“Oh, Romy. That’s not weird.”
“That’s lovely, and I’m sad your mom didn’t appreciate those things about you,” Hannah says softly.
My throat thickens. “She just wanted the best for me. She thought it was important to be practical and rational.”
“Maybe… you’ll fit in better with your father’s family,” Hannah says. “Maybe they’ll want to hear about the leprechauns.”
I blink quickly as moisture gathers in my eyes. “It’s ridiculous,” I whisper.
Hannah moves to sit beside me and slides her arm around my shoulders, squeezing. “Yeah. It kind of is.”
Kesha sighs. “Whatever you want to do, we’re here for you. We’ve got your back. Even if your family tries to turn you into a potato.”
I choke on a laugh and wipe my eyes with my fingertips. “Thank you. I love you.”
9
Romy
Bad decisions make for great adventures.
That was not my mother’s favorite saying.
It’s not my favorite saying either, but Hannah said it as she left my place the other night. Since then, I’ve been going over things in my mind. I don’t like making bad decisions. My mother drummed that into my head my whole life, and it’s hard to disregard that. Using logic and data and weighing pros and cons is comfortable. Relying on my instincts or intuition or whatever you want to call it scares the crap out of me.
Do you have the courage…?
I keep hearing Trace’s sexy, husky voice in my ear.
I want to be courageous.
I’ve been doing my job mindlessly all week, so preoccupied with other things. The sad thing is… I can do it mindlessly. When I go into a work meeting and sit and listen to people asking stupid questions and Cliff going on and on without even really saying anything, and then I go back to my cubicle to work on the same old tasks, I want to scream at the monotony of it.
The only thing that saves me is my design work. I have a few jobs to work on in the evenings and more orders coming in from my Etsy store. I love doing this. It stretches me, makes me think, lets me create.
My new family has been very restrained. I expected to be inundated with phone calls and texts. Instead, I’ve received exactly one text message from each of Joe, Cassie, Felise, and Magan, all saying a variation of we know that was hard to hear, hope you’re doing okay, get in touch when you’re ready, and miss you.
They almost make me cry.
I lie in my bed, in the dark, staring at the ceiling. I press a hand to my stomach. This is my gut. What does it feel? I let myself examine my feelings, from my boredom and frustration at work, my love and gratitude for my friends, my thankfulness to the Candlers for being so welcoming and kind to me. I can question their sanity, but I have to acknowledge how they made me feel—accepted, even though they didn’t know me, appreciated, included.
I also think about the feelings I have around Trace. Attraction. Lust. Excitement. I’ve had boyfriends. I’ve had sex. I’ve felt those things before. But not like this.
This is whiskey compared to sweet wine. Vibrant colors instead of shades of gray. Sunshine and moonlight and fireworks.
Getting in touch with my feelings isn’t easy when I was encouraged my whole life to shut them down.
I slide out of bed and cross to the sliding door onto my deck. I open it and step outside. The wind blows the trees in uneven gusts, parting them at times to reveal the moon. It’s a waning crescent, the moon getting darker. I feel it’s a time for letting go of things.
What would have happened if Mom had been able to accept Joe’s story? I would have grown up with two parents. I don’t know what witch life is like. Apparently I would have gone to an academy to learn how to witch. I would already have been part of the Candler clan. How would my life have been different?
Can I let go of all Mom’s cautions? Can I let go of my fears? Can I believe in magic?
“You don’t have to be crazy to be part of this family,” Felise says, hands clasped together in front of her. “We’ll train you!”
I’m back at the Candler home.
I called Cassie, for some reason feeling she’d be sympathetic to my apprehension. And she was. She has a gentle and astute way about her and tried to put my fears at ease, totally understanding why I’d bolted the other night. And she’d suggested another family dinner, very casual, just to get to know each other a bit better.
We’re all sitting in the den, even Trace, who is watching me with an enigmatic expression on his face. I don’t know if he’s happy I’m here. I thought that was what he wanted. But he doesn’t seem very friendly.
“Shut up,” Magan mutters. “She’ll really think we’re nuts.”
“But seriously.” Felise ignores her sister. “We’ll train you!”
“How to witch,” I say.
Everyone laughs. “Right.”
I look at Joe. “Why aren’t you a warlock? I thought male witches were warlocks.”
“No. We’re all witches. Don’t think everything you’ve seen in movies and TV shows is true.”
Right. This is real life, not a movie. I almost burst into hysterical laughter.
“Trace will be the one to do your training,” Joe adds.
I blink and my gaze shifts over to Trace. His jaw and lips are tight.
“Why him?” Felise demands. “She needs to learn from women!”
“Trace is the best one to do this,” Joe says, giving Felise a pointed look.
She blinks. “Right,” she says slowly.
My eyes dart around. I don’t even know what this training involves. I do know that Trace is a very compelling, confident man, and… he looks annoyed.
What is that about? He doesn’t want to train me? He wanted me to do this!
I glare at him.
“Don’t worry, Romy, we’ll still help you,” Felise says.
“You are never going to be able to conjure up Louboutins,” Magan tells her sister.
Felise flicks her hair off her shoulder. “You never know.”
