Moving like a blur, she set her pot of freshly-brewed coffee down on the counter before helping me right my own tray. I gave her a look of gratitude before saying, “Table four is complaining their meals are just a tad cold. Would you be a doll and warm them? Make sure to comp their meal, too, while you’re at it.”
“Yup. Sure thing, boss,” she said with a sweet smile.
Delilah was a nice girl, just slightly over four hundred years old—which made her one of the oldest in our town—but she wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. Her mother was Eleanor—aka Lady Frankenstein. Her father had been the original Frankenstein’s monster, but he’d managed to escape Old Man Tinker’s curse. Eleanor waited day and night, hoping and praying for her lover’s return, but a reunion was doubtful. The Frankensteins tended to be a bit fluffy in the head. I guess that happened when your brain was just a wee bit on the rotten side to begin with.
But Delilah was strong and sturdy and knew her way around a kitchen, and that was all that mattered to me. She also looked far more human than her mother, who’d become the town shut-in sometime around 1852. Delilah’s scars were hardly even visible anymore.
“Excuse me!” a woman’s high-pitched voice squealed in my ear as I waltzed on by with my loaded tray. “We need a table. We’ve been here ten minutes already!”
I gritted my teeth. When had humans gotten to be so rude? Last century, they’d had far more manners than this. I’d encountered two sorts today—those that were pleasant and kind, and those that were not.
This one was definitely not.
“Ma’am.” I grinned as politely as I knew how. “We’re completely full. I promise that as soon as we get an open table, we’ll seat you right—”
Rolling her eyes, she turned her back on me, yanked on her boyfriend’s hand, and made for the door on her fashionable heels. “Let’s go, Draven. I don’t want to eat in a place that has live animals pooping in it, anyway.”
I pursed my lips. Gwenny never pooped in front of company. She had far more class than some people I could mention. Gwendolyn, who’d clearly overhead since the woman hadn’t bothered being quiet about it, sat up from her perch, leaned in, and honked very angrily at the pretty brunette, who squealed and practically tripped over herself in her haste to leave.
The embarrassed-looking boyfriend mouthed “sorry” at me, and I just shrugged. He had a kind heart. I could tell that about a person instantly. I wasn’t an empath, per se, but I did have empathic qualities and could tell whether a human meant ill or good from just a look. His girlfriend was rotten to the core. But she was pretty, which was no doubt his reason for staying with her.
I sighed. The magick had called them, so there was a reason they were here, even if I couldn’t see it right now. I scuttled off, hating that I’d already made my table wait far too long.
I huffed a loose curl of hair out of my eye when I finally reached the four older ladies, all of them wearing fluffy pink curls and dressed in a style reminiscent of my own. I felt instant affection for them. I had a feeling they’d adore Aunt Prim, but she was manning the gas station just outside of town.
I greeted them all with a smile as I began handing out their orders.
“So sorry about that.”
“You’re quite the busy woman. No worries, sweetie. And don’t lose sleep over that tosser from earlier. She ain’t worth it,” the one with owl-rimmed glasses said with the grave solemnity of someone far too old and opinionated to care about ruffling a few feathers.
I giggled. I had no idea what tosser meant, but I could imagine. “Well, thank you. Anyhow, the best smoked-cherry tartlets on this side of the Mississippi,” I said as I handed them each their order.”
“I do so love the décor of this place,” one of them said, bright pink-coral lips forming a tiny O when she spied the bubbling brew. “This looks lovely, dear.”
I grinned. I was just prideful enough to enjoy the starry-eyed gazes of my diners when they saw my food for the first time. I took great joy in my creations, and it was heartening to know my efforts were appreciated.
Most people thought of diners as stereotypical greasy spoons—filler, but little substance. I’d always been of the mind food should not only taste good, but look appetizing too.
They dug into their plates with gusto, oohing and aahing and chattering among themselves. Breathing out a weary sigh, I grabbed my lower back and pinched. Thankfully, my bottom was all healed. I still wasn’t sure what I’d done, but then, I was rarely in charge of my body during the day.
This had definitely been one of the busiest days on record for me.
