Bending over, she huffed. Despite her loss, the notion of the two of them sharing a dinner at her place definitely softened the blow. “You don’t have to gloat, you know.” She straightened and met his stare.
He schooled the smirk from his face. “Sorry, I’ve been working on that. My dad is the most competitive person I’ve ever met, and I’m afraid this apple didn’t fall from the tree. I’d be happy to bring a humble pie to dinner.”
At least he owned up to it.
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep from smiling. “Nope, you won fair and square. Give me an hour and a half. I’ll warn you, though, I’m a vegetarian, so if you’re set on meat, you’re out of luck.”
He hesitated for several seconds. Finally, he shrugged. “I can live with that.”
A cool breeze rustled the leaves on her magnolia tree and sent a shiver over her skin. The temperature was dropping, perhaps enough so they could have a fire later. Although she didn’t want to give him the impression that anything but a business relationship was between them was a possibility, and what was a fire if not romantic? “Guess I’d better start cooking. See you around eight?”
“Okay.” He waited there as she went to her door.
Instinctively sensing his eyes on her back, she felt her heart racing. Which had nothing to do with the run. She had no desire to start anything with a guy—and least of all her landlord. But still, the attention boosted her ego, which hadn’t happened for quite a while.
Minutes later as she mixed flour and sugar together, she reminded herself that this wasn’t a date. Griffin was her landlord and a temporary one at that. Still, she couldn’t completely quell the incessant sparks inside her. But if Griffin liked her half as much as she did him, maybe he’d consider keeping her house and continuing to rent to her.
No, of course he wouldn’t. Why was she allowing herself to get her hopes up? Chances were, Griffin was going to sell her house, and she’d be forced to move away from the home she loved. Unless she could convince him that it would be better for him to hang onto the rental. If he did, perhaps he’d come and visit periodically, to check on his property.
And to see me.
She dumped a stick of butter into an empty bowl to let it get to room temperature. Glancing around her kitchen, she swallowed past a lump in her throat. From the window seat in the breakfast nook to the slightly crooked built-in bookcase that she used for cookbooks, this place was her home, and she loved it. She’d always hoped to buy the place.
Maybe Griffin would wait a couple years, long enough for her to save enough money.
The sweet aroma of lavender filled the air. She’d heard that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. What better time to approach him about giving her a rent-to-own deal than while he was enjoying an amazing meal?
She stirred the lavender and milk concoction clockwise, as she always did, envisioning good things for herself and those she loved. Which gave her an idea. Protection spells could be for more than just personal safety. Why couldn’t she do one to keep her home?
After she’d left the lavender to steep, she grabbed her witch’s broom, and lightly swept in circles around the kitchen. “Sweep out evil, sweep out ill. Do my magic, hear my will. Besom, besom, my sacred broom. Sweep away darkness, sweep away gloom. Protect this land, protect this home.”
She visualized herself driving railroad spikes into the ground all around the house, symbolically securing the premises for herself. “Keep me rooted where I live, whatever it takes, I’ll surely give. While harming none, please find a way, that I can plant my roots and stay, stay, stay.”
Drawing a deep breath, she stilled. “So mote it be.”
Outside, the wind picked up, hopefully from the north—a grounding wind.
Then she finished the tea bread batter and popped it into the oven.
Heart filled with hope, she headed to her room to shower and change.
Chapter Five
Griffin stepped out of the shower and tied a towel around his waist. Steam hung in the air and fogged the mirror. Not that he’d be able to see his reflection without his glasses anyway. As he reached toward the sink for them, a chill—like icy fingers—skated across his back and shoulders.
Slipping his spectacles on, he shivered, and for the briefest moment, though he saw a large shadow pass behind him. He spun around, only to find himself alone in the bathroom. Yet he felt another presence, watching him.
A ghost?
