Her cheeks colored with what he supposed was embarrassment over having forgotten she'd been on a call, and again, he found himself bemused. Not by her, but at himself. His reaction to her. She was peppy and breathless and colored with a delightful blush and he was surprised to realize that he liked everything he saw.
Her shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug as she angled the coral pink iPhone away from her soft pink lips to whisper, “Excuse me. I forgot my cousin was still on!”
Without really knowing why, he grinned. Wow, he thought. Everything about this girl was … warm somehow. Her eyes, her hair, and now her cheeks. He took a step closer, not even realizing he hadn't let go of her until she shrugged away from him and offered a quick half-smile of apology. “Thanks for saving me! I have to run, but I hope you find what you're looking for in there.”
Jordan snatched his hands down to his sides, stepped sideways out of her path, and nodded. “Yep.”
He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her, and as she hurried away, he caught a few words of her phone conversation.
“...going in as I was coming out. What? Oh. Yeah, he is, I suppose...” She glanced back over her shoulder at him and he smiled. She smiled back and then promptly forgot he existed as she turned to work the keys in her gloved palm to unlock her car.
Sentimental idiot for sure, Jordan admonished himself silently, shaking his head at the insane direction his thoughts had taken as he turned to enter the antique store. He'd just gotten out of a relationship. Now was definitely not the time to be thinking about asking someone he didn't even know to share a few hours of conversation over a cup of mocha crème latte with him at Sam's.
“Why did you throw them into one another like that?” Serephina bit out, scolding her sister in a heated whisper while continuing to watch the couple outside from behind the counter in the shop. “You know we aren't supposed to interfere!”
“And what do you call giving them magic-infused items that will bring the two of them together if not interference, hmm?” Mortianna shot back. “Besides, it's a dull, dead bore to watch them come in here and then leave like two ships passing in the night, the one never seeing the other until they are well out of our sight.”
Her grumpy pout disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, the corner of her lips suddenly kicking up in a half-grin. “At least this way we get to see a little action! Did you two notice he never took his hands off her until she shrugged? No, wait. Did you notice she didn't realize he hadn't until her blasted cousin butted in? You know she was feeling it. Heck, I was feeling it—from all the way in here! Those smoldering gray eyes of his are sexy enough to make any woman's—”
“Mouth shut,” Serephina commanded with a swift flick of her wrist, silencing Mortianna before her runaway tongue could do any more damage to the situation, then she turned to greet their latest customer with what she hoped was a warm smile as the bells over the door jangled out a noisy warning. “Good morning, sir!”
Sliding off his dark sunglasses, he slowly folded them and slid them into the inside pocket of his heavy charcoal gray bomber jacket, his gaze roaming over the front interior of the store before he nodded to each of the sisters in turn. “Ladies.”
“Can we help you find something?” Serephina asked, surreptitiously motioning for Mortianna to bring the box around, but Esmerelda swept it out of her hands.
“I'll just put this in the back,” she said, making sure to pass by him on her way. His eyes flickered to it as she passed and his hand shot out, halting her.
“Hold on. Is that mahogany?”
“Mm hmm,” Esmerelda murmured. “It's a bit worn, but look at this. Metal string work, inlaid Mother Of Pearl...”
She turned the box, tilting it a bit so he could see it better, but he reached for it instead. “Do you mind if I have a closer look?”
Smiling, she handed it over to him. “Not at all. It really is a lovely box. English, I believe, but I'm not quite sure what these hooks on the sides are for … ”
“A pen, or quill, and a letter opener,” he offered without further encouragement.
“There's a bit of the spiral trim work missing up here, and the feet—see, you can tell where they once were—” he said, pointing out the rounded indentations on the box's bottom, “are missing.”
“Yes, I see. You are very astute. It does have a few flaws. The missing feet, a bit of string work, trim, and the inside is a bit picky though intact.”
“There are numbers here, too. Likely the mark of the creator. See? They've been carved into the wood on the bottom. Looks like 2-1-4.”
