Something Magical (Witches of Hawthorne Grove Book 1) Page 4

  Only he wouldn't, Kaylee thought a bit grumpily, because she wouldn't be there. She volunteered at the shelter three days a week—something he had forgotten in his rush to meet his latest first date—and Tuesdays weren't one of those three days.

  In front of her, the paperwork for Sarge's adoption taunted and she closed the folder. Did she really want to put herself through seeing Jordan Parker again? She'd been so busy today she hadn't thought of him even once. But now, she clearly remembered the last time she'd seen him, she'd lost a week of sleep—and he'd only asked her out to coffee!

  Then again, she hadn't thought of Daniel either, and that realization was shocking because she knew she had angsted at least once every single day of the past two years over his unexpected defection. The shock of Daniel's calling off their wedding had quite nearly paralyzed her. The mere thought of putting herself in a similar position for pain again almost made her physically ill.

  But there was something about Jordan Parker, something in his eyes that called to her. Something in the way he'd looked at her—half confident, half mortified—that made her think she might be okay with him. Long enough to have coffee, anyway.

  Call him, some mischievous voice inside her head whispered, daring her to relax, challenging her to at least give him a chance, urging her to step out of the cocoon she had built around her heart or at least make an opening through which some brave soul might find his way in, and Kaylee snorted at the melodrama she'd allowed to go on in her thoughts.

  Why was she so nervous about calling him, anyway? It wasn't as if she were calling a guy she was interested in seeing, right? She was only notifying a patron of the shelter that their pet adoption had gone through. So why was her brain making her body feel like she was calling in anticipation of a night in the arms of a devoted lover?

  Smoothing her damp palms along her jeans-clad thighs in a misguided attempt to soothe away her sudden attack of nerves, she reached for the phone, flipped to the last page in the folder, found his number, and dialed. He answered on the third ring.

  Exhaling slowly, she forced herself to speak calmly although she felt anything but. “Mr. Parker? Hi. It's Kaylee Dean from the animal rescue shelter. I'm calling to let you know the paperwork for your pet adoption went through. You can come by and pick up Sarge whenever you're ready.”

  Did he hear the slight quiver in her voice? The way her breath caught and hung on every other word? If so, he didn't let on about it.

  “Miss Dean, hello! I was hoping you'd call,” he said, and Kaylee shivered with reaction to the warmth which started at her ear and spread outward from the sound. “What time do you close?”

  Trying to take her mind off the effect of his voice, Kaylee flipped back through the papers in the folder until her eyes met the space where he had signed his name.

  Jordan H. Parker.

  Scrawled in black ink in a broad empty box on the white paper, his name stood out in stark relief. It was penned evenly, but somehow still managed to swoop across the page—all flowing and loopy—which was a little unusual for a man's signature. It was intriguing, she thought. Like his eyes. Idly, she wondered what the H stood for, and then realized he was waiting for her reply. She closed the folder. “In about fifteen minutes.”

  She heard him sigh. “That's not so good. I'm in Center, just outside of town. Not close enough to make it before you lock up. I really wanted to bring Sarge home as soon as possible and I hate to ask, but will tomorrow be okay?”

  Disappointment flowed through her. Kaylee hadn't realized how much she'd actually been anticipating seeing him again. She bit back a sigh. “Yes, of course. Tomorrow will be fine.”

  Only she wouldn't be there tomorrow. Marc would, and … .

  Her attention back on the conversation at hand, Kaylee immediately recognized the standard, cordial “thanks for calling” he was giving her now, and that he was getting ready to end the call. Before he could finish and say goodbye, she interrupted him. “Jordan? Um, I mean Mr. Parker?”

  “Yes, Miss Dean?” he asked after a slight pause, and she knew she hadn't imagined the slight teasing edge that entered his tone at her having accidentally called him by his first name.

  A blush burned her cheeks, but she ignored it. “I'm at the shelter now, but I could meet you at Huntingdon's in half an hour if you'd like. We could do the exchange there.”

  There was a moment of hesitant silence, then he asked, “Are you sure? It wouldn't be a bother?”

