by Rose Pressey
I couldn’t tell him it wasn’t actually my mistake. I mean, technically, I guess I was responsible for the magic until it reached its rightful recipient. It would be mean of me to rat Mary Jane out. No, I’d take whatever punishment I was handed. It was time to put on my big girl panties.
“So what happens now?” I asked.
He shifted on the stool as he hesitated with the answer. “It’s been recommended that your café be closed until we can determine this won’t happen again.”
A paralyzing anxiety smacked me in the stomach. “Closed? As in, not open? But I just took over. There has to be something else. My grandmother ran this place for thirty years, I have it for two days, and it’s shut down? I can’t do that to her. Isn’t there something I can do to make this up to...to whoever is in charge at whatever the name of the place is you work for?” I took a glass from under the counter, filled it with water, and took a big gulp. I wiped my forehead with a dishtowel.
“I’ll make some calls and see what I can do.” His tone softened a bit.
Finally, a sign of compassion appeared on his face in the form of a half-smile. A small dimple appeared as if by magic on his right cheek. He certainly was good-looking, no denying that. But a good-looking stranger ready to close my café, nonetheless. If he thought a handsome face would stop me from running this place, he had another think coming.
“Can you please explain what happened? Slowly. I want to hear your account of the event.” Tom leaned forward, propping his arms on the counter, waiting for a play-by-play of my stupidity.
Mary Jane still stood behind me, her breath hot on my neck.
“I made the food for Oscar Harrisburg. He’d had some problems with a woman.” I fidgeted my fingers against the counter.
“Uh-huh, that’s right,” Mary Jane chimed in.
“Ah, it’s always the women.” Tom smirked.
I scowled and placed my hands on my hips. “It’s not always the women.”
“Yeah,” Mary Jane said.
He held up his hands. “Okay, sorry, I can see I’m outnumbered here. Go on, please.”
“Thank you. Now where was I? Oh yeah, I accidentally placed the food down on the wrong table.” I cast a glance in Mary Jane’s direction. She had a huge frown spread across her face as she studied her shoes. “It was an honest mistake.”
“You didn’t remember that the spell was intended for someone else. The food had magic specifically for that person. You can’t give out magic meant for someone else,” he scolded.
“I’m aware of that...now. I only learned about this stuff a couple days ago, can’t you give me some slack?”
“You’re right, you’re right.” He nodded. “We should cut you some slack. We should speak with your Grandmother Imelda and ask her why she left a novice in charge of something that is obviously out of her control.” He gave a sardonic lift of his brow.
“No! I can’t let Grandma Imelda get in trouble for this.” What kind of trouble she may get into, I had no idea. Did they have a jail for magical mess-ups?
“What would be her punishment?” I licked my lips. My mouth had become as dry as if I’d eaten an entire package of saltines.
“For starters, she’d never be able to perform magic again.”
“Well, maybe that isn’t such a bad thing. Fate should be in control, and I wasn’t so sure we should be messing with fate.”
“We make the fate, gorgeous. That’s why fate is fate. And you would lose the café for good. We’d close it down.”
“Close the café?” I gripped the counter.
What would I do then? I wouldn’t have anything else. Food was going to be my life from now on. Sure it had only been a few days, but I’d already become attached.
“I’ll let you know what I find out tomorrow. Until then, maybe you should close the café early for the evening?” Tom observed me, searching my eyes.
“Okay, yeah, I guess that would be a good idea.” Good idea for him, but I didn’t like the sound of it.
He finished off his coffee and placed the mug back on the counter.
I didn’t ask if he wanted a refill. No need to encourage him to stay longer than he had to.
“I’ll do all I can, but I can’t make any promises.” He touched my arm.
“Of course not.” I shook my head.
“Oh, and one more thing, they want me to watch you for a while, report back with my findings, they’ll make a decision based on that. I’ll be overseeing the café, you know, to make sure you don’t have any more goof-ups.”