Had to have been his imagination. The universe operated on a solid foundation of rules, and those didn’t include things like ghosts. This strange, Halloween-themed town was getting to him. Or else it was being in Aunt Dorothea’s house, constantly seeing her witchy accoutrement, like the old-fashioned broom with the crooked stick, the miniature cauldron in the kitchen that she’d used as a candy dish, and the myriad of glass jars full of herbs with strange names, like mugwort, slippery elm, and smudge.
Only a few days ago, he’d thought Stevie was kind of strange, too. But after spending a little time with her, and his long conversation with her grandmother, he wasn’t put off by Stevie. Quite the contrary. All he could think about was her. And despite being well aware that he could be dashing headlong into a sticky situation, he couldn’t stop himself. Didn’t want to. It had been way too long since he’d felt this good.
After he’d shaved and dressed in jeans and a lightweight sweater, he headed next door with a bottle of merlot that he’d found in his aunt’s pantry. A sweet lavender aroma hit him as he stepped up to Stevie’s porch. He hesitated just long enough for his growling stomach to quiet down before he knocked, yet the instant Stevie opened her door, a very different hunger overtook him.
Her skin looked freshly scrubbed, and without a stitch of make-up, was still flawless. Her warm smile lit up her dark eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile along. How could anyone not? Despite the nip in the night air, her company heated him up as well as a summer sun.
Backing into her living room, she motioned him in. “Dinner’s not quite ready yet.”
“I hope you like red.” He showed her the wine he’d brought.
“Perfect. You mind opening it?”
“Not at all.” He followed her toward the kitchen, which had a warmth and charm that was unpretentious in its simplicity. Small pots of herbs lined the windowsill—basil, mint, cilantro, and parsley. There was a big farmhouse sink, and a wooden hutch filled with mismatched dishes. An L-shaped bench and dining area in the corner had built-in shelves above with old-fashioned kitchenware, like a crank mixer, a small sifter, and a weathered tea kettle.
His ex-wife had decorated every room of the apartment they’d shared in an understated, modern style, which hadn’t had a fraction of the homey vibe that Stevie’s cottage did.
Steam floated up from a pot on the stove, and vegetables sizzled in the frying pan. “What’s for dinner? It all smells delicious.” But it was Stevie herself that piqued his interest, way more than the food.
“Pasta Primavera, Caprese salad, and of course, lavender bread.” She sliced a tomato on the cutting board. “Corkscrew is in the drawer by the coffee maker.”
After he opened the bottle, he filled two wine glasses she’d set out, and handed one to Stevie.
Tapping her glass to his, she said, “Cheers.”
“To a worthy competitor.”
Grinning up at him, she took a sip. “Mm. That’s good.”
“We should really toast to Aunt Dorothea since she provided the wine.”
Understanding, and then sadness registered in Stevie’s expression. “To Miss Percival.” She held his gaze as they both drank.
The Merlot was smooth, and he detected the flavors of chocolate and berries. Another sip and the wine quickly warmed through him, relaxing any residual tension.
Being so close to Stevie, he picked up on the sweet smell of lavender. Her skin was as smooth and perfect as fine silk, and her eyes shone like polished gemston
es. “You’re very pretty.”
Dropping his gaze, she swallowed. “Thank you.”
What had come over him? He was no Don Juan. He’d never been so forward with a woman, particularly not one to whom he had no business having an attraction. The pick-up scene at bars had never been his thing, always preferring to get to know someone before he’d asked them out. But the moment he’d first laid eyes upon Stevie, it was as if lightning had struck him. Something about her appealed to him more than anyone he’d met in a very long time.
Bells started ringing in his head. Took him a moment for him to realize it was a timer going off.
Stevie shut off the burner beneath the large pot. “Pasta’s done.”
“Let me.” He reached for the handles at the same instant she did. Their fingers brushed, and their shoulders.
Too soon, she moved away and set a colander in the sink. After he’d rinsed the pasta, Stevie finished putting thick slices of mozzarella cheese and slivers of fresh basil on the tomato slices. Then she drizzled the salad with thick brown sauce. “Balsamic reduction,” she explained. “Ready to eat?”