  “No bother at all.” Certain now that he was going to agree to meet her, she stood and walked to the rack of keys, and selected the one to Sarge's kennel. “I'm sure Sarge is eager to get settled in his new home, and the two of you do seem to have an awful lot to talk about.”

  Kaylee suddenly wanted to smack herself. The last thing she'd wanted to remind him of was the conversation where he'd asked her out! He'd think she was fishing for another invitation to coffee!

  If one could feel a grin of triumph through a simple phone conversation, Kaylee would have sworn she'd felt his when he asked, “Does this mean you'll have coffee with me?”

  But she was too busy scolding herself to catch the note of uncertainty hidden in his question. “It means I'll think about it. See you in half an hour, Mr. Parker.”

  She ended the call, scooped up the folder, her purse, and pulled on her coat. She'd put everything else in the car first, and then collect Sarge for the ride. It was cold out this evening, and there was no need to make him suffer in it while she got her stuff together.

  What a laugh, she thought. If she had her stuff anywhere near together, her hands would not be trembling with uncertainty and her insides would not be quivering, practically giddy with excitement at the thought of seeing Jordan again. Glaring at the dark side of her now closed eyelids, she groaned. Why had she even made the blasted call?

  “Because you want him, chicky,” Mortianna said to the vision swirling in front of her before it faded into an inky mist. Turning to Esmerelda, she asked, “Why are these women so scared to admit to their passions?”

  “Why are you sneaking down here to eavesdrop on them?” she shot back from the basement doorway. “If Feeny finds out, she's going to kick you out of the coven.”

  Mortianna stretched and waved away her sister's concern. “She'd have to kick me out of the family first, and we both know she won't do that. She loves me too much. Besides, one of us has to keep an eye on these things. It might as well be me.”

  “Or you could leave it alone and let their hearts do the work,” Serephina offered from behind Esmerelda's shoulder, causing both her sisters to jump guiltily at the sound of her voice.

  “Hearts, schmarts. Look what Kaylee's did to her. She let one little episode of broken heartedness shut her down for two years. Two blasted, wasted years, Feeny. When are you going to realize that sometimes these romantic entanglements need a little nudging now and again?”

  Serephina pushed around Esmerelda and continued down the stairs. “Probably as long as it takes for you to realize a romantic entanglement is not love. Love is the prize here, Morty, and it's something that grows out of feelings rooted a lot deeper than a box of chocolates, a dozen roses, and a few hours tussling around on a set of five hundred dollar silk sheets.”

  “Oooh, is that how much he paid for those?” Morty asked, skirting the issue entirely to dig out the bedding catalog she'd brought down the day after Kaylee and Jordan had made their separate visits to the store while Esmerelda quietly descended the stairs to put away the scrying dish. “I want a set in red, a set in black, and a set in—”

  “Your dreams,” Serephina finished for her before sweeping the catalog out of her reach. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “You're not getting outrageously overpriced silk sheets because you never want to pay for them, and I don't want you spying on Kaylee anymore, okay? If we need to get involved, they will let us know.”

  Mortianna rolled her eyes. They were the modern-day equivalent of a Cupid Heart Guard when cl
early what was needed here was the Chief, the big boss, the Love CEO—the top guy himself—not some namby-pamby, seven-man hearts and flowers romance army who thought a couple of magic-infused gifts were an adequate substitute for real passion. Real feeling. Real emotion.

  “Fine, fine. I'll stop spying on her. And him. I won't peek in on the sexy Mr. Parker, either. I promise.” She held out both hands, palm up, in a sign of surrender.

  Serephina eyed her suspiciously for a moment, searching for any hint of duplicity. Finding none, she nodded. “Thank you, I think. Now come upstairs and help me with dinner, both of you. I don't want either of you down here without me tonight. You tend to get into trouble when you slip off out of my sight.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Mortianna mocked, and Esmerelda hid a smirk, but both sisters trouped to the stairs, following Serephina up as they were told.

  Chapter 5

  Jordan was actually nervous, but he'd never admit it—especially not to Sam, who'd been as stunned as he to learn Kaylee had volunteered to meet him at the cafe for coffee.

