Something Magical (Witches of Hawthorne Grove Book 1) Page 5

  The beginnings of a smile he'd seen flirting at the corners of her lips wilted. “Do you fish for compliments often, Mr. Parker?”

  Jordan shifted awkwardly in his chair. Had it been a mistake, he wondered, asking her to join him for coffee? Then, suddenly straightening in his seat, he lifted his head, snapped his fingers, and said, “Wait, I remember now! You're into old stuff, right? Collecting? How could I have forgotten? It's definitely antiques you prefer.”

  His subtle nudging of her memory back to their first meeting did not go unnoticed. She smiled but shook her head. “Not me. My aunt does. I was shopping for a gift for her last week when you and I ran into each other.”

  “You mean when I ran into you. Allow me to apologize—again—for my clumsiness.”

  “No need,” she said, waving away his apology. “I was too busy blabbering into my phone to cousin Mindy about the great find I'd picked up to notice we were on a collision course myself. If you hadn't bumped into me when you did, I'm sure it would have been me who bowled you over.”

  She looked directly at him then, and he felt something tighten, low and heavy, in his gut. “I think maybe you have anyway, Miss Kaylee Dean.”

  The change in his voice would have been hard for anyone to miss. Kaylee heard it, and he knew she even recognized it for what it was: he was attracted to her. Worse for her though, he suspected, was that she felt drawn to him also. Glancing down at her hands where they wrapped tightly around her mug, she said, “Jordan, I appreciate the coffee and I didn't mind bringing Sarge out at all, but—”

  “Don't.”

  Recognizing the direction her sudden speech was heading, Jordan reached across the table and covered her hands, holding them in place around the mug beneath his. He paused, waiting until she looked up at him again to release them, and then said, “It's just coffee, Kaylee. Nothing serious, nothing to be afraid of, and definitely nothing to run away from.”

  “See?” Holding his hands in the air, he twisted them back and forth. “No strings.”

  After a moment, she offered a hesitant nod and relaxed back in her chair. “Alright. Just coffee. I think I can do that.”

  Not daring to let her see how relieved he felt at her acceptance of him in her life, for the moment at least, Jordan smiled. “Now that we have that out of the way, how do you feel about movies?”

  Tilting her head slightly, she paused with her latte half-way to her mouth. “Are you asking me to see a movie with you, or my thoughts on them, in general?”

  Feeling a little sheepish for pushing forward so quickly after having assured her she had no reason to worry that he was trying to make a move on her, he shrugged and admitted, “To see one with me.”

  Her brow rose, and he held up his hands, halting her refusal before she could give it. “But it's not what you think.”

  “Oh?” He heard her quiet little snort, but there was still a mixture of surprise, disbelief, curious interest, and even a bit of humor in her expression when she finished with, “Please, feel free to take a moment to explicate how it is not.”

  “I don't know anybody.” Leaning forward, he entreated, “I'm new here, remember? I don't know any of the people—well, except for Sam, but he always wants to talk through the best scenes. Then, there are the whispers showing up at the movies with him would start that I just don't want to deal with. Forgive me for being sensitive about it, but no way am I asking him.”

  Kaylee swirled her drink in the mug. “You left out the part about how this is not you asking me out for a movie date.”

  She had him there. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, hoping she couldn't see through the calm facade he hoped he was projecting to the man who was still allergic to rejection underneath. “That's because I am, but if you'll say yes, I promise not to expect you to drive me home after, or to kiss me goodnight at the door before you leave. Fair enough?”

  Her laughter floated into the almost awkward silence, surprising them both. Her cheeks flushed with color and she lowered her gaze. “I think I might actually enjoy a night at the movies, Mr. Parker, but—”

  Quickly, before she could finish, he held up his hands again, reminding her there would be no strings, and she smiled. “No strings. Right.”

  “I promise,” he said. “Just a guy and a girl enjoying a silly old chick flick and some popcorn together.”