“Numbered? Well, then, that makes it even more rare and wonderful! Serephina, this one is marked, darling. Remember the Avrochelle set from last year? This box must be the second item in a single desk set made up of four pieces. Should I put it in the other room until we've located the others?” She peered over her shoulder at her sister, who bit at her lip to erase the growing smile that tried to appear at his words.
“Oh, my, yes! The set will bring much more. We can't—”
“I'll give you two fifty for it,” he said. “I know it's worth less—I'm a bit of a hobbyist collector myself—but I'm willing to lose a little to bring it home today.”
Esmerelda frowned. “Oh, I don't know. We would actually prefer to find the other pieces. This one is clearly part of a set, you see. If it is like the Avrochelle set, there would be a blotter, an ink stand, and an—”
“Oh, of course we will give it to him, Merry,” Serephina called out. “Would you like it wrapped, sir?”
With barely a glance at Esmerelda, he walked over to the counter, placed the box carefully to one side and took out his wallet. “Thank you, ma'am, but it isn't a gift.”
“Ah, I see,” Serephina said. She picked up the box and placed it inside a paperboard box before sliding both into a thick, gray craft paper bag.
“I saw you with the lady outside and I thought—oh, well, it doesn't really matter what I think.” Waving away her words as if she were embarrassed to have made such a guess, she said, “We'll take one eighty.”
He nodded and placed a few bills on the counter along with a business card. He tapped it, and picked up the box. “If you happen to locate the other pieces, give me a call. Thank you, ladies.”
“No, thank you,” Esmerelda said as he made his way to the door. The minute he stepped outside the shop, she turned to her sisters with a wide-eyed look of awe. “Did you see those eyes? Oh my! Miss Dean isn't going to know what hit her!”
At home, Jordan tossed the local paper onto one side of his kitchen table and set the package containing the letter box on the other. The overhead lighting in here was much better for allowing him to inspect it properly and as he lifted it out of the bag he looked at each side, his fingertips running along the edges of the inlaid mother-of-pearl while his brain made notes of the various repairs he'd need to do. New legs, a short length of mahogany for repairing the chip on the front. With just a bit of refinishing, the box would almost be like new.
Jordan was fully aware most collectors preferred to find pieces in pristine original condition, but he rather enjoyed restoring those he found that were in such poor condition nobody wanted them. There was a certain satisfaction in taking something worn and broken and making it whole again.
He himself had amassed a nice collection of letter boxes like this one over the years, but he wasn't in it for the money, so the fact that restoration tended to make a piece less valuable than an untouched original didn't bother him. Reclaiming antique boxes was a surprising past-time he'd stumbled upon and it was work he loved to lose himself in.
Cautiously, he opened the box. The hinges still worked, but the pale blue paper lining that had been glued to the interior over a hundred years ago was picked and beginning to peel in spots. One corner was worse than the rest, and … he squinted at the paper. It looked like something had been wedged between the paper and the side of the box.
Turning, he rummaged through a dr
awer until he found a pair of tweezers, which he used to pick gently at the item beneath the loosened paper, he pushed it slightly forward, hoping to move it along the edge until he could finally get a hold on it.
Whatever the thing was, it was thin. He didn't want to damage the box but his curiosity was piqued. Using the end of the tweezers, he painstakingly inched the mysterious item hidden inside the box toward a tear in the corner. The thing was a devil to move beneath the tightly glued paper—until it reached that last, crucial centimeter. He almost had it out without mishap, but then his hand slipped and the blasted thing popped free. Without warning, it jumped the edge of the box, and pinged off his marbled counter top before landing on the unread paper he'd tossed on the kitchen table earlier—right over a notice from the local animal rescue shelter.