  “Kaylee Dean? You're sure?” Sam asked for the third time since Jordan had mentioned who he was there to meet. He let out a low whistle, then gave Jordan a “way-to-go” shoulder punch. “Never would have thought it'd be you, man.”

  Jordan turned from his vigil of watching the road for Kaylee's arrival to pin his friend with a questioning stare. “What do you mean?”

  “I've seen guys panting after her and a few who probably genuinely cared, but she shot every one of them down without a glance.” He held up his finger and thumb like a pistol and kicked it back. “Cold shoulder. Pkew!”

  Jordan frowned. “I don't see what that has to do with me. I adopted a dog from the shelter where she works. She agreed to meet me here to do the swap since I was all the way over in Center when she called and wouldn't be able to make it in until tomorrow.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sarcasm practically dripped from his comment. “Bringing the dog, I get. Staying for coffee? Not so much.”

  He picked up another cup and wiped it dry with a towel, shaking his head in stunned disbelief the entire time. “Has nothing to do with you, man, but that's not Kaylee, dude.”

  Jordan frowned. Not Kaylee? He didn't even pretend to understand what Sam was talking about. When she'd called from the shelter, she had seemed a little nervous, but weren't all girls nervous when talking to a guy for the first...second...third time? More confused now than he had been a minute ago, he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his feet. “Sam, if you don't start making sense in about three seconds, I'm about to toss you through this glass, dude.”

  He said the words casually, nonchalant even, but inside he felt anything but. Was Sam trying to tell him Kaylee Dean had guy issues? If she did, so what? He thought. Practically every woman old enough to take seriously on the planet had some kind of broken heart story to tell. But he sensed that Sam was trying to tell him Kaylee's issues were different. “What's her story?”

  Sam shook his head. “I don't know if I should be the one to tell you. Why don't you ask her when she gets here?”

  Glaring a warning, Jordan said, “Because I'm asking you now. Hey, you started this whole, “I-can't-believe-Kaylee-Dean-gave-you-the-time-of-day” thing. It's time to finish it. Why are you so surprised she agreed to meet me?”

  “It's her fiance, man. Tore her up real bad.” Sam shook his head, put another mug on the shelf and reached for the next one. “It's been four years and she hasn't had a single date that I know of in all that time. I think that Daniel dude really messed with her.”

  “She's engaged?” Jordan felt cold—from his fingers to his toes—and it had nothing to do with the weather. No wonder she had turned down his invitation to coffee! He let his head fall back against his shoulders, closed his eyes, and huffed out a sigh of disgust. He felt like an idiot now for having asked! “Wait, you knew? Why didn't you tell me, Sam?”

  Sam was shaking his head. “No, no, she's not engaged. Not now, anyway. But she was. Four years ago. Gonna marry her high-school sweetheart, but he dumped her a month before the wedding. And what do you mean, why didn't I tell you? How was I supposed to know you've been putting the moves on Jo Dean Leavy's little sister?”

  The rattle of glass-wear said Sam was a little miffed at his groundless accusation. Jordan lifted his head and started to apologize, but was interrupted.

  “Hey, that's her, man,” Sam said, motioning toward the parking lot with his towel, and Jordan's eyes snapped back toward the tall glass window, immediately seeking her out. “You gonna go out and meet her or wait for her to come inside?”

  Side-eyeing his best buddy since the sixth grade, Jordan shook his head. He liked Sam. For the most part, Sam understood him. He'd been his best friend for half of forever. But just now, he was grating on Jordan's nerves in a bad way.

  “Give us five minutes, will you?” he said, and pushed open the door.

  Running across the parking lot, he reached to open her door the same time she switched off the engine. “You're early.”

  “Looks like today's just not my day for getting the timing right.” Leaning across to the passenger seat to gather up a heavy black leash and her purse, she turned to look at him, explaining, “This morning, I overslept. Today marks the first time a customer ever had to wait for me to open the shop, and then, I was so busy I missed lunch and was still late getting to the shelter. But what about you? I've just arrived but I could swear you came out of the cafe. Have you been waiting long?”