I smile uncertainly.
“Tomorrow, come to our shop!” Felise urges me. “You can hang out with us there for a while.”
“I have to work tomorrow. I’m sorry.”
“Oh right. Okay, then Saturday?”
“Sure.”
“Tell us more about your job,” Cassie says.
“Well. I work on projects designing software for different department needs. Last year we had a big project to develop a new claims payment system.”
They all nod, but I can see their eyes glaze over.
“I work with other IT professionals, like developers and designers. We analyze the client’s needs, facilitate the software design, then test and implement it.”
“Mmm. You must be very smart,” Felise says.
I grin. “I am.”
I catch Trace’s lips twitch.
“And what about your other job? Didn’t you mention an Etsy shop?”
“Oh yes. That’s my fun job.”
“We could use some help with our website at the store,” Magan says. “I made our website myself, but I think it looks pretty amateurish.”
“Oh! Good idea!” Felise jumps up and disappears, returning with a laptop computer. A moment later, she shows me the website.
“It’s cute,” I say, studying the screen.
“What would you do different?” Magan asks.
I lean in. “Well, your header… is that your brand? Do you use it on everything?”
“No. I just used a template.”
“Ah. Well, that’s where I’d start. Design a logo and branding materials for you. For the website, for signage in the store, shopping bags…”
“That would be wonderful!” Magan says.
“It really would.”
“Um…” I grimace and look between Felise and Magan. “Can’t you just… you know… snap your fingers or twitch your nose… and have a new website?”
They both burst into
giggles. Magan is more serious, but when she laughs, she’s a joy. Cassie and Joe laugh too.
“You have a lot to learn,” Cassie says gently.
I hate feeling stupid.
“I’m so glad you decided to truly become part of our family,” she adds.
I want to be her when I grow up—so generous and caring. I’m not her daughter, but you’d think I was from how she treats me. It must be because she loves Joe so much, and that’s really… beautiful.
I grew up with a single mom who barely dated. I’ve had a couple of unremarkable relationships that ended without much angst. What do I know about loving relationships? Nothing, that’s what. But I know I’d like to have that.
And I have sisters.
And… Trace. Felise and Magan treat him like their brother. He grew up with them after his parents died. Should I think of him as a brother?
Nope, that boat has left the dock, after all those scorching, panty-melting kisses.
Yikes. Maybe that was a big mistake. Not that we knew it at the time, but now… we probably shouldn’t be engaging in sex acts. Or acts that lead to sex.
Bummer.
My eyes meet his, and a current of electricity zaps down my spine, leaving me tingling.
Now that… that felt like magic.
The front doorbell rings.
“Oh, that’ll be the rest of the family.” Joe stands. “They’re so excited to meet you.”
Cassie meets my eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Joe’s the one who’s excited. I told him not to invite everyone over right away, but… he did it anyway.”
Apparently a Greyhound bus pulled up out front and the passengers are now filling the house. Everyone else jumps up to greet the new arrivals, so I stand too, hanging back since I don’t know anyone. There are hugs and loud greetings and back slaps, the house bursting with noise.
Then an older man beelines toward me and stops. He peers at me from beneath thick gray eyebrows. “So. You must be Romy.”
“Yes.” I attempt a smile. “Romy Larson.”
“This is my dad,” Joe says, joining us and setting a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “George Candler.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Candler.”
“You can’t call me that.”
I suck my bottom lip between my teeth briefly.
“You should call me Grandpa.”
My eyes widen and I glance at Joe. “Um…”
“Call him George,” Joe says gently. “Take it easy, Dad.”
“Okay, fine, George.”
“Okay, everyone!” Joe calls out. “This is Romy. I’m not going to introduce you all right now because she’ll never remember all of you.”
I gaze around at the multitude of faces—men Joe’s age, women who are their wives, I guess? Younger people about my age, men and women. One woman holds a baby, and there are also several children. They’re all smiling with curiosity but warmth.
I think I’m going to throw up.
“Go on out to the sunroom!” Cassandra calls. “I’m going to set out the dessert buffet. Joe will get you all drinks.”
“So much for my well-stocked bar,” he mutters, then shoots me a wry smile. “Come on, Romy.”
I pick up my wineglass as the others move toward the sunroom. Felise and Magan throw open french doors leading onto a deck. I gravitate toward them since they’re the only ones I know. Felise is already chattering with another young woman, but Magan, more reserved than Felise but also maybe more perceptive, approaches me. “You look terrified.”
“Shit.”
She laughs. “I’m kidding.” She grabs the arm of the young man near her and tugs him forward. “This is my boyfriend, Dallas. Dallas, this is Romy.”
“Nice to meet you.” I smile at him as we shake hands.
“Come on, hang with us and eventually you’ll meet everyone,” Magan says.
I watch as family fills the sunroom and spills out onto the wooden deck. It’s like a clown car of never-ending people. Okay, I’m exaggerating. Still, it seems like a lot.
10
Trace
I guess I’ve gotten what I deserve after chasing Romy and convincing her to take a chance on the Candlers. I should have just let her go. Now I have to tutor her in witchcraft. Just fucking great.
