Merry scooted her chair back. “You two are ridiculous. I’m—”
Max’s hand clamped around her wrist before she could stand—gentle enough for her to jerk away without having to toss him out of his chair, firm enough to send a message.
Trust me.
“Not likely,” she muttered.
“Are you here to win my daughter back?” Mom asked.
“I’m here because I live down the street and I like the waffles.” As if on cue, their hostess appeared with a heaping plate for Max. He flashed her a dark-stubbled grin, then finished Merry’s bacon.
Mom knit her fingers together and leaned her chin on them. “How long did you date?”
“Not long enough,” Max said cheerfully.
“You’re just as good at not answering as Meredith is.”
“Then maybe we did date long enough. But I’m not a ninja. Yet.”
Phoebe Moon would’ve smashed her strawberry up Max’s nose, then conveniently discovered a stray dog with a taste for berries lurking outside the back door who would’ve been happy to lick the berry out of said orifice. Merry, however, was trying desperately to be a grown-up today.
A grown-up with the superpower of resisting sexy ex-boyfriends who should’ve called the cops on her once or twice in the past twelve hours, but mysteriously hadn’t.
Or had he? “What do you want, Max?”
“To eat my waffles in the company of two lovely ladies.”
“Dear God, he’s as bad a flirt as your father,” Mom said.
“And we’re done.” Merry stood.
“Have you ever been arrested?” Mom asked him.
“I was a teenage boy once.”
“Mom, I have no intention of resuming a relationship with Max. Let’s go.”
There it was again. A flash of injury that turned his eyes brittle and his lips hard.
“Intention?” he said. “Or interest?”
“Either,” she lied.
If they’d been on another continent—or planet—she might’ve given in to a desire to fantasize about indulging in a relationship with Max again, but not only was she leaving the country soon, she was also the daughter of a man who stole jewels both as sport and to avenge perceived wrongs, especially those done to his family.
Dating a jeweler was inviting Daddy to his own personal playground.
“Tell me, Matt,” Mom said, “is your jewelry store known for anything special? Unique settings, original cuts, historically significant clients?”
“My grandfather designed the Mrs. Claus diamond ring,” Max said. “We keep it on display.”
And once again, Merry was glad she’d made Phoebe Moon an orphan. No mothers to become irrationally suspicious and disappointed.
Or justifiably suspicious and disappointed, for that matter.
“Meredith,” Mom said, her voice low and lethal and Mom-like, “is there anything you need to tell me?”
Merry leaned her fists on the table. “Is there anything else you think I should tell you?”
“I don’t know, dear. You were the one who left the festival last night just before an owl attacked Mrs. Claus.”
“I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Because of the owl?”
“Weddings make me ill. Except yours, of course.”
Mom slid a long side-eye toward Max. “Because you hate weddings, or because you’re afraid you’ll never have your own?”
Merry thought a word that wasn’t fit for Phoebe Moon’s ears. “You can take the girl out of the dream, but you can’t take the dream out of the girl,” she said softly. She pushed herself fully upright. “I’ll be ready to go in ten minutes. Max, lovely seeing you this morning. Enjoy your life.”
His gaze was too intense. Too all-seeing. Too borderline affectionate. “Why stop the fun? My family’s having a practice Christmas dinner this afternoon. Come join us.”
“No.”
“Meredith.”
“No, thank you,” Merry said. “Mom, we have appointments all day.”
“Hmm…”
“We eat at two,” Max said.
“Mom, the cake-tasting—” Merry started.
“Kimmie Cakes or Heaven’s Bakery?”
“Heaven’s Bakery, of course.” Mom smiled. “It sounds so auspicious for a wedding, doesn’t it?”
“Go to Kimmie Cakes,” Max said. “Best in Bliss. Ask anyone.” He flashed a wolfish grin at Merry. “I hear she’ll still bake fruitcake cupcakes as special requests.”
Merry pinched her lips together.