  “Three minutes.” Taking the leash from her outstretched hand, he stepped back and waited, holding the door open so she could exit the SUV. “I'll get Sarge. You go on inside. It's freezing out here.”

  When she hesitated, he arched a brow. “Did I do something wrong?”

  After another second's pause during which she bit her lip in hesitation, she shook her head. “He's not used to the cold, since the accident. There's a throw in the back. You'll want to wrap it over him, at least, if you're planning to make him wait in the car.”

  She turned to reach back inside the vehicle for her coat, and Jordan barely bit back a scoff at her gentle but obvious disapproval of the thought of him leaving Sarge outside, even if he would be inside a vehicle. “I would never leave him to wait in the cold, Miss Dean. Sam said I could bring him into the back room while you and I have coffee—if you haven't changed your mind?”

  He cast her a quick, surreptitious glance to measure her reaction to his careful regard for Sarge's needs and to his hopeful assumption that she had definitely agreed to stay for a drink, and noticed her chin was quivering. He grinned.

  Ducking back to hide his smile behind the act of closing the car door, he said, “Your teeth are starting to chatter, woman. Get inside where it's warm. Sarge and I will be along in a minute.”

  It took three, but he'd wrapped the thick, plaid throw from the back of her vehicle over Sarge and carried him inside rather than make the still convalescing dog march across the cold asphalt.

  “I'll put him in the back, Sammy,” he called out when he stepped inside the cafe with his canine bundle. He joined Kaylee in the dining room a few minutes later. “Got him all settled near the furnace with a bowl of water at his disposal, so he'll be fine. Mind if I sit here?”

  Without waiting for her to answer, he pulled out the chair opposite her, and sat, watching while she shrugged off her coat and tried to warm her frozen fingers by putting one hand in the other and then switching them out every few seconds. Pushing his chair back, he stood again. “Coffee will help with that. Do you have a preference, or...?”

  “The mocha crème latte is especially good.” He grunted in agreement and hurried to the counter to place an order. In less than two minutes, he was back at their table, sliding a cup in her direction before once again taking a seat. “It's steaming, Miss Dean, so watch your fingers.”

  She thanked him and wrapped both hands immediately around the tall earthenware mug. “I don't know
why they're so cold. I usually wear gloves, but I don't think even those would help right now!”

  Watching her warm her hands, he leaned back in his seat, quietly sipping at his drink while he studied her more closely, now that they were out of the cold. “You mentioned both a shop and the shelter earlier so I'm guessing you don't actually work full-time at the animal rescue place in town?”

  “I volunteer three days a week at the shelter, but my business is pet grooming. I have a little place out on Third Street.” She blew across the top of her mug and lifted it to her lips for a quick sip, then asked, “What do you do, Mr. Parker? Banking? Real estate?”

  “So, I come off as that sort of guy, do I?” Jordan teased, arching a brow in question, but shook his head. “I'm retired. Sold my IT business six months ago and left the big city for Hawthorne Grove. Sold my Porsche, bought a house, adopted a dog.”

  “Really?” Her nose crinkled and her eyes went narrow in a gesture of disbelief. “Forgive me for saying it, but you don't seem like the IT type.”

  “Not nerdy enough for you?” he asked. “Hold on. I'll run out to the truck and grab my black, horn-rimmed glasses, my super-fast laptop, a handful of micro-ballpoint pens, and a thick plastic pocket protector. Think that'd help?”

  “A truck? Now I know you're not into IT, Mr. Parker. Those guys strike me as being much too sportsy-minded to go for the genuine practicality of a truck. The Porsche? That I could believe. But a pick-up?” She paused to sip at her latte, then waved her fingers in his direction. “With that bomber jacket you wear and the dark, flashy sunglasses you had on last week, I'd have thought you were in the spy business.”

  “Hey, it's not just a truck. It's a Dodge, and that thing's loaded! It's got a boss V12 engine, and—” It took him a minute to realize she was attempting to tease him back. When he did, Jordan broke off, suddenly feeling as if he'd scored points in a race he hadn't known he'd been running. Leaning forward, he cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Do you find spies attractive, Miss Dean?”