Oh, great, a magical babysitter. “So you’ll be following my every move?” I exhaled through pursed lips.
“Not every move.” The tense little lines around his mouth disappeared as his lips twitched into a smile.
“I don’t like the sound of this.”
“Well, the only other alternative is to close the café, which one would you prefer?”
I took a deep breath. “To have you follow me.”
I knew when I’d been defeated. I had to get rid of this guy as quickly as possible, even if he was sexy and mysterious. What would my grandma say? I couldn’t believe this was happening. Just a short time ago, everything had seemed so normal, now nothing made sense.
“I need to get back to the kitchen. Customers will be after me with pitchforks soon if I don’t make their food. Are you going to follow me there, too?”
He nodded. “I’m afraid, yes. I need to see what you’re doing.”
What I was doing wrong, he meant. How could I perform magic with him watching? It’s like trying to tinkle when you know someone’s listening, it just won’t happen. It was bad enough when I tried cooking with Mary Jane or grandma watching. Tom followed on my heels as I passed through the door and into the kitchen. My magical escort. He smelled like mango with a touch of leather.
When I passed Mary Jane, she mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
As well she should be. If it wasn’t for her gossiping, I wouldn’t be in this mess. But I couldn’t dwell on it. I’d make the best of the situation and move on from this nightmare. She’d taken a couple of orders for pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Easy enough. I’d noticed the customers were Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, Grandma Imelda’s neighbors. I’d known them since I was a little girl.
Mr. Stevens had a bad case of arthritis, so I’d do a spell to help him with the pain. I wished the magic could take away the pain permanently, but apparently it didn’t work that way. Grandma Imelda would have taken away every ailment in Mystic Hollow if it did. I’d do a spell for Mrs. Stevens’ garden. She had beautiful roses and they made her feel good, a cathartic affect. Making the colors on her rosebushes a little brighter would put a smile on her face regardless of whether she needed it or not. I had to admit, uplifting people’s spirits sure gave me a good feeling. So the magic wasn’t all bad, though I suppose that could be considered selfish on my part.
Tom studied the kitchen, writing notes on his clipboard. This was worse than the health inspector. I grabbed eggs from the refrigerator and a stainless steel bowl. After cracking open a few against the bowl, I reached for a whisk. I selected my spices and sprinkled them on top of the liquid. Yes, I had no idea what I was doing. I leafed through the Mystic Magic book until I found what I thought would work best.
“You’re pretty good with that whisk.” Tom leaned over my shoulder, watching my every move.
Chapter Ten
“So this is how it’s going to be, huh?” I felt his breath against my neck.
“Please, do continue. Pretend I’m not even here.”
I snorted. “Yeah, sure thing.”
Within seconds, the kitchen door swung open and Mary Jane hurried over, allowing the door to swing back and forth wildly. She panted and clutched her chest.
“My gosh, Mary Jane, what the heck? Are you all right?” I asked.
“I need you out front,” she said between pants.
“Do you need a drink of water? Can you breathe?”
“No, no wat
er. I’m fine.” She waved off my concern.
Mary Jane leaned down, attempting to catch her breath. “Just come help me with something, okay?” She gestured with her hand.
“Okay, calm down, it can’t be that bad.” Or could it? Maybe the dining room was full of Magical Investigators, as if they were multiplying like bunnies.
“Excuse me for a second,” I gestured for one minute with my index finger.
Tom frowned and a tiny crease formed between his brows. I didn’t wait for him to complain.
Mary Jane went first and I followed close behind. When she stopped in front of me, I stumbled through the door, tripping over my feet and landing on the floor again. I needed some non-skid shoes or something. This was the craziest few days I’d ever experienced, and I’d had crazy ones when I moved to New York City. But nothing compared to my day o’ magic at Mystic Café.
A lady, round as she was tall, with very blonde hair tied up high in a bun, watched me. Her bright red lipstick bled into the wrinkles around her mouth. Her fingernails coordinated with the lip color. She shook her head in disapproval at our antics and scolded us with a wave of her crimson fingernail.
