Curiously Enchanted (Witches of Hawthorne Grove Book 2) Page 8

  Glancing at Sam again to make sure he hadn't noticed how the lump of emotion swelling in her throat made her eyes go all watery, she searched his face for—something. Courage? Motivation? Support? To her surprise, she found all three in waiting for her.

  “You can do this, Emma. I'll help. If you run into a challenge, let me know and I'll help you work it out,” he promised. Though she found it surprising, she realized he meant it. “Your work is superb. You deserve to be recognized for it.”

  Well, that put roses in her cheeks—and warmth in her heart. Coming from him, the compliment seemed so much more meaningful although she wasn't sure why. For reasons she really didn't understand at the moment, she nodded. “All right. I will.”

  His grin was worth the concession. Not to mention it set off all sorts of happy fireworks inside her when he turned the full measure of it on her.

  “Atta girl!” he cheered. “And now that you've made the decision to go ahead with it, you should celebrate. Call your family. Call Lindsay and the rest of your friends. Heck, if you want, you can have them all come here. I know a caterer—”

  “No,” she said, cutting him off. Somehow the idea of sharing her news with the rest of the world didn't seem comfortable. But Sam...

  “I'd rather have a nice, quiet dinner at home.” Peeking up at him from behind her lashes, she asked, “Would you care to share it with me?”

  Something flashed in his eyes alongside the subdued happiness she saw. He nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Emma's hands were still shaking when she pulled up in front of the grocery store. What in the world had she been thinking? She still couldn't believe she had invited Sam to have dinner with her. One minute she had been thinking logically and rationally, and the next, she'd let her stupid mouth ramble out that stupid invitation. Now she not only had to cook she also had to smile and be a gracious host for however long it took them to eat dinner.

  “Why, why, why did I open my mouth?” Reaching into her purse, she took out her phone. She would call Lindsay. Lindsay would know what to do. She would help her figure out how to cancel tonight's dinner with Sam without looking like a total jerk.

  Before she could press the little phone icon, something made her hesitate. Did she even want Lindsay to know about what had happened between her and Sam? In her mind, the conversation played out. “I dropped off some research at the One Stop, Sam kissed me. I met him at the lingerie shop where I signed a contract without reading it. Then I had to call Sam and find out what the contract had been about...”

  Emma could easily imagine Lindsay's wide eyes, her dropped jaw, and the million and one questions that would inevitably follow. Lindsay Vale had a curious streak a mile wide and Emma knew she would not stop needling until Emma spilled every detail—even the bits where she would have to admit to being interested in Sam. No, she decided. Best to leave Lindsay out of it. But she mentally weighed the pros and cons of her invitation even after she got home with the ingredients she'd needed to make dinner.

  Glancing around the bag she was carrying, Emma heeled the door shut behind her and bent to put her purse and keys on the table by the door. She hoped Sam's tastes weren't too refined because the only thing she could think of to cook for the two of them was a simple meal of steak au poivre with mustard sauce, baby potatoes, and brussel sprouts.

  “Meow.”

  “Hi, Chloe. Did you miss me?” Leaning sideways to put the bags on the table, Emma bent to scratch the spot on top of Chloe's head between her ears, and started to apologize for being late. “Sorry it took so long. After I stopped by the One Shot to pick up the contract from Sam, I had to go by the grocer for steak and veggies. Can you believe what I did? You'll never believe it. I asked Sam to come over here for dinner. With me. Genius, right?”

  The cat twitched her tail and stared up at her in silence while Emma busied herself with emptying the bags and putting away food.

  Finished, Emma propped her hands on her hips and blew a stray curl out of her eyes. “I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking!” she corrected. “If I had been, then none of this dinner business would have been necessary.”

  Chloe cocked her head to one side, peering up at her mistress. “Meow.”

  Emma huffed out a sigh and bent to scoop the cat into her arms. “I know. I know. You're only interested until I put out your food, right?”

  Lying contentedly in the crook of Emma's arm, Chloe purred while Emma went to the pantry to collect her food, chattering on to the cat about the coming dinner engagement as she did so.

  “What am I supposed to do for the half hour or so it takes us to get through dinner, Chloe?” she asked the feline. Depositing the cat on the floor, she opened the cat food tin and grabbed a spoon to dish half of it into the cat's bowl. “I don't talk to people. I'm not a conversationalist. I'm a—a watcher. An observer of others who actually have a life. Unlike me.”