  “You want to watch a silly old chick flick?” She asked, side-eyeing him with a hint of rebellion in her gaze.

  “Not my fault, or even my preference. Just happens to be the only things playing at the theater right now, okay? How's Saturday night? We can meet here at seven.” When she hesitated, he arched a brow. “Come on, Kaylee Dean. It's just a movie. What do you say? Will you help a new guy out?”

  “Yes,” she said after a pause so long Jordan thought he might actually start to perspire in preparation for rejection anxiety. “Yes, I think I will.”

  Chapter 6

  By the time Thursday afternoon rolled around, Kaylee was ready to call the whole thing off.

  Hefting the linens bag off her shoulder and into the back of her car, she closed the door with a little more force than necessary and marched to open the front one. Exasperated, she tossed her purse into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. A few minutes later, she maneuvered into traffic, headed for the cleaners to drop off today's towels and things and pick up fresh ones for tomorrow, her thoughts still spinning.

  She should have called and canceled the movie date with Jordan Parker as soon as she'd gotten home on Monday. If one more member of her family—extended or otherwise—congratulated her for finally putting her past in the past and moving on from what had been one of the most emotionally tragic moments of her life, she would.

  For a minute, she imagined she could see his expression when she called him to say she had changed her mind and even the imaginary flash of pain she pretended she could see in those sexy eyes of his made her wince. Darn it, why couldn't everyone just leave her alone about it?

  Why couldn't they understand she was telling the truth when she told them she and Jordan were only going to be at the movies together because he was new here and wanted to familiarize himself with the local surroundings? He'd only recently moved to Hawthorne Grove. Like he'd said, it wasn't as if he could pick up the phone and call any one of a score of people nearby like she could and ask them to join him. There was only Sam Huntingdon, and she couldn't blame him for preferring his first visit to The Grove Cinema be with a female—especially given that this Saturday was couples night—which was why they were only playing romantic comedies. But the more her family and circle of friends who called congratulated her on her decision to go out, the more Kaylee thought doing so might be another of those Very Bad Ideas she occasionally had.

  It took less than five minutes to do the drop off and pick up at Dee's Linen and More. In six, she was back on the road, a quarter hour from home, and her thoughts—as they had been all week—were on her upcoming date with Jordan again.

  Obviously, her friends were reading more into the casual night out than they should, and she had almost expected that. Her family, however—she'd really thought they understood why she'd removed herself from the singles scene for the past four years and why she had no plans for ever going back in.

  Daniel.

  The heart-breaker.

  The dream-killer.

  The sweetest, most tender, wonderful love of her life who had broken off their engagement the day she'd hurried to his apartment from work to show him her wedding dress. For six months, she'd saved to buy that specific dress. Her entire goal? To be the most beautiful bride possible for the world's most perfect man.

  She'd believed he deserved it.

  They'd been together all through high-school. They were so obviously meant for each other, they'd been voted Couple Most Likely in their senior year. For four years, he was there for her, and she had truly believed they would be together forever. He'd even been waiting for her at the
door when she ran up the steps to his apartment, a smile on her lips, sparkles in her eyes, and her heart spilling over from the sheer happiness she'd felt in that moment.

  Looking back, she could only guess her own emotions had blinded her completely to seeing the lack of his, which was why she had made a promise to herself to never get so emotionally involved she could not see what was right in front of her face ever again.

  At home, she unlocked the door to her small, one-bedroom apartment and then nudged it shut with her heel without bothering to lock it again. Hawthorne Grove's crime rate was practically non-existent. Everyone knew everyone here—well, except for Jordan Parker, and now she was obligated by her own words to try and help him change that.

  After putting her purse and keys aside and slipping out of her coat, Kaylee went to rummage through the fridge and cabinets in the kitchen. She might be exasperated with the way her family was treating this thing with Jordan, but she still had to eat. She decided on a salad. With any luck, she'd be able to finish it before Jo called.