One might think running a diner open only after the witching hour would keep the workload light, but business had always been lively at The Golden Goose.
“If you need anything else, just whistle,” I said to the ladies, who each gave me a thumbs up in return.
I was just passing Aunt Vi when I heard her mumble, “Where are my blasted spectacles?”
Leaning over her shoulder, I squeezed her lax bicep gently and said, “On your head as always, Aunt Vi.”
She grinned when I kissed her soft cheek. “Oh, that’s right. By the way, dear, you’ve a guest. Two, in fact. VIPs, I’d say.”
Her pale-blue eyes sparkled before she went back to humming and sipping on her now finished brew.
Aunt Vi had the sight. Well, all witches had it to some degree, but Aunt Vi—when not forgetful—had it better than most.
Brow furrowing, I turned toward the door just as it opened, and suddenly I was blasted with the sound of a choir of angels. The melody was mellifluous and brought tears to my eyes.
I swallowed hard, placing a hand against the column of my throat. I knew what this was, what I was hearing. And I was angry. Furious. Ready to go demand my aunts fix this straightaway.
And then I saw him walk in.
Tall and slightly slender of build, he had a nice face. A very nice face. He reminded me of a young Paul Newman, with his dimpled chin and strong jawline. Blue eyes the color of a newly bloomed bluebonnet looked steadily around the room.
My heart rattled like a maraca. Great Goddess, but he was gorgeous.
I didn’t notice the child until he moved. The man had his hand on the child’s shoulder in a naturally protective stance. My heart trembled. I loved children.
And then it sank in.
He had a child.
Meaning he had a mate.
Meaning he was taken.
Meaning the magick had royally mucked things up.
“Oh, no,” I mumbled. “Aunty Vi, what did you three do?”
My dear, sweet, scatterbrained aunt ignored me entirely.
Blue eyes locked with mine, and my knees shook as I knotted my fingers together. I should really turn and walk into the kitchen, take a moment to compose myself.
I thought Aunty Prim said she’d broken the spell. But as soon as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t true. That conniving, blasted old biddy!
I frowned. This was bad. Very bad.
It wasn’t every day you heard the song of love’s spell. I’d been pricked, and the worst of it was he was very, very taken.
He cocked his head, and a puzzled expression crossed his gorgeous face. Though I told myself to look away, I could not.
Coffee brewed. Bacon sizzled. Bread rose in the oven. A gaggle of voices cried out to me for one thing or another. But I was aware of none of those things except as a wash of white noise in the background of my life.
Instead, I suddenly realized a curl of hair had slipped over my right eye. My sturdy black apron with white-lace trimming was slightly askew and dusted in powdered sugar. I’d meant to retouch my lipstick earlier but had forgotten in the rush of the near constant things to do, and I knew there was a streak of red on my front teeth because there was always a streak of red on my front teeth if I didn’t take the time to clean myself up now and again.
I also smelled of egg salad.
This was not the way my night had been planned. Not at all. I sho
uld go. Flee. But my darn feet were locked in place, and my knees were like rusted metal hinges, no longer able to so much as twitch.
He walked toward me, moving as though in a dream, slowly but determinedly. I swallowed hard and reached for the first thing I could get my hands on, which just so happened to be a silver napkin holder.
I plucked at one napkin after another, balling them in my hands, all the while knowing I must look ridiculous.
Then he smiled, and my knees shook.
Two seconds later, he was inches from me, smelling like the woods and moonlight over still waters—which was an actual scent, believe it or not, but trying to describe that smell to humans was all but impossible.
He was so tall. Even in my three-inch heels, I felt dwarfed by him. I wasn’t sure when I’d moved, but now my fingers were dancing along the neckline of my little black dress like Mexican jumping beans.
He was still just standing there, looking at me almost as if he thought he knew me or had seen me before. A tickle started in the soles of my feet and worked its way up the back of my throat. I wanted to vomit.
“Um... hi,” I said and then flinched.
Hi? Had I lost my ever-loving mind? Scarlet fanned up my neck and settled in my cheeks. Hi? Oh, dear Goddess above, kill me now.