I don’t want to practice witchcraft. Other than that little spell at the Singing Horse (only so I could score a kiss), I haven’t been using my powers. I studied and researched and practiced for years after the accident to find a way to bring my family back to me, to no avail. My attempts to get a special dispensation were rejected. I’m supposed to have supreme powers. I’m supposed to follow in my father’s footsteps and become an archmage, which is the head of the Board of Elders. But what’s the point if I can’t do the one thing I want to do? I was discouraged, so I’ve distanced myself from the coven.
Now I’m stuck, tutoring a new witch.
Never mind that it’s Romy. I’m shockingly attracted to her, but how the hell am I going to teach her without my own bitterness influencing her? And without being all over her like a monkey on a cupcake?
Shit.
Shaking off my irritation, I look around. This is like a freakin’ Candler reunion. I haven’t seen some of these cousins since last summer when Natalie Candler got married. I make the rounds, saying hi to people who aren’t my family but who treat me like I am.
Standing with Uncle Chuck and Aunt Stella, I watch Romy as I tip my beer up and guzzle down half the bottle.
“Easy there, Tracer.” Chuck lifts his eyebrows at me slugging back my beverage.
“I’m thirsty,” I say absently.
I can’t seem to drag my eyes off Romy’s bare shoulders, all sleek and gleaming in the evening sun, her shiny, dark hair, her killer legs. She smiles at Maryon holding baby Jack, her face all soft as she touches Jack’s little hand.
“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Stella asks.
I look at Stella. “Who?”
Her lips twitch. “The young lady you’re staring at.”
I gulp more beer. “I better go see if Cassie needs any help.”
I escape back into the house, hustling into the kitchen where Cassie is arranging an assortment of desserts on the big island. “What can I do?” I ask.
She smiles. “Not a thing. I think we’re all set. Help yourself. I’ll let you go first because you’re my favorite.”
“Ha.”
I survey the choices. I have a sweet tooth, which is why I run or work out five days a week. I’d happily devour everything here—cookies, cake, pie. Holy shit, there are macarons and little tarts with fruit on them and lemon squares and… “I’m in heaven.”
I load up a too-small plate with selections. Luckily everything is tiny. Meanwhile, Cassie has gone out to call everyone else to come for dessert.
I skip the coffee and tea at the end of the island, electing for another beer from the fridge. Maybe I should invade Joe’s bar in the den and slam back a couple of shots of bourbon.
Romy walks into the kitchen as I’m about to exit, and our eyes meet again. Heat zaps through me like an electric shock. Shit.
She gives me a half smile.
I gesture to the desserts. “Have at it. There’s lots to choose from.”
“Wow. I see that.” Her gaze falls on my plate. “Think you have enough?”
I scrunch up my face. “I sort of have a sweet tooth.”
“Ah. Me too.” She grimaces. “But I’m not that hungry. Dinner was amazing and…” She stops.
I see the slight tightness at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and a ball of warmth forms in my chest. “Grab a cookie and come with me.”
She blinks. “Um. Okay.”
She picks up a plate and takes a cookie and then a macaron, and I lead her out of the kitchen. Nobody pays any attention to us as we walk down the hall and into the den.
It’s quiet here.
Romy plops down onto a couch and blows out a breath. I take a seat at the o
ther end of it and set my beer on the coffee table.
“How did you know I was about to lose it?” she asks.
“Just a feeling I had. It’s fine. This family is overwhelming for anyone, let alone a newly found relative.”
“Everyone seems so nice. But yeah… it’s a lot.” She takes a small bite of the cookie.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get to know everyone and feel more at ease.”
“I don’t know.” She eyes me. “Is that how it was for you?”
“Yeah. Although I made it harder on myself because I was a snotty teenager at the time and all bent out of shape about what happened to my family.”
Her eyes soften. “Yeah. But you’re lucky to have had this.” She waves a hand.
“Oh, I know that now.” I pause, but the words escape my lips. “I’m glad you’re here.” I know how freaked out she was the other night. I don’t know if what I said had anything to do with her decision to come back and get to know the family, her willingness to learn, and I’m annoyed about the whole tutoring thing, but for the Candlers’ sake, I’m happy. And for hers, because this is her family and even though she might think they’re a little bonkers, they are good people.
“Are you?” She meets my eyes. Apparently she’s sensed my displeasure.
I look away briefly.
Then she wrinkles her nose. “I’m not sure what I’m doing. But I’m here. I should go back out there.” She stands and smooths down the skirt of her flowery dress. “I can’t hide in here all night.”
She’s brave.
I follow her out. We stop in the kitchen for another drink for her, then I take her outside onto the deck and start introducing her to family. Her smile glows, and she easily makes small talk, complimenting Aunt Peta’s necklace and asking little Ruby what her doll’s name is. I notice she glances at me frequently as if she’s afraid I’m going to desert her.
Fuck. I want to… but I can’t. So I stick close, helping to ease the introductions and conversations.
Soon people start leaving. I think Cassie has given the signal, and eventually everyone has said lengthy goodbyes while having containers of leftover brownies and tarts pressed upon them.
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