  Chloe glanced up at her once and then promptly ignored her in favor of the meal awaiting in her dish.

  “What if I burn something? What if I can't think of anything to say to him once he gets here?” Emma continued, completely disregarding her pet's current inattention. “Or worse, what happens if I forget this is the real Sam again, not the Sam from my dreams, and I let him kiss me? Or I kiss him?”

  Her gaze drifted back to Chloe, who had finished her own dinner, and sat quietly grooming her fur while her owner indulged in a momentary mental meltdown. “It's days like these when I really do wish I believed in magic, Chloe. I could really use a confidence spell or two right now.”

  The cat got up, shook once, and padded over to the bedroom door. “Meow.”

  Emma arched a brow. “Really? I suppose you've forgotten what happens every time I touch that quilt.”

  “Meow,” the cat said again, and Emma made a quick decision before she had too much time to think about it.

  “Okay, fine. I'll try it, but after I get dinner going. I'm warning you, though, if it looks stupid, you'll have to come up with something else in a hurry. I have a feeling Sam Huntingdon is the kind of man who is never late.”

  Chloe sat back on her haunches and flicked an ear.

  Emma laughed and spun toward the kitchen. “Wow. I can't believe I'm discussing this with my cat—as if you could really help me feel better about being alone with a man I've barely met. I can't believe it even matters.”

  In the kitchen, she took out a casserole dish and went to the fridge for the steak and mustard. The meat would need to marinate for a bit and she had just enough time if she started right now.

  “Sam is just a guy I'm having dinner with. There's no reason to try and impress him, right?” Realizing she was talking to the cat again, she she shook her head. Muttering under her breath, she went to dig a spoon out from the drawer for the mustard. “Right.”

  Champagne in hand, Sam looked up at the row of two-story townhouse apartments lining the street where Emma Riley lived and realized he actually felt a little nervous about having dinner with her tonight.

  His brows rose at the realization. Being out of his element felt odd. He'd always just seemed to fit into any scenario or situation, except when it came to Emma. With her, there was a quiet whisper of caution in the back of his mind telling him to be careful or he would mess things up. The same voice promised if he did that Emma would probably never want to see him again.

  Tread lightly, tread lightly, he repeated to himself, letting the words play rhythmically in his head in perfect sync with the sound of his footsteps on the stairs as he made his way up to the entrance of her apartment.

  Tonight's invitation to dinner had not been easily won. He was well aware Emma had invited him only because she thought she owed him something for winning a book deal for her, but Sam didn't care. A thank-you dinner was as good a reason as any if it allowed him to see her again.

  “You're early,” Emma said from the now open door of her apartment. She'd opened the door in front of him before h
e could raise his hand to knock. Sam glanced at his watch, then back at her, and grinned.

  “Five minutes. Which means I'm right on time. The champagne can chill a bit more before we pop the cork to celebrate.”

  “You brought champagne?” Taking the bottle of Krug Clos d'Ambonnay from him, she motioned for him to follow her inside, then read the label on her way to the kitchen.

  Sam followed, his eyes taking in the way her bright hair flowed over one shoulder across the soft, buttery colored sweater she wore before focusing on the swing of her lemon yellow bohemian skirt while he tried to remember this wasn't a date. Emma had not dressed up for him, he reminded himself, but he was still secretly thrilled to see her in an outfit that didn't hide every one of her womanly assets from view for whatever reason she'd chosen to wear it.

  “You weren't supposed to bring anything,” Emma grumped good-naturedly as he followed her deeper into the apartment. “You already did your part with the contract. Dinner was supposed to be all me.”

  Sam's thoughts took an unexpected stroll on the naughty side and he almost choked on the sudden urge to laugh out loud at her clearly unintended double entendre. He knew she hadn't meant what she's said the way it sounded. If she had, his reaction would have been far different. Still, his brows rose and he tilted his head to indicate the bottle she held.

  “If that's the case, maybe you'd better leave that out,” he said, his lips working in a vain attempt to hold back his chuckles. “Wouldn't want you to get a chill.”

  “Wow. You brought a two thousand dollars a bottle champagne and we're having simple steak au poivre with potatoes and brussel sprouts.