  Her sister was the only one who hadn't yet phoned or dropped by to quiz her about the mystery man she was going out with Saturday who had, reportedly, swept her off her feet. Kaylee snorted at her family's misguided romantic fantasies. Jordan was more like to knock her over than sweep her up, if their first meeting was any to go by.

  Without effort, her mind drew an image of him the way she'd first seen him, complete with bomber jacket and dark glasses, and she smiled. He was a cutey, if she were honest about it. In fact, he was downright hot. If cousin Mindy ever crossed his path, she'd be flat out drooling. But then, she reminded herself, Min had found Daniel drool-worthy, too.

  While she put together several leafy greens, some onion, shredded cheese, ham squares, and a handful of croutons in a bowl, her thoughts drifted back to the last time she'd spoken to Daniel Smith.

  Wedding dress day.

  She had hurried to meet him at the door, pressing an exuberant kiss to his cheek without noticing his less than enthusiastic response as she pushed inside his apartment. But she had noticed everything he said and did shortly thereafter. It was as if the entire world had slowed to a crawl and no matter how desperately she had wanted to in that moment, time itself would not allow her to run and hide.

  “I've met someone” was his answer when she'd giddily asked if he wanted to see the gown she'd be wearing when she became the luckiest woman in the world. “I never expected it to happen this way, but I hope someday you will understand” were the last words he'd spoken before leaving her alone, utterly dumb-founded and confused, to meet his girlfriend at the airport in Center.

  That day was one of the most exciting and thoroughly devastating days of her life. It still affected her badly, even two years later, when she thought about it. Cruel as memories often are, hers from the day of the breakup were downright ruthless, and all this happy chatter from her family and friends over her innocent acceptance of an invitation to see a movie with Jordan Parker was bringing back every one she'd ever had, in vivid, bleeding color.

  What little she'd had of an appetite vanished. A sigh of disappointment slid past her lips and she got up to toss the uneaten half of her salad into the disposal. Frowning now, she flipped the switch, then rinsed her plate and fork before setting them aside to wash later, suddenly wishing she could get rid of her memories of Daniel as easily as she had her dinner.

  Still lost in thought, she left the kitchen, wandering semi-dazed through the living room until she was standing behind the sofa, looking down at the table where she'd put the beautiful water globe from Seville's. Gently, she lifted it from the stand. Despite the frozen scene depicted inside, the glass was warm in her hands. Her mind was still plagued but the heat from the ball was soothing. Carrying it with her, she rounded the sofa and sat, legs tucked beneath her, and quietly contemplated the cozy imagery inside.

  Why did everyone seem to think she'd forgotten? The humiliation, the agony, the thousands upon thousands of tears? The endless days she'd spent curled in a lonely, miserable ball in the middle of her bed because she was too heart-stricken to go out, to be seen in public? It had taken her weeks to recover enough from the shame to show up as a volunteer at the shelter again, and months passed before she'd felt confident enough to reopen her grooming shop in town, but nothing felt the same.

  Daniel's desertion just weeks before their wedding day had almost ruined her. Everyone who knew her and knew how badly the breakup had affected her also knew she had no plans to ever put herself in a position to feel such an unspeakable depth of anguish, ever again. But she'd said yes when the new guy in town asked her to sit with him through a movie and her family acted like she'd announced another engagement!

  Staring, mostly unseeing, down at the snow globe through eyes glazed with a sheen of unshed tears, Kaylee tilted the glass ball from side to side then turned it over to stir up the white flakes inside and watched, dazed, for the hundredth time since she'd gotten home this evening as it trickled slowly down.

  How could they? How could they expect her to even pretend she was ready to attempt the whole relationship thing again? Romantic entanglements were the last thing she was interested in and her family and friends should know that. This thing with Jordan was only about being a good citizen, a friendly neighbor, so to speak. She was helping him to adjust, to acclimate to a new town, new places, and new people. Plus, he'd promised no strings. If she thought, even for a minute, that he had expectations for the evening, she would call and cancel immediately, but …

  Oh, for grief's sake, Kaylee! Why don't you stop pretending? Stop analyzing and just admit it! It's not your family being happy you're going out again that bothers you. The truth is, you're afraid. You know Jordan Parker asked you out because he obviously feels that … that something that wants to sizzle between the two of you when you're together, and you are terrified of having said yes to him because you feel it, too!