“Fascinating.” Mom batted her lashes at him. “Any other suggestions?”
“None that I know you well enough to suggest. Could change that this afternoon if you come to dinner.”
“Hmm,” Mom said again. She stood. “So sorry to abandon you to eat alone, Matt, but my daughter’s correct. We’re in danger of being late.”
“Max,” Merry muttered.
Mom smiled sweetly. “Max. My mistake.”
He grinned at both of them. “Come hungry.” He scribbled an address on a napkin and handed it to Mom.
“You know stalking is a crime, right?” Merry said to Max.
“I come here once a month for the waffles. And it’s not stalking if you come to my brother’s house. Which you’ll apparently be doing this afternoon.”
“Neither of us have agreed to that.”
“We haven’t declined either,” Mom said.
“You haven’t, but I have.”
Max’s eyes narrowed, but his lips tipped up at the same time. “All the better to learn your secrets if she comes alone,” he murmured.
Crap.
Suspicious was good.
Intrigued was not.
And Merry had a feeling Max was both.
Chapter 6
“Why are you alone, Phoebe Moon?” Zack Diggory whispered in the darkness.
“I’m not alone. I have Spike. And now I have you.”
—Phoebe Moon and the Missing Sunshine
* * *
Mom was silent all the way to her silver Cadillac. She’d punched her finger over her phone’s screen hard enough that Merry was surprised the glass hadn’t shattered. Probably texting Patrick. The bagel shop was on a side street at the other end of The Aisle, and he hadn’t returned yet.
But as soon as they were closed inside the chilly car, Mom swung around to face Merry. “When did you see your father?” Her breath flowed visibly in a puff of white, making her look every bit as dangerous as a dragon.
“Would my seeing Daddy change any of your plans?”
“Meredith Cordelia Silver, when did you see your father?”
Merry slouched in her seat. “I didn’t. I just—I thought I smelled him.”
“Is he planning on robbing your former boyfriend’s store?”
It was Daddy. Of course he was. Maybe not today, but sometime. “Have you told Patrick about Daddy?”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Merry couldn’t tell if Mom was asking because she was worried about Merry or because she desperately wanted to hear something about Daddy. “Would you have divorced him if he hadn’t tried to rob the mayor that night?”
Mom gripped the gear shifter. Her face went gray, her voice softer. “Merry, once you came along, our split was inevitable. Your father—he’s a good man, but he has an illness. I can’t cure him. You can’t cure him. I should’ve left him long before I did, for both our sakes.”
“You don’t need to protect me anymore.”
“I’m your mother. I will always need to protect you.” Mom faced forward again and turned the car on. “He’s wanted for questioning in four states. If you see him, if you smell him, you need to tell the police.”
Merry was wrapped in her thick winter coat, gloves and hat and scarf on, but she still felt a chill to her bones. “Could you do it? Could you call the cops on him?”
“You are not me, Merry. You have too many years ahead of you to risk spending them payi
ng for your father’s sins. You’ve done that enough already.”
“I was probably just paranoid.”
“Healthy talent to have,” Mom muttered. “If you can’t call the police, call me. Call me anytime. Understand?”
Merry nodded.
“And don’t let your father stop you from dating. I need grandchildren to spoil.”
“Can we get you married before we work on me?”
“Only if you promise me you will accept a date from a nice young man before this year’s over.”
“If a nice man asks me.”
“When a nice man asks you. Preferably one without any connections to jewelry stores. Promise, Meredith.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“Pinky swear.”
Merry dutifully held out her pinky.
She’d accept a date under those conditions.
But if she told Mom it wouldn’t be on American soil, her mother would try to stop her. So as she’d done since the first moment she’d been paid for writing novels as Amber Finch, she let the details slide.
Mom would understand.
Mom would support her.
But Mom would also insist on going with her, and she needed to do this on her own.