A couple of old ladies sat in the corner. Both had the same fine, gray pouffed-up hairstyle and ghostly white skin. These women must have been eight hundred years old, if they were a day. Their slender frames made them appear as if fragile dolls, but the scowls on their faces made them look more like pit bulls. One wore a light blue pantsuit, while the other sported a peach sweatshirt and beige polyester pants. They stared, beginning at my toes and finally stopping at my hair. One whispered to the other, their gazes glued to me all the while. I watched them as I picked myself up. Hadn’t they seen a girl fall flat on her face before?
A bit dazed from my collision with the floor, I gave a halfhearted smile and glanced over my shoulder at the blue-hairs perched in the corner. They stared back.
“Don’t pay attention to those old hens. They never get any excitement in their lives.” Mary Jane grabbed my arm.
“Oh. That would explain it then.” I nodded and turned for another look. Their gaze didn’t falter. I waved and they jerked their attention away.
“So sorry, please continue with your meals. I’m fine,” I said to my audience. As if they cared whether I was hurt or not. The old ladies started up their surveillance again.
They raised their snooty brows and whispered.
“Oh, miss, can I get some more butter?” the one in the peach asked.
“I need more coffee,” her BFF demanded.
Mary Jane tugged on my arm again. “I’ll tend to them, you tend to him.” She pointed at the door, then straightened her shirt and smoothed down her hair. “Fix your hair.”
Chapter ElevenMy eyes may have been deceiving me, but the man I’d humiliated myself in front of was walking toward me. Was it a mirage? I needed to pinch myself and find out. As he neared, I soon realized I wasn’t dreaming. He was a lot taller than I was but at five-two, most people were. He grinned down at me, his green eyes sparkling. Sharp features and short blond hair made him look like a cover model, but he had a clean-cut boy-next-door quality that was surely irresistible to any woman. How had he managed to become better looking in just a few hours?
“How’s your leg? Are you doing okay after your stumble?” He sat at the counter, placing his baseball cap next to him.
My heart thumped a little harder. In spite of my nerves, I couldn’t help but smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here after my craziness.”
“We all have our moments, I suppose.” He chuckled, revealing dimples on each cheek.
Yes, we all had our moments. Some more than others, though, and I was almost positive I was in the ‘more’ category. I grabbed a menu, dropped it, then quickly scooped it off the floor and placed it in front of him. “What can I get for you?” No way could he possibly want to eat here again, could he?
“How about a cup of coffee and a piece of that cherry pie?” He pointed. “It looks really good.”
“I think it’s delicious. Of course, I made it, so I might be a little biased.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I turned and retrieved a plate. While I sliced the pie, I felt his gaze on me. Please don’t let me do anything stupid in front of him again. Or at least, let it be only mildly stupid. Nothing like sweeping the floor with my body and taking out his burger in the process.
“So, are you going to tell me what was really going on yesterday?” He took a sip of coffee.
“What do you mean?” I placed the pie in front of him. “Whipped cream?”
“Sure.”
I gave the can a good shake, ready to spray the top of his slice with the yummy cream, but I had no way of knowing the container would malfunction. Whipped cream spewed from the can like kids’ Silly String. I sucked in a breath of surprise. The sticky mess landed in his hair, on his face and shirt. I may have stopped breathing for several seconds, the wind was knocked out of me as if a football player had tackled me to the ground. I’d always been a klutz, but this topped the time I fell in the school cafeteria, landing face-first in my mashed potatoes.
My mouth hung open and my eyes probably looked like saucers. I cast a glance to Mary Jane and she had the same expression featured on her face, as if she were mimicking me. The cream dripped down the side of his cheek. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his face.
“I am so sorry,” I finally managed. “I don’t know what happened to the can.” I tossed the container in the trashcan. “It must be defective.” Or I was defective.
