My cousins and I had spent hours in this place. Since the women raising us were business owners, our playground was their shop. One of our jobs was to clean the cubbies and reorganize them by color into yarn rainbows. We’d once argued whether the turquoise yarn belonged in the green section or the blue section. In the end, we compromised and made a turquoise section between green and blue (my idea). We also used to have races to see who could hand-wind yarn the fastest (Bettina always won), and we built forts in the back with the empty boxes (Hans was the mayor). All while Grandma and Aunt Sylvia worked.
I thought about why I had stayed away. Pride? Shame? Stubbornness? Had my mother’s opinions influenced me more than I’d thought? I turned in a circle, taking in all the glorious clutter, feeling as though the walls were hugging me. Sometimes you don’t realize you’ve been living with a hole inside until it starts to get filled.
At the far end of the space was the counter and cash register, and behind that, the classroom. Although from here, it appeared to be mainly used for storage. I looked around for Aunt Sylvia. Hadn’t she heard the bell over the door jingle when I came in?
I was just starting to make my way down the first row of cubbies when she emerged from the back, holding a cardboard box filled with yarn. “I thought I heard someone come in. How are you, dear? How were things at home? Did you find everything?”
I took the box from her and set it on the counter. “Fine. More than fine, actually,” I admitted sheepishly. I’d scarfed down way too many cookies as I watched Secret Shadows. “When did Anika and Pedro get together? Didn’t they split up when he cheated on her with that witch from Seattle?”
Aunt Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Oh honey, that was ages ago. They reconciled and then some. They have three kids now.” She then proceeded to give me a rundown of the series while she put price stickers on the skeins of yarn. I listened as I organized the knitting needles and crochet hooks hanging nearby. When she was finished, I helped her put the yarn into a few cubbies. Not once were we interrupted by a customer.
“Are things always this quiet?” I asked, looking around the empty shop.
Aunt Sylvia pursed her lips as tightly as a beginning crocheter’s chain stitch. “Weekdays have definitely been on the quiet side lately, but the weekends haven’t been much better. If you have any suggestions on what I can do, I’m all ears. What with your business knowledge and all.”
I gave a derisive snort. A bookkeeping class at the community college a few years ago does not an expert make. “Have things been slowly tapering off or did it happen all of a sudden?”
Aunt Sylvia thought about that for a moment. “It’s been steadily declining for a while now. We’re at half the sales compared to this time last year, but I can’t figure out why. I keep thinking things are going to pick up.”
“Hmmm.” I couldn’t imagine changing much, if anything, in here. The walls of yarn. The earthy smell of natural fibers. The homey vibe. As far as I was concerned, the inside was perfect. The outside, however, was a different story. A little shabby, to be honest, and not in a cool, shabby-chic way. “Have you thought about getting a new sign out front? Maybe put out a pot of flowers? You know, freshen things up a bit. Make passersby say, ‘Hey, I want to go in there.’”
Aunt Sylvia tapped a finger on her chin. “I like that idea. We’ve had the same sign for years, so maybe it’s time for a change. It certainly couldn’t hurt. What else?”
I thought about the uninspiring yarn section at that big box store in Hazard Junction. It didn’t exactly spawn creativity. Aunt Sylvia needed to take advantage of how cool and unique her shop was. “Where’s the next closest yarn store like yours?”
“Over in Weeping Pines.”
“And after that?”
Aunt Sylvia frowned. “Further down the highway in Oak Hollow, I think. Why?”
“Have you ever been part of a knitting hop where people go from store to store? It could be great for business. You could make it a real event that would attract both tourists and locals.”
“I’ve heard of them,” she said, “but I’ve never done one.”
I explained to her what I knew about them. “There’s food, special sales, demonstrations. And each participating store has a project or two for the shop-hoppers. It’s usually something easy to make, like a scarf, a hat, or a granny square. The hop can be self-guided, where people pick up a map from any of the participating stores and visit each one during a certain period of time. Or they can be bussed in as a group, going from shop to shop.”
“What a fantastic idea, honey,” Aunt Sylvia said. “Sounds like a lot of fun and all. I don’t mean to be a stick in the mud, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about organizing one.”
I chewed on my lip. It wasn’t like I was going back to Hazard Junction until this business with the scarab was over, and who knew how long that was going to take? But to be honest, waitressing at the WE wasn’t the end-all-be-all. I’d taken it to pay my bills after quitting my bookkeeping job at the tire and muffler store when the boss had patted my butt one too many times. “If you want, I’d be happy to organize it for you. That is, if you don’t mind me staying for a little while.”
Aunt Sylvia clapped her hands like an excited toddler. “Oh, Penelope, that would be wonderful! Just wonderful! I can’t wait to tell Alice, Pat, Kay, and the rest of the Knotty Knitters.” It was a knitting group of older ladies that met here each week.
I was thinking about how to begin planning the event when the bell over the door rang. We both turned, expecting to see a customer or two.
It was Luka.
He walked in with the fluid, confident grace of a man who had never felt out of place in his life, even in the most unlikely of places—like a yarn shop. He wore trousers, a light blue dress shirt with no tie, and trendy brown dress shoes. His suit coat was draped casually over one forearm, and his dark hair was tousled as if he’d just run a hand through it. He looked positively edible.