He carried their wine to the table as Stevie brought over two plates, and a basket loaded full of crusty French bread. She lit two blue taper candles and slid into the booth.
“This is really nice. You could have just ordered pizza and I’d have been fine.” He inhaled all the wonderful aromas as he stared down at his plate, which she’d loaded with pasta on one side, and the Caprese salad on the other. “I see now that you’re an overachiever.”
Her eyes lit up with amusement, but that quickly shifted to something else. Desire? Yes, and it mirrored his own. Her lashes fluttered as she dropped his gaze. And all the air was gone from the room. He couldn’t stop smiling, even if he’d wanted to. Nor could he tear his eyes from her full, glossy lips, as he imagined the two of them kissing. Tasting the wine on her tongue.
After Marci, he’d padlocked his heart, or so he’d thought. But as he and Stevie talked, and ate, and laughed about the silliest things, he started to imagine moments yet to come, with her, moments he had no right to wish for. Like shared morning coffee, secret smiles over private jokes, fastening a necklace at her nape as they got ready to go out somewhere special.
His throat caught. This wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t. His whole life was back in New York, not here, with a woman who called herself a witch. Yet the chemistry was undeniable and terrifying.
“…and the Shop-n-Save has the best organic tomatoes in town, don’t you think?” She forked a bite of the Caprese as her black cat climbed into her lap, and cuddled against her, a lot like Stevie was burrowing into his heart. A drop of balsamic reduction clung to her lower lip, and he was so tempted to kiss it off until she licked it away.
He forced his gaze from those plump lips up to her eyes. “Yes, they’re very good,” he heard himself say.
Think about something else.
A black and white dreamcatcher hanging from the ceiling caught his eye. The top part was decorated with a woven yin and yang symbol, and the feathers and beads below followed the same color scheme. He tipped his chin toward it. “What exactly does that mean?”
Stevie set down her fork. “Yin and yang are a perfect balance—dark and light, intellect and emotion.”
In college, he’d registered for a philosophy class, but after only a week, he’d dropped it, finding the concepts way too abstract for his mathematical brain. “Which is which?”
“In Taoism, there are two fundamental principles. The feminine, or yin, is earthy, dark, and feminine. Yang is masculine, light, and heavenly.” She drained her glass.
As he poured her more wine, he considered what she’d said. Stevie was earthy and dark and feminine. She was a meandering, wavy line, with twists and turns, scrolls and flourishes.
He was practicality, rules, straight lines all the way.
They were definitely opposites. And taking their friendship to another level could prove disastrous.
Or it might be amazing.
Twirling a few strands of linguine around his fork, he attempted to concentrate on the food, rather than the beautiful chef. And for a few minutes, that worked, because the meal was pure perfection. The vegetables were tender, yet still flavorful, and the combination of the parmesan cheese, butter and garlic were absolutely sublime. Even the Caprese salad was the best he’d ever tasted.
Too bad that the culinary masterpieces weren’t enough to distract him from the most tempting vision in the room.
Stevie sucked a forkful of linguine into her mouth then shut her eyes and moaned with an almost erotic intensity.
All his blood headed south. Thankfully he didn’t need to stand up anytime soon because, at the moment, he couldn’t. It was all he could do to find his mouth with his fork.
A loud pop shattered the moment. Water spurted out of the base of the faucet.
Griffin jumped up from the table and ran to the sink. Fast as he could, he opened the cabinet underneath and turned off the valve. “I can fix this in the morning. I’ll need to go buy parts when the store is open.”
Stevie stodd over him, arms folded over her chest. “I’m glad you were here. It would have taken me a lot longer to shut it off.”
He got up and brushed off his hands. “Disaster averted.”
After they’d finished the main course, he helped her clear the table. “What else can I do?” he asked.
