner tonight?” Oscar asked.

  John considered it, as he did every time Oscar asked him that. And yet, his answer was still the same. “Sure, if you feel like it.”

  Oscar shrugged. “Might as well save the money.”

  They looked at each other and chuckled. “We’re like an old married couple,” John joked.

  Oscar batted his blue eyes at John. “Not tonight, daaahling. I haz a headache.”

  John had been taking another sip of his coffee and had to spit it back into the mug to avoid choking on it as he laughed. “Yeah. Exactly.”

  Oscar turned and leaned against the counter, staring down into his mug. “Ed at work? He told me he spotted Karen out at dinner with some guy the other night.”

  “Don’t go there,” John warned. “We’ve both been through this. Remember what you kept telling me in the beginning.”

  “I know, I know.” He let out a sigh of frustration. “You know, I felt so damn bad for you when you were going through all that shit with Sabrina, and then I turn around and basically get my balls handed to me, too.” He met John’s gaze again. “How pathetic are we?”

  John finished his coffee and rinsed the mug in the sink. “We’re not pathetic. We were just too blind to see, that’s all.” Except he did think they were pathetic, both of them.

  He dried his hands. “Hey, look at it this way. If we ever take a chance again, we’ll be more careful.”

  “Yeah, fuck that noise,” Oscar muttered. “Next woman is going to have to be spectacular and sweep me off my goddamned feet. I’m done sticking my heart out there and getting it stomped. I obviously have a seriously defective relationship circuit in my brain. I look back and see the same shit you went through with Sabrina, but at the time I didn’t realize it.”

  John headed for the front door. “We could always get a cat,” he said, a playful grin on his face.

  “Fuck you,” Oscar good-naturedly called out. “No Ikea crazy-cat-lady starter kits for me, thank you very much. I’m only thirty. I’m not that desperate. Yet.”

  John was still laughing as he pulled the front door shut behind him and headed for his work van. Yet another familiar joke between them. That one day in the distant future, someone would find them ancient and dead in their apartment, with fifty-seven cats feasting on their bodies.

  Yet as he started the van and pulled out of the complex, he wondered if that might very well be uncomfortably closer to the truth than he’d like to admit.

  * * * *

  Oscar poured himself a second cup of coffee and headed for the shower. Despite him being two years younger than John, they’d been friends growing up in Brooksville. They’d drifted apart for a little while when Oscar attended USF in Tampa and majored in graphic design, and John ended up taking over his father’s plumbing business.

  And now, here they were, inseparable again.

  He started the shower and waited for the water to warm up before stepping in. He’d honestly felt a little superior to John while his friend was going through his divorce, although he’d never admitted it to anyone.

  Ah, how the mighty have fallen.

  No one had liked Sabrina except John, but they’d all kept their mouths shut.

  Except for Aunt Tammy, that was.

  She’d vocally stated she flat-out hated Sabrina.

  Yet here he was, now sharing an apartment with his friend after basically having the same thing happen to him.

  At least I wasn’t married to Karen.

  All he’d lost in his breakup was money, a few material things like a TV and some furniture…and his pride and self-esteem, not to mention his self-confidence.

  And his balls. Metaphorically, but it felt like physically, sometimes, considering the emotional hit he’d taken.

  Actually, a cat doesn’t sound like such a bad idea after all.

  Chapter Two

  When Sachi walked into Mandaline’s office at Many Blessings a little before eight Wednesday morning, her friend and boss glanced up from where she sat at her desk.

  And did a double-take. “Let me guess,” Mandaline said.

  “Please, don’t.” Sachi stepped in and shoved her purse into the cabinet where all the employees stashed their personal items.

  “Ouch. Sorry, sweetie.”

  “Dad saw me flinch when I took my first shot.”

  “It’s only been—”

  “Can it, boss. Dad already read me the riot act.” Sachi leaned against the doorway with her left shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest. “He wouldn’t let me take more than two shots at high house one. I missed the first, so he gave me a pity shot and let me take my option.”

  “I sense a disturbance in the Force,” Brad teased from behind Sachi.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Don’t start with me, Tarzan. Just because I like you doesn’t mean I won’t sock you in the snoot.”

  He slipped an arm around her waist and gave her a quick hug. “I know.”

  Mandaline picked up a check and handed it to Brad. “Ask Libbie to put us down for an extra flat of pastries for the Fourth of July, please.”

  “You decide to stay open?” Sachi asked.

  “Still not going to book readings for any of you, and you all can still have the day off, paid, if you want. But Brad and Ellis volunteered to help man the store. Ellis made the valid point that with a lot of people off work for the day, it might not be a bad idea to stay open.”

  Sachi grinned. “Aaand…?”

  Mandaline rolled her eyes but her smile betrayed her. “And you were right, Snarky Queen. Happy?”

  Sachi nodded. “Completely.” She reached out and poked Brad in the arm. “Good work, Tarzan.”