He chuckled. “Um, hi? Busy tonight?”
Well, if that hadn’t been the most awkward introduction known to man. I wanted to die. Or just, ya know, slide into the ground and not reemerge until the curse had claimed us again.
Clearing my throat, I set the napkin holder down and reminded myself that I was no spring chicken to be so silly. Stuffing the wadded up bits of napkin into my sugar-dusted pocket, I nodded, pretending there was nothing at all strange about a woman walking around with two giant lumps in her apron pockets.
“Just a little.” I shoved at the irritating curl, tucking it behind my ear. “Anyway, welcome to The Golden Goose.”
“Does she really lay golden eggs?” This was asked not by the man, but the boy.
Eternally grateful to the boy for getting me out of a bind, I placed my hands on my knees, bent over, and smiled a wide and genuine grin.
“And who are you, little master?”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed the handsome fellow jerk and felt his eyes sear into me. I shivered.
Beautifully long, thick lashes blinked back at me, and my smile grew wider. Children were revered in our town, but I had to admit to having a particular soft spot for boys. This one was as handsome as they came.
With a shock of golden blond hair that would make Gwenny green with envy, large brown eyes, and pale ivory skin smattered with hundreds of freckles, I could see his daddy in him, but he had to look most like his mama.
As I thought of her, a flash swept over me. I wasn’t as powerful a witch as my aunts, but on occasion, I would catch glimpses of a person’s future. Not all futures were nice, but I saw a blond man with stunning, earth-rich brown eyes and freckles holding hands with someone I couldn’t quite recognize. The woman was svelte in form, with long, flowing locks of auburn hair and very pale ivory skin. Something about the woman looked oddly familiar.
I squinted, trying to figure out how or even if I knew her. But the vision faded, and instead of a man, I stared into the eyes of a confused child.
The blond man in the vision had been this little one.
More than that, he’d been part of this town. My flesh prickled, and it was all I could do to keep a clamp on my thoughts.
“What is your name, boy?” I asked gently, wondering just what the vision could have possibly meant. Had the magick gone, not for the daddy, but the boy?
“Edward. Huntington,” the man answered in his deep, barrel-chested, Southern drawl.
My heart went thump thump in quick succession, making me feel temporarily light-headed. Straightening, I brushed at my dirty apron and tossed the man a grateful but very crooked smile.
“Oh, that’s lovely. I had a grandfather named Edward—”
“Nope.” Aunt Violet snorted. “His name was Edvard, and he was a good for nuthin’ so—”
The Paul Newman look-alike raised his brows before clamping his hands over his son’s ears, no doubt expecting Aunty Vi to use a word or phrase other than the one I knew she intended—sorcerer.
Laughing, I put a hand on Aunty Vi’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Well, as you can guess, my aunt wasn’t much of a fan of my grandfather.”
Aunt Violet grumbled about boozers and losers under her breath. “Paul” snorted, clearly entertained by my flighty family member.
“Well,” he said as he shoved two fingers through his thick, gorgeous, wavy hair, “I was going to ask if you had any seats available. But you seem—”
“No.” I shook my head. “Always seats available.” I spread my arm, encompassing the whole of the diner with not a single seat available, not even at the counter.
Wow, could my voice have sounded any more Marilyn Monroe breathy just then? I bit my top lip and cringed. Eerie would laugh at me if she could see me right now.
Gwendolyn honked, the sound eerily like a goosey laugh. I glared at my naughty bird.
“I wonder, Aunty Vi. How does goose sound for dinner?”
“Sounds lovely, dear,” she mumbled as she took a sip of her forget-me-not brew.
Gwenny snapped her beak shut after that.
Edward, far smarter than most, looked at me, the goose, and then back at me before his little brow furrowed, and he gave his head a tiny shake. Oh yes, the little guy definitely knew something was up with our quirky old town.
“Could you maybe place us on the wait list, then? Edward and I haven’t eaten for a few hours, and we were given strict orders not to leave Blue Moon Bay unless we stopped in for a bite at its famous Golden Goose first.”