His lips tilted into a smile. A bit of cream still lingered on his upper lip. “Don’t worry about it. I asked for whipped cream.” He chuckled, then licked the remnants from his finger.
“Yeah, but not in the face.” I grabbed more napkins and handed them to him.
Mary Jane approached and offered him a wet towel. “Here this should help with the stickiness.”
“Thanks.” He took the moist cloth.
I wanted to crawl underneath the counter and never come out. Maybe if I hid, time would reverse and this would never have happened. But that was impossible, and there was no taking it back.
“You have a little left in your hair.” I pointed.
He swiped the towel across his head. “Did I get it?”
I reached for a napkin and rubbed the front of his head. “There, it’s all gone now. Your hair will be a little sticky, though.”
First, I ruined his lunch, and now I’d covered him in food. Not exactly my fantasy of how I’d like to cover him in whipped cream.
“Please let me know how much it is to clean your clothing. I’ll pay for it.”
“Are you kidding? This shirt has at least two holes in it. I need to toss it, but I hate to lose a shirt that’s already broken in. There’s no need to pay for anything,” he said.
“If you’re sure?”
“I’m positive. Forget it ever happened.” His gaze lingered on me for a second, then he grabbed his fork.
Believe me, I’d love to forget. But I was sure something was written in my DNA making that completely impossible. It would be etched into my brain like ancient hieroglyphics carved into a cave wall, lingering for centuries.
After taking a bite of his pie, he asked, “What was really wrong with my burger? I expected to get sick after eating it, thankfully I never did.”
Heat rose in my cheeks again. At least I’d never need blusher while around him. “I promise there was nothing wrong with it. I have a very clean kitchen, I pride myself on that.”
He nodded. “You have a nice place here, I won’t argue with that.”
He chewed his bite while looking around, then without hesitation popped another piece of pie in his mouth. I stared like some kind of stalker as he swallowed. If I’d known he was coming, I’d have done a spell on the pie, but I didn’t have the opportunity to slip back into the kitchen with it. Maybe there was something in the book that would undo the wrong spell he got lumbered with. Althou
gh, it didn’t appear anything was wrong. My magic probably didn’t work all that well anyway, so I had no idea why this magic organization was worried. No harm, no foul.
After swallowing, he said, “This is really good. I could get used to this.”
Yeah, well, I could get used to him.
“I might become a regular around here, just to warn you.” He peered up through his long lashes.
I smiled wide. The section of my brain controlling my facial functions had ceased to function. “I’d like that.”
“I’m Rory Covington, by the way.”
The gorgeous man stretched his muscular arm toward me. I took his hand in mine. His grip was firm, but his hand was oh-so-smooth. Yep, definitely eye candy, but did he know he was eye candy?
His touch produced a tingle in my body, almost like the electric charge I’d felt from the magic. “Nice to meet you. I’m Blair Elly.” My face heated instantly. “I mean, my name is Elly Blair.” Now I couldn’t even get my name right. I needed to buy duct tape in bulk. Using it on my mouth was the only way to stop my stupid responses.
Mary Jane made a face behind Rory’s back, pointing toward his backside. I pursed my lips and shook my head, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Too late. He turned and Mary Jane pretended to stretch and yawn. She wasn’t fooling anyone with that act. If only crawling under the counter really was an option.
In spite of the humiliation, I remained cool as a frosty December morning. I did what any girl would do: I pretended she hadn’t been referencing Rory’s hotness. Mary Jane inched further and further away from us. I wanted to grab her shirt and tell her not to leave me alone with him. She wouldn’t have listened, though. After all, she’d gotten me into this mess. Even though today was the first time I’d ever met Rory, in a way I felt as if we’d met before. He seemed easygoing and relaxed, the exact opposite of my ex-fiancé.
“I own the café. I’m not normally this crazy person who knocks food out of my customers’ hands, and douses them with whipped toppings, I promise.”
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Elly.”