  He turned his thousand megawatt smile on her. Sachi wouldn’t deny that, despite knowing he was her best friend’s partner, the man was handsome and could dampen even her frosty panties with that smile. “You ever going to quit calling me Tarzan?”

  “I saw your handsome ass in the buff. What do you think?”

  He grinned. “You just wait. We’ll manifest a couple of guys for you and—”

  Sachi stuck her fingers in her ears. “Lalalalalala! I can’t hear you!” She spun on her heel and hurried out of the office, escaping behind the counter.

  Goddess, that’s the last thing I need in my life right now!

  She fished out a neon-green-and-pink apron with the Many Blessings store name embroidered on it in a curlicue font that matched the sign out front. As she tied it on over her clothes, Brad followed her out of the office, a serious expression on his face.

  When he stepped over to her he softly said, “You know I’m just teasing you, right?”

  His aura looked a little cloudy. Normally, it was bright, clear. He worried he’d hurt her feelings.

  She gave him a one-armed hug with her left arm to reassure him. “Yeah, Tarzan, I know.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  She waved it away. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m still emotional is all.”

  He studied her for a moment before nodding. Brad, the survivor of not one, but two traumatic brain injuries, had two distinct sides. The more there guy, and the one who seemed like he might be off in la-la land. This Brad was the more there one, and he had his entire intuitive focus beaming sharply at her.

  “Say hi to Libbie and the gang for me,” Sachi said as she waved him toward the front door.

  “Will do.” />
  Since Brad, a very talented artist, worked from upstairs, he frequently volunteered to do the morning run across the square to Libbie’s bakery to pick up their daily inventory.

  As he walked out the front door and across the square, Mandaline stepped out of the office. They were alone in the store except for Pers, Mandaline’s dog, and Damiago, her cat, both sharing a spot in a sunbeam on one of the couches in the front area under the large display windows.

  “You know, if you want to talk…” Mandaline let her words drift off. Her aura wasn’t as cloudy as Brad’s. Mandaline was used to Sachi’s crankiness, but she still felt concerned for her, which touched Sachi.

  Sachi nodded, her gaze dipping to the floor. “Yeah, boss. I got it. I know.”

  She heard Mandaline’s sigh before her friend returned to her desk in the office.

  Sachi breathed in a sigh of relief as she started the usual morning preparations for the coffeeshop part of their operation. The people who knew her best knew she wasn’t a warm, cuddly kind of person when dealing with her own emotional stuff. She’d built a secure wall around herself in that way. She’d become an expert in disguising it over the years.

  Her customers and students, both at Many Blessings and at the shooting club, saw what she deliberately portrayed to them—a funny, snarky, laughing woman who loved what she did.

  That wasn’t a lie, really.

  What she didn’t want was their sympathy, or their looks of pity. It was bad enough that reporters had dredged up her mom’s murder and the attack on her when everything happened a couple of weeks ago, just weeks on the heels of Julie’s murder by local famous author, Steven Corey.

  Sachi could ignore that look on the faces of practical strangers, even though it was a look that bit right through her core.

  She didn’t need or want it from her friends, however.

  Not in the slightest.

  * * * *

  Sachi borrowed Ellis’ car and ran home for lunch. Her dad had, at Sachi’s insistence, gone on a couple of job interviews that day. He’d be there to pick her up after work, but she needed a little time alone, in the personal fortress of solitude that was her home.

  Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how she looked at it—a puddle of water was slowly creeping across the kitchen’s tile floor when she walked in. Had she not come home for lunch, she wouldn’t have found it until that night.

  And it likely would have been a lot worse.

  “Dammit!” She tracked its source back to the hot water heater, which was situated in the utility room between the kitchen and garage. It appeared to be leaking out of the bottom of the appliance.

  She knew enough to go flip the breaker for that circuit, and to shut off the water valve going to the water heater.

  Beyond that, she was clueless.

  After grabbing a handful of bath towels to mop up the water, she picked up the phone and called Ellis on his cell.

  “Hey, chief. Didn’t you say you guys have a great plumber working on your house?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She gave him the short and snark-free version.

  “I can have Mandaline bring Brad over to work on it for you.”

  “No, Tarzan’s busy. Besides, this might require getting a permit or something, and I don’t want him to have to go through all that trouble. My next door neighbors had to have a permit for theirs, I think. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pay a pro for this one.” She already felt badly enough that they’d gotten pulled into her personal mess and Mandaline had almost gotten hurt because of her attacker.

  “Okay. His name’s John Evans. If I don’t have his number, Brad will. Hold on, let me look for it.”

  She walked over to the counter and grabbed the notepad her dad had started making a shopping list on. It warmed her heart to see his handwriting there.

  Brisket, lox, cream cheese, dish soap, broccoli, potatoes—

  “Here it is.” Ellis rattled off a number. “Evans Plumbing. Call him, tell him you’re our friend. He’ll take good care of you.”