Aunt Sylvia recovered first. “Mr. Cavanaugh, what a lovely surprise. Welcome to Charming Yarns.”
“Please, call me Luka.” He shook Aunt Sylvia’s outstretched hand warmly, turned his attention to me, and smiled. “Hello, Penelope,” he said in that deep, super-sexy voice of his.
“Nice to see you again,” I said calmly, as though I regularly encountered men who made me all fluttery inside.
“And this time, I’m fully clothed.”
I adjusted my glasses. “I noticed.”
“So what brings you in this evening?” Aunt Sylvia asked.
“I was in the area and thought I’d stop by.” He looked around with what I swore was an appreciative eye, taking in all the rich colors. “I’ve driven past many times, so I couldn’t believe I’d never noticed your shop before. I actually had to have someone at the veterinarian’s office point it out to me.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh that was surprisingly endearing. “Once I saw it, it couldn’t be more obvious.”
“Penelope just suggested I need a new sign,” Aunt Sylvia said with a sigh. “I’m inclined to agree with her.”
“Veterinarian?” I asked.
“My cat, Claude, got into a fight again,” he said with resignation. “I really should have them on retainer. It’s the third time this year. As soon as I woke this evening, I drove him to the vet’s office. They’re keeping him overnight for observation.”
“Poor thing.” I loved that this handsome, impeccably dressed businessman had a cat. Just thinking about it made me smile. I wondered if it slept on his lap while he worked. Or tried to sprawl across his desk to keep him from working. “Don’t you have an assistant or housekeeper to do those kinds of errands for you during the day?” From what I understood, most vampires employed a rook or two to look after their daytime affairs. Rooks were half-turned humans who served their masters in exchange for immortality.
“And subject them to this?” He held up the arm that had been covered by his suit coat. Angry red scratches crisscrossed his hand a
nd muscular forearm. Blood still dripped from a few of the deeper ones.
“Oh my gosh!” Without thinking, I closed the space between us and took his hand to get a closer look, careful to splay my fingertips under his wrist where the skin was unmarred.
He had handsome, manly hands with neatly trimmed nails and long, strong fingers. The light calluses on his palms created the barest of friction against my own as I twisted and turned his arm. They weren’t the hands of a man who only bought and sold art. They were the hands of a man who used them. I thought about how the roughness would feel if he were caressing me elsewhere.
“Claude hates the cat carrier,” Luka said flatly, tearing me out of my wicked little fantasy.
Letting go of him, I clucked my tongue. “Such a naughty kitty. Have you washed with soap and water yet? And you’ll need some antibacterial ointment before it gets infected.”
He shrugged, unconcerned. “It’ll heal fast. I’m a vampire, remember?”
“Fiddlesticks,” Aunt Sylvia said, reaching for her purse. I’d almost forgotten she was here. “Penelope, help him wash up. I’ll get some ointment and bandages at the pharmacy down the street.”
“No, really. I’m fine.” But that was the extent of his protest, however, because he obediently followed me to the bathroom. I think he secretly liked us fussing over him. “I’m counting on you not to let me forget to repay her.”
“Have a bit of a memory problem, do we?”
“Only when I have two beautiful women fawning over me.”
Shameless flattery, but my heart quickened anyway. “You say that with such authority. It’s happened a time or two, I take it?”
“A gentleman never reveals his indiscretions.”
I nearly snorted with laughter. “Claude isn’t the only naughty creature living under your roof.”
He gave a low chuckle, sending ripples of pleasure down my spine. “So true.”
I turned on the water and waited for it to get warm, trying to ignore how close he was. But that was easier said than done. He towered over me in the tiny bathroom, his broad yet elegant frame making the space feel about the size of a cracker. And he smelled so good. A mixture of sandalwood and pine, like the forest after a good rain.
Focus, girl.
Bending over the sink, I put his hand under the faucet, soaped up my own, and gently washed the blood from his scratches. A strand of hair fell into my eyes as I worked. Blowing it away, I caught a glimpse of him in the mirror. He was watching me through half-closed eyes. I quickly looked back down at what I was doing.
This was too intimate. Too personal. The man had a girlfriend, for goodness’ sake.
“That feels good,” he said softly. “Thank you.”
My mouth suddenly went dry. I hoped Aunt Sylvia would be back soon. “It doesn’t sting?”
“Not a bit,” he replied. “Are you by any chance…a healer?”
I laughed a little louder than necessary to shift the tone of our conversation back to neutral. “Hardly. I’m a medium.” Before I realized what I was saying, I blurted out that I’d recently seen my first ghost, then instantly regretted it. He’d want to know more.
“What was it like?” he asked. “Were you scared?”
“It startled me, for sure, but I wasn’t too scared.”
Then I told him about my family and how most of the women developed the gift. As I continued to answer his follow-up questions, it occurred to me that every one of them pertained to how I had felt at the time and what my reaction had been. It was as if he were more interested in how the events had affected and shaped me as a person than the events themselves.