How had I not scared the man off already? I wasn’t sure. I opened my mouth, but it was Aunty Vi who responded.
“Let me guess. Little blue-haired bat manning the Gas ’n Dash?”
He chuckled as his pretty blue eyes roved my face, making me feel suddenly hot and tingly all over, before he turned to look at my aunt.
“That’s the one.”
“Then you met Aunt Prim. She’s a bit of a pistol. Sorry,” I said, not even sure why I was apologizing, except that I knew my aunts, and they were a handful, every one of them.
Aunt Vi, who’d just downed the last of her brew, slapped at her chest once, twice, and then... I cringed before she even started the long belch.
Oh, Goddess. There were times I wasn’t sure I was really related to any of them. Surely, I’d been adopted.
Edward, however, found my aunt’s antics hilarious and giggled, which caused his father to startle and glance down at his son with something akin to awe. The sight of that gorgeous man staring down at his towheaded son with such obvious love and pride did something to my heart.
I tried, but couldn’t hold back the sigh.
He noticed and looked at me oddly.
So I coughed to cover my faux pas.
“Well, my darling girl, I’m done here.” Vi looked at the silver fox with gold-wired spectacles sitting beside her. “And so are you.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m not. I’ve still got bac—”
Aunty Vi moved like she was twenty again and snatched that last slice of thick-cut maple bacon right off his plate. “Now, you don’t. Hurry up and pay, Bill. We’ve got mouths needing feeding.”
Bill, husband of Druscilla—the resident banshee—was well into his ninetieth year of life, but with the help of my aunts’ charms, he looked no older than a very debonair early fifties.
There were some spouses who would eventually pass away. It was sad to say, but not everyone wanted to live forever alongside their spouses. While Bill physically appeared younger than he was, the truth was that he had a bad ticker, and there was only so much our potions could do. Eventually, Father Time caught up to all mortals.
Actually, Time had a small cabin in th
e woods, just over the hill, and appeared to be no older than fifteen most days. But he wasn’t like us. Time came and went at his own choosing. He was too powerful to be tethered to anything as mundane as a curse, he’d once said. Sometimes, he’d live alongside of us for years. Other times, he’d vanish, and we wouldn’t see or hear from him for decades.
He was an odd one, but then, who wasn’t in this sleepy town?
“Fine, fine, you she-devil,” Bill grumped as he tugged his wallet from his back pocket and tossed a bill down onto the counter before picking up his mug and chugging the rest of his coffee.
Aunt Violet, never to be deterred, tugged on his collar. “If you want coffee, I’m sure Dru will be happy to make you more,” my aunt said, saccharine sweet.
“Land sakes, woman.” Bill swatted at her hands and huffed at me. “Food was good as always, though your patrons could sure use some manners.”
Aunt Violet chortled. “Ah, you prickly skunk. You know you love me.”
“Aunt Vi, I’m not really sure skunks are prickly,” I said.
“Well, he stinks too, so.” She shrugged and smiled, sweet as molasses, at Bill, who was now staring at her with thinned lips and narrowed eyes.
Mr. Gorgeous, who I’d completely forgotten was standing behind me for half a second, leaned in and whispered, “Are they always like that?”
I snorted and glanced at him over my shoulder. “Worse. So much worse.”
My aunt and Bill stood and walked off together.
“Ever heard of the Odd Couple? That’s them, always bickering, always grumpy. And yet, for some reason”—I whispered as I watched my aunt and Bill continuing to grumble until they reached the door—“they always seem to meet up at the counter same time every night for breakfast.”
I shrugged. Sometimes there was no explaining some people.
He laughed.
“Well, anyway.” I rolled my wrist and glanced around. “Since my waiting list appears to be blessedly empty, you may sit.” I pointed to the two round swivel bar stools.
“Zane, by the way,” he said as he sat.
My brows rose. “Excuse me?”
“My name. It’s Zane Huntington. The third actually, though I’ve done away with that last bit a few years back.” He shrugged, seemingly suddenly unsure of himself which—softy that I was—made me like him just a little bit more.
Cookies, Curses, and Kisses Page 4