  “Thanks.” She ended the call and dialed the number. Five minutes later, after explaining what happened, a woman on the other end assured her they’d have someone at her house within an hour. Her next call was to Mandaline to update her

  Fortunately, Sachi didn’t have any readings or classes at the store that afternoon, or any skeet students. By the time her doorbell rang forty minutes later, she had the worst of the mess cleaned up and had figured out how to drain the rest of the water from the tank by hooking a garden hose to the valve at the bottom and running it out the back door and into the yard.

  Barefoot, she went to answer the door. She glanced out her front window and saw the Evans Plumbing van parked in her driveway, so she didn’t bother looking through the viewfinder before opening the door.

  She nearly slammed the door shut again. In fact, she’d reflexively started to pull it shut with her left hand and whacked herself in the hip with the doorknob.

  The man who stood there in her entryway wore the most gorgeous royal blue aura she’d ever seen. Thick, like sweet syrup she wanted to dive into and swim around in. He had curly brown hair and delicious brown eyes and, gauging from her bare feet, he had to be around six one.

  She blinked.

  In the years since she’d been able to see and read auras, she’d only had such a strong, visceral reaction to someone once before.

  Even then, her panties had never instantly dampened quite like that.

  He looked up from a clipboard in his hand and met her gaze. “Ms. Wolowitz? I’m John Evans. I’m here about the hot water heater.”

  Of course you are. She stared at him for a moment before finally finding her voice. “Um, yeah. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

  “No problem. Can you show me where it is?”

  She couldn’t peel herself off the door. I’m fucking going to kill Tarzan and Mandaline. They done gone and manifested me a hunk.

  “Um, sure.” She forced her fingers to uncurl from the edge of the door and ordered her feet to take a step back. “This way.” She turned and headed down the hall, resisting the urge to break into a run.

  She knew if she did that, she’d hit the back door, cross the yard, and keep running.

  He’s here for my water heater. He doesn’t know anything except that I’m a royal schmuck at this point.

  Keep your calm, girl. Steady breaths.

  She stepped as far away from him as she could in the utility room and pointed. “There’s the fuc—arting thing.” Around her friends she didn’t bother censoring her swearing. But around people she didn’t know, and clients and customers, she tried to tone it back to at least a PG-13 level.

  He knelt next to it and nodded. “Breaker already turned off?”

  “Yeah. And the water valves.”

  He glanced at the hose. “Good thinking on draining it. Do you want the same size, or one bigger?”

  She somehow managed to stifle the giggle and snarky comment of I’m a size queen that threatened to slip through her lips.

  “Um, whatever you think.”

  He stood and took a few measurements of the space. “Let me have a look at the breaker real fast to confirm the circuit amps, and I’ll get you a couple of prices.”

  She showed him to the garage, where the breaker box was, and popped the large garage door for him so he didn’t have to keep going back and forth through the house. Once she walked into the kitchen, she leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on her face.

  Holy. Fucking. Goddess.

  She’d managed to compose herself by the time he returned from his van a few minutes later with several options written down. She could go with a larger size water heater for only a hundred dollars more in price.

  “Does that include the permit?”

  “Everything, including hauling the old one away.”

  “So how many days will I be without hot water?”

  “I can have t
he new one installed in a couple of hours. I had a job cancel on me today which is why I was able to come myself.”

  She successfully smothered that nervous giggle, too. He wouldn’t understand the lascivious thoughts running through her brain.

  He continued. “We’ll pull the permits and notify the inspector, but for something like this, they let us go ahead and do the repair immediately. Your house is new enough we don’t need to make any modifications to the electrical circuit or existing pipes or anything.”

  “Okay. Let’s go with the larger one then.” A little snort escaped her, but she thought by turning and heading for her purse she might have been far enough away from him he didn’t hear her.

  “Great. I’ll go get the unit and be back here in less than an hour.”

  She looked up from where she was rooting through her purse for her wallet. “You don’t want me to pay you now?”

  “Once it’s finished and working.”

  When he left, she leaned against the counter again and took long, slow, deep breaths.

  The ability to see auras had started within a day after the attack when she was a teenager. She hadn’t said anything to anyone about it then, afraid they might institutionalize her. She’d seen them faintly during her overnight stay in the hospital, but attributed it to having been choked and beaten, and the mental and physical trauma of her rape, and emotional trauma over her mom’s death.

  It was at her mother’s funeral two days later, however, while sitting by her father’s side and wearing a floppy hat and large, dark sunglasses to hide her black eyes—and her tears—from the rest of the attendees, that the ability jumped out and really said huzzah.

  Everyone there bore an aura. Later, as Sachi researched her new ability and learned more, she understood that the most likely reason she’d seen them so clearly the day of the funeral was due to the highly charged emotional situation. As her ability grew and strengthened, she learned how to tune out and focus on not seeing auras, except when she wanted or needed to for a client.

  It had been years since one had jumped out unbidden at her like this.