Maybe it was just his natural vampire charm, but I was definitely drawn to him on a much deeper level than I’d expected. I’d never met anyone like him before. Certainly no one I’d dated.
Then I thought about Jasmine and did a full stop. I had no business thinking this way. He was taken. Spoken for. Off the market.
Aunt Sylvia, where are you?
I grabbed a clean towel, and as I gently patted his hand dry, that pesky piece of hair fell into my face again. Before I could blow it away this time, he reached up and tucked it behind my ear. He lifted my chin, gazing down at me, eyes dark and sultry. My heart pounded loudly in my chest. So loudly, in fact, that I was sure he could hear it.
“Can you have dinner with me tonight,” he said softly, “or do you have other plans?”
I blinked. “Dinner?”
“Yes. It’s the meal that’s served in the evening. Often with a nice bottle of wine.”
This sounded like a date. I stepped away from him, smiling awkwardly. “What about Jasmine? Will she be there too?”
He frowned. “What about her?”
“Aren’t you two going out?”
He cocked an eyebrow as if he were talking to the village idiot. “Why would you think that?”
My thoughts raced back to the events of the night before. “She kissed you at the winery. I assumed—”
“No, we’re just friends. She can be overly demonstrative when she gets excited. That’s all.”
I stood there, trying to decide if I could believe him. I’d dated a guy once who’d lied about being broken up with his ex. He’d strung us both along for several months, neither of us knowing the other existed. It wasn’t pretty when we did find out about each other. I’d wanted to team up with the other woman so we could both dump his sorry ass. He’d sure as hell deserved it, and the other woman agreed. But when I broke up with him, she had a change of heart and didn’t follow through. Maybe that had been her plan all along, but as far as I was concerned, she could have him. A cheater was not a catch.
“You’re really not going out with her?”
“Trust me, I’m not. She’s like my sister.”
I knew these were just words, but he did seem genuinely sincere. And besides, I told the skeptical part of myself that hadn’t forgotten my cheater ex-boyfriend, this was only a harmless dinner date. If I got an inkling later that he wasn’t being truthful, then that would be it.
A mixture of relief and excitement rushed through me.
As I opened my mouth to accept his invitation, I thought about the onyx scarab. Maybe I should wait. My life was too crazy, and possibly dangerous, to go out on a date. After the Others came for it and my life went back to normal, then maybe.
“So, that’s a yes?” he asked hopefully, one corner of his mouth turning up. I felt my resolve slipping.
The front door jingled. Aunt Sylvia was back. Thank goodness.
I tried to move past him, but he stopped me, his hands gently gripping my elbows. “If you’re concerned I’ll bite you, don’t be. I never bite on the first date.” Tiny glints of mischief shone in his dark gray eyes.
Oh hell. What harm could there be in one measly little date? It wasn’t like we were talking marriage.
5
Luka
* * *
Nocturne Falls was hopping with costumed tourists at this time of the night. Fairy lights twinkled on all the buildings and the evening’s performance in the town square was in full swing.
We’d decided to eat at Guillermo’s, a quaint Italian restaurant in the heart of the town. Penelope had wanted to go home first to change, so I’d picked her up at her aunt’s house after putting our names on the waiting list.
When she stepped out the front door and walked toward me, my jaw nearly dropped to the ground. She looked absolutely stunning in a sexy-as-hell blue dress, a delicate hand-knit shawl, and strappy silver heels. Her blond hair fell in loose curls around her shoulders. I could barely keep my eyes off of her. I kept my hands shoved in my pockets in case they felt like straying too. I was a gentleman…but just barely.
We got into my car and drove to the restaurant. The closest parking spot I could find was several blocks away. I offered to drop her off in front, but she refused.
“I’d like to walk with you,” she said, which secretly thrilled me.
I offered her my a
rm, and she took it. That secretly thrilled me as well.
“My aunt tells me you’ve lived in Nocturne Falls for about a year,” she said as we strolled down the sidewalk. “So what brought you here?”
“I’m friends with Julian Ellingham, one of the town’s founders. Do you know him?”
“Not personally, but I know who he is.”
“His grandmother is a client of mine. I came to town to deliver a particularly valuable painting that she purchased. Once I arrived, I couldn’t get over how charming this place was and decided to stay.”
“I wouldn’t imagine there’s a lot of art business here.”
“You’d be surprised. Julian and his family keep me quite busy actually. I’ve got clients in almost every state as well as abroad. It really doesn’t matter where I live as a lot of my work is done over the phone. I do travel a fair amount, however.”
“Sounds incredibly exciting,” she said. The fairy lights reflecting in her eyes added to her dreamy countenance.
“I do love it,” I agreed. “How about you? Have you traveled much?”
“Not really. I’ve lived in several states, but I wouldn’t call that traveling. I’ve always wanted to see the world, visit other countries. I used to dream about going to college and studying abroad. Or being an au pair in France. I took three years of high school French.”
“But you didn’t go?”
“Nah. I took a few college classes, but that’s it.” And then she clammed up, as if she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I sensed she had more than a few painful memories.
We arrived at the restaurant and were shown to our table, where my favorite bottle of Chianti awaited us. I poured two glasses and handed one to her.
How Knot to Marry a Vampire Page 4