  On the outskirts of town, in a smallish two-story ranch nestled cozily in the center of a small grove of aged hawthorn trees, Jordan stared down with a feeling of utter dissatisfaction at the newly restored and finally dry antique letter box sitting open on the newspaper lined work table in front of him.

  After days of carefully dismantling, sanding, tediously replacing broken bits and pieces before rejoining and refinishing the whole, he knew the antique box likely rivaled its original beauty, but just as with the score of other pieces he had collected and restored over the past ten years, there was no real sense of accomplishment, no fulfilling sense of completion now that the work was done.

  With a sigh, he picked up the finished box and headed in from the garage to put it in the place he'd cleared for it yesterday on the mantel in his living room. Maybe Stacy was right. Maybe it was time he stopped wasting time on trying to put broken things from the past back together as good as or better than they were before and started working on the future—his future.

  Whistling for Sarge, he closed the garage door and went through the back door to the living room—the only room in the house with a fully functioning fireplace. Carefully sliding the box onto the mantel, he raised the lid, then closed it again. There was nothing inside it, the same as there was nothing to put into the eighteen other similar boxes he had spread around the house. So why did he continue to buy them? What, exactly, was it that drew him to the darn things in the first place?

  According to his ex-girlfriend, he was obsessed. The fact that the boxes he collected were actually valuable antiques had held no significance to her. Aside from restoration, he did nothing with them. Other than supposedly gaining value as long as time continued to pass, the boxes served no purpose and had no discernible function other than to sit—useless and empty—wherever he placed them.

  Dust collectors, that's what Stacy had called them. How often had he heard her complain about their presence in his apartment, claiming the only things they were good for was to collect dust and take up valuable table space—space he theoretically co
uld have used for other, more serviceable purposes—like to display half a dozen half-empty bottles of nail polish, or several glossy brochures of expensive, exotic places to which he had no intention of traveling but where Stacy plotted and schemed to get him to go, or to store piles of colorful unfolded feminine underwear.

  Drumming his thumb in agitation against the mantel, Jordan seriously considered packing the boxes up again, including the new one. It had been almost two weeks since he'd made the purchase and he still wasn't sure why he had done so. But when he glanced again at the box on the mantel, every inch of the exterior wooden surface newly polished and glowing with a rich, warm, amber-gold sheen, he immediately decided against it.

  Right now, he had more important things to do—like drive over to Sammy's for coffee. Sam had an old chiffonier he'd gotten at an estate sale a year or so ago that was missing a couple doors and some of the drawers were falling apart. He wanted Jordan to have a look at it and he'd promised free coffee as payment.

  Sam probably wanted to pester him some more about getting into the antique restoration business, too, but Jordan had no intention of listening. He hadn't been teasing Kaylee when he'd told her about selling the IT business. He had enjoyed it, but it had taken a lot out of him, too. He wasn't sure he was ready to jump back into the business world again. Besides, putting a few old boxes back together was one thing, but reconstructing vintage furniture was another thing entirely.

  Grabbing his coat, he whistled for Sarge again and headed out, locking the door behind him. At the truck, he opened the door and bent to help Sarge into the cab. “Come on, boy. Sammy's waiting.”

  During the drive, he kept thinking about the boxes, about his reasons for collecting them, about why he couldn't seem to find a real use for them, but at the same time, he didn't want to let them go. Answers continued to elude him, but he did manage to come up with a viable solution. If he didn't find a use for the letter boxes soon, he promised himself, he would get rid of them—all of them—even if the only way he could make himself do it was to gift them to his family and friends as birthday presents.