Afraid he'd irreparably marred the interior of the box, Jordan ignored it to inspect the damage, but miraculously, the thing had sprung free without leaving a scratch … on the box. He was the one who had taken damage from that little battle. In his struggle to keep the box from sliding off the table while trying to catch whatever had sprung free at the same time, he'd sustained a nasty scratch on his inner forearm from the tweezers. He barely gave it a glance, though, because once he was satisfied the box hadn't been damaged, he'd sat it aside and reached for the thing lying on top of the paper to see what had been hidden inside.
It was some sort of metallic, oval tag—brass, he decided once he saw the murky green patina creeping around its edges. Picking it up, he held the thing closer to the light, and realized almost immediately what it was—a license tag from a dog's collar. An image of Royal—the golden retriever who had been with him since high school—sprang to mind. He rubbed the tag lightly between his finger and thumb, his thoughts drifting back to the last time he'd held a license like this: it was just after Royal had died two years ago while he was out of town on business.
Stacy, his girlfriend at the time, hadn't even bothered to call him, to let him know Royal was sick. To give her a bit of credit, she had finally taken the retriever to the vet after he'd explained what she needed to do, but it was too little, too late. Royal had been too far gone at that point to save.
“It's just a dog, Jordan,” she had told him when he'd explained she needed to get him to the animal hospital as quickly as possible.
He'd felt alarmed and amazed by her attitude, but now he knew Stacy would never understand the bond between a man and his dog—just as she'd never understood his affinity for antique letter boxes. She had called them both a waste of his time and money.
Maybe she was right about part of it, he grudgingly admitted. He did have a rather large collection of antique boxes sitting empty throughout the house and today he'd still been stoked to find yet another to add to his collection. At this point, even he didn't understand why he kept buying them when he couldn't find anything to do with the ones he already had. Maybe he kept buying them because he was secretly hoping to find something worth keeping?
Not that the why mattered. Stacy would never have approved. How many times had she snapped at him for buying “more old junk” when he clearly had no use for the junk he already had? She'd pretended concern, telling him it seriously frightened her that he could not see how he was wasting his money—but she'd had no problem wasting it for him. It had been his credit card she'd used to pay for her three-month trip to the Caribbean, and his bank account that had covered the cost of the brand new Mercedes she was driving the day he'd finally had enough and ordered her to pack up her stuff and get out.
Jordan rubbed the tag between his thumb and fore-finger once more, pushing away the unwanted memories of his ex-girlfriend and the pain of his loss over the loyal retriever he so badly missed.
His eyes fell on the paper. It was showing an ad for the Cressley Cade Animal Rescue Society. There was a picture of a Golden Retriever that reminded him of Royal and who was apparently up for adoption right now. Jordan glanced back at the tag he was holding and the beginnings of a smile curved his lips.
Now that he was settled in his new home and had all the time in the world to do whatever he wanted, he'd realized it wasn't enough. Things were far too quiet here with him alone and he knew he wasn't ready to begin a new relationship, but a dog—yes, a dog was exactly what he needed.
Scooping up the paper, he quickly typed the address of the Animal Rescue Society into the navigational app on his phone. Then, he stuck the dog tag in his pocket, picked up the box, and headed for the door.
Chapter 3
Kaylee knelt down beside the new mother chihuahua and her litter of three.
“She really is the sweetest thing, Mrs. Conrad, and such a good mama,” she said to the elderly lady at her side before running her hand down the mother chihuahua's back. With her index finger, she gently nussed the mother dog under her chin before smoothing her palm down her back again. “Aren't you, Mimi? Aren't you? Such a good girl! Yes, you are!”
To the lady, she said, “The pups were born three days ago, so she won't be going anywhere for a few weeks. But once the little ones are weaned, we would be happy to give you a call.”
Even as she said the words, Kaylee felt a wave of sadness for the wee pups. After three years of working at the Cressley Cade Animal Rescue Society, she still could not make herself be the one responsible for separating a litter from its mother. She would not be the one making this call, either.