She sliced into the lavender bread. “Just have a seat on the porch. It’s such a nice night. We might as well eat dessert out there. You can bring out our wine glasses.”
Rather than go outside ahead of her, he opted to wait so he could at least open the door for her. Stevie carried two plates and forks out and set them on the homemade coffee table. Then she sat on the loveseat and lit a couple candles, bathing the space in a warm, comfortable glow.
She handed him a plate. “Tell me what you think.”
He thought she was stunningly beautiful, and the most graceful woman he’d ever met. Sitting there with her, on her cozy porch made him think about things like white picket fences, and gold rings. But he was getting ridiculously ahead of himself, and besides, that wasn’t what she’d meant. Taking a bite of the lavender bread, he closed his eyes for a second and savored all the wonderful flavors—sweet lavender, butter, vanilla. “I think…you need to enter this in the Valentine’s Day Bake-Off.”
Waving off his praise, she laughed. “Sounds Grandma’s been filling your head with ideas.”
“Maybe she has,” he said. “She’s right, though.”
“And here I’ve always assumed that Grandma only encouraged me to enter because it meant there'd be leftovers for her.” When she shivered, he grabbed an afghan from the wicker chair and wrapped it around her shoulders, letting his hands linger for a moment. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at him. “Aren’t you cold, too?”
Not as long as she was so near that he could smell her sweet, feminine scent, and see the way her throat twitched with a swallow. “Maybe a little.”
“I don’t mind sharing.” A pink glow rose in her cheeks.
Every nerve and fiber in his body came alive. He set down the plate and slid closer to her, pulling one side of the crocheted blanket around him. But it was her warmth that heated him up. “This is nice.”
He couldn’t recall wanting a woman more than he did at that moment. So he tucked away all the reasons he shouldn’t and focused on her pink-glossed lips. “May I…”
“Don’t ask,” she murmured. “Just do it.”
Unable to resist another second, he ran his thumb over her satiny cheek. Her eyes slipped shut as he brushed his lips against hers. And tasted the sweet wine there. When she let out a soft purr, he deepened the kiss.
Carnal desire coiled tightly through him. All the reasons why this was a bad idea vanished like smoke into the air. And he was lost.
Until a string of fairy lights came loose
from the ceiling and fell down right between them. It was as if the universe was trying to keep them apart.
“That was strange.” Stevie hugged her arms around her body as Griffin hooked the fallen strand of lights on a different nail.
He sat down and scratched his head. “Very.”
Was some unseen force trying to sabotage things between them? She usually managed to do that all on her own.
Will he try to control me? Isolate me?
Hurt me?
“I should tell you that I’ve got some baggage. I don’t have the best luck when it comes to guys.”
Griffin whistled out a breath. “We have that in common then. I’m not exactly unscarred when it comes to past relationships.”
“You too, huh?”
“Let’s just say that my ex-wife let me down,” he said. “And not just me. As a vice president of a bank, she broke rules and lost her job because of it. I didn’t think she was that kind of person. I was wrong about her. Apparently, she was just like my mother.”
“Your mother?”
His Adam’s apple slid up and down his neck. “Another rule breaker.” The emotional scars showed in his frown and the deep furrow of his brow. He shook his head. “I digress. I’d much rather talk about you.” He leaned in for another kiss, and she couldn’t stop herself. Didn’t want to.
The world fell away. There was no landlord, no tenant. Only a man and woman. With a powerful attraction. Maybe she could help him to heal those deep-seated wounds.
The scents of wood smoke, pine needles, and her grandma’s yarn seeped through her. But over those comforting smells, the best was Griffin’s cologne.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, and the most wonderful ache settled low in her belly. She didn’t want the kiss to end. Only it had to. Taking things slowly was the only prudent course. Well, keeping their relationship purely platonic would be safest. That didn’t seem a viable option at the moment, though. If they didn’t stop soon, she might do something she’d regret.
The Yin to His Yang Page 7