* * *
By two thirty, Max had gotten texts from five different friends that Merry had been spotted shopping with her mother along The Aisle—he’d known telling Zoe would start the gossip mill—but the daughter of the bride and her mother hadn’t arrived at Dan and Rachel’s comfortable brick home in the Roses on the Lake subdivision, where the most prominent business owners in Bliss lived.
Not that he’d been overly optimistic.
He’d read three chapters of the latest Phoebe Moon book to his seven-year-old niece—pretty neat that Phoebe Moon had a new sidekick with a car almost as cool as his. He’d also let himself get his ass handed to him in a pick-up field hockey game by his oldest nephew, who was gleefully recounting the tale to Dan. “Six goals, Dad. I got six goals, and Uncle Max just had two.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t practice for ten years, Ty,” Dan said. “Gavin, quit hitting your sister with a light saber. Max, you sure your guests are coming?”
“Nope.” Max ducked under a flying light saber, then wrestled nine-year-old Gavin under his arm and claimed the light saber for himself. The bruises he’d gotten last night made holding onto the squirmy stinker harder.
Rachel popped into the room. She was in Grinch slippers, and her Sunday clothes were covered by a spotless lacy apron. Scents of fresh bread and roasting beef wafted into the room with her. “Dinner’s on in ten. Olivia, wash your hands and set the table, please. Boys, go wash up and help your sister. Dan, carving time. Max—oh, honey, you really need to let go of this Merry woman. Have you met my friend Alyssa? She works in human resources at the school district over in Willow Glen, and her grandma is a Cajun witch doctor. I could ask if her grandma can help with the—”
“Thanks, Rach, but I’m good.” Max released Gavin.
“I don’t honestly believe in curses either, but it certainly can’t hurt,” she said. “And I won’t deny being glad they’re not here. Gavin, we do not steal light sabers from adults, and we certainly don’t light-saber Christmas trees if we want Santa Claus to come. Go. Wash. Set the table.”
The gangly, dark-haired boy flashed an impish grin, then loped off toward the bathroom, where Olivia was shrieking about something Ty had done. Max paused to look out the window once again—no Merry, no Ms. Victoria Silver, no harried fiancé—then reluctantly shuffled to the recently upgraded kitchen, where Dan was expertly slicing a prime rib on the marble island. Max spied popovers rising in the oven, and steam shot out from beneath the lid of a pan on the stove top.
“Rach tell you she’s taking a collection and handpicking a girl to bid on you in the bachelor auction next weekend?” Dan said.
“I was thinking about asking Pepper Blue.” Rachel lifted a saucepan and poured its contents into a china gravy boat. “She’s supposedly cursed too. That pre-bride thing, you know. Not that we believe in curses.”
Dan grinned around his wife and mouthed, Right, to Max.
“Pepper’s had a longer streak of bad luck in love than you have,” Rach added.
Max liked Pepper Blue just fine. She was relatively new to Bliss and pretty enough, but she wasn’t…Merry.
He reached into his pocket and discreetly pulled his phone out.
No text messages. No email, no phone calls.
Rachel handed him a bowl of steamed green beans. “Really, there are plenty of other women in the world who won’t abandon you without explanation. You can find one, and there are lots of us happy to help. But put this on the table first. And tell Ty to please come here.”
Max escaped to the dining room, steaming bowl in hand, and found himself in the midst of a three-way wrestling match. “Whoa, rug rats. What’s going on here?”
“Gavin took the small-end spoon!” Olivia shrieked from her position in the middle of the dog pile. “It’s my turn for the small-end spoon!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“If you two can’t agree, then I’m taking it,” Ty said.
Olivia raised her knee up, and Ty grunted and rolled off the other two.
“Uncle Max, make her give it to me,” Gavin whined.
This was one of many reasons why Max hadn’t been bothered by his supposed Golden Bouquet hex.
He wasn’t interested in love. Not the kind that came with being tied down, cancelling poker night because a kid was sick, planning vacations around where it was easy to navigate with strollers, and buying flowers to apologize for something that most likely wasn’t his fault.