She didn't exactly know why, but in all this time, she still couldn't make herself do it. Separation anxiety was what her sister Jo called it. Jo had even gone so far as to suggest Kaylee's being jilted one month before her wedding was the most likely cause for it, but Kaylee didn't think so. She just could not bear the thought of the pups being separated from their mother, or vice-verse. It kept her up at night—much like the man from the antique store, she realized, a frown pulling at her brow.
“Would it be okay for me to complete the paperwork now, Miss Dean?” the gray-haired lady who had introduced herself as Mrs. Conrad asked.
Pushing away the cheerless gloom she'd slipped into, Kaylee covered her involuntary shudder behind the act of rising to her feet. Miraculously, she remembered to smile. “Of course. If you'll just speak with Marc over there, he will make sure everything's taken care of.”
“Excuse me, Miss. Can you help me?” There was a rattle of paper behind her left shoulder and Kaylee realized the man to whom the voice belonged was talking to her.
“There was a dog in Sunday's paper—a golden retriever who had been hit by a truck and then abandoned? I was hoping to give him a new home,” the oddly familiar voice continued. “Is he still here?”
“That would be Sarge, and he is right outsi—” Kaylee paused in the act of turning, and froze. It was him—the man from the antique shop. The man who'd kept her up every night since they'd met outside that store more than a week ago.
Today, he wasn't wearing the dark shades he'd had on before, and her first look into his smoky gray eyes was nothing short of mesmerizing. She saw within them the spark of recognition when he realized who she was and tried to look away, but she could not.
“Well, hello again,” he said with a smile, his tone making it clear he had recognized her, too, and Kaylee fought to find her tongue.
“You go ahead and help this young man, dear,” Mrs. Carson said, giving Kaylee's shoulder an understanding pat as she moved away. “I'll just speak with Marc.”
As Mrs. Carson walked away, the man with the startling gray eyes offered her his hand. “Since we keep meeting up, I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Jordan Parker.”
“Kaylee,” she said, hesitantly placing her palm in his. “Kaylee Dean.”
Something in his eyes changed, but she wasn't sure what. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dean.”
The feel of his bare palm sliding against hers was electrifying. A surge of heat raced up her arm, making her entire body tingle with awareness—unsettling awareness. Quickly, she pulled her hand away to rub it cons
olingly against her other palm. Clearing her throat to force the words past the knot of anxiety she could feel forming there, she said, “If you will follow me, Mr. Parker.”
Break eye contact, she told herself. Now turn, and walk. Her body followed her mental instructions but her mind tangled around some very disturbing realizations. He smelled like a teddy bear. Not the mundane, textile scent of fibers and thread and poly-fill, but rather, the surprisingly comforting aroma of cuddly, warm male mixed with a hint of mystery and an exciting though forbidden top note of yum. Kaylee felt a sudden urge to curl up around him and sigh.
Stop it, Kaylee, she demanded. A secure haven in which to snuggle up and lose yourself forever? Really? He's just a man, for Pete's sake! And a stranger, at that!
“Jordan,” he insisted, falling into step behind her, and Kaylee experienced a second of fright in which she was terrified he'd been able to read her thoughts.
“Have you owned a pet before, Mr. Parker?” she finally asked, trying to break through her own sudden feelings of awkwardness with seemingly related bits of conversation.
“Royal,” he said. “Also a golden retriever. I lost him two years ago. And you? Do you have a pet at home, Miss Dean?”
Her thoughts were instantly filled with visions of being met at her door by him, in a towel, and of herself immediately dropping her purse to run her eager hands all over him.
What in the world is wrong with you? He means a dog, she cautioned her wayward thoughts. Or a cat. Or any domesticated animal but definitely not a man, so stop it already! But she could not stop the burning flush she felt spreading upward from her neck. She shook her head. “No, I don't.”
Flustered and annoyed because of it, she practically raced ahead of him to the outdoor kennels. Reaching the larger one Ms. Cade had assigned to Sarge, she reached out to flip the latch and open the door.
Something Magical (Witches of Hawthorne Grove Book 1) Page 2