At least, he hadn’t been.
Not when he found the Golden Bouquet.
Not a year later, when he’d moved in and become primary caretaker for his rapidly aging grandparents until they’d gone into a nursing home.
But sometime in the past year or so, he’d begun having occasional weird urges.
“Uncle Max!” Gavin shouted.
Max set the beans on the table, then bent and snagged the scuffed, short, skinny spoon from Olivia. “I get the small-end spoon.”
“No one gets the small-end spoon.” Rachel sailed past him to deposit the gravy boat on the perfect, shimmery green tablecloth. “It doesn’t match the silver, and this is practice Christmas dinner. Tyler, pour the milk. Gavin, napkins. Olivia. Wash. Your. Hands.” She plucked the small-end spoon from Max’s fingers, then marched back out of the Martha Stewart-inspired dining room.
“It’s not fair,” Gavin grumbled.
“You’re a gnarger,” Olivia said.
Ty hip-checked her on his way to the kitchen. “Shut up, Olivia. There’s no such thing as a gnarger.”
“Is too.”
“Is not.”
“Is too. Phoebe Moon fought them off to save the honey bees when the bastardly Uncle Sandy—”
“Dastardly, Olivia.” Dan strolled in with a plate of prime rib, lips twitching. “And Phoebe Moon would’ve had the table set two hours ago before her mother had to yell about it. No popovers for children who don’t do their chores.”
“Phoebe Moon doesn’t have a mother,” Olivia grumbled, but she marched herself over to the china cabinet and pulled out the good silver.
“Never dull,” Dan said to Max.
No, it wasn’t.
And Max was starting to think that Dan always had the best of everything.
Chapter 7
Phoebe Moon had only been here for one night, but she already understood that the hideaway was special.
It was where people went when the demands of being more than a mere human became too much to bear.
—Phoebe Moon and the Ninja Hideaway
* * *
Sunday evening, Merry dragged her weary bones into a bar and grill across town from the B&B, sidled up to the silver semicircle bar beneath an impressive display of purple track light
s that were warring with an overabundance of multicolored Christmas lights, and asked the perky redheaded bartender for a shot of vodka.
A cheese plate would’ve been nice, but cheese goo on fries seemed to be the closest she could get. She scanned the bar, noting bracelets, watches, and earrings, and cringed at the casual way so many women had simply hung their purses on the backs of their chairs or tucked them at their feet, as if that could stop a petty thief.
A familiar voice on the other side of the brunette beside her made her go still.
Zoe Scott.
Mom’s wedding planner.
Because today hadn’t been awkward enough.
Oh, Zoe had been perfectly polite and pleasant, perky even, and Mom hadn’t noticed anything amiss.
But Zoe had had the look.
She had figured out who Merry was too. As had half of Bliss, apparently.
“You don’t have to do a thing,” Zoe was saying in her cheerful way. She was a lively, fashionable blonde with curly hair, red lipstick, and faint freckles dotting her cheeks. “Well, other than show up. Rachel’s taking donations, and when word gets out as to why you’re bidding on Max, everyone will let you win. Then at least one of your curses will be broken. It’s worth a shot, right?”
Another curse, Merry! Phoebe Moon said. I love this town.
Merry glanced around the bar again. There was an open seat on the other side of a group of middle-aged men in sports jerseys. She could move.
Not listen to plans for other women with make-believe curses to bid on Max.
“His curse has an expiration date,” the brunette said. She sounded familiar too. “But I heard his old girlfriend is in town to win him back.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Zoe answered. “After how she left him, there’s no—oh. Ah. Um, hi, Merry.”
Merry gave the wedding planner a flat smile. “Zoe. You were a great help today. Thanks.”
The brunette turned. Her bright green eyes were set off by her chunky malachite necklace and earrings. She was still in the stylish black silk pantsuit she’d worn at Bliss Bridal this morning, but her friendly, helpful expression of this morning had turned curious and guarded.
Merried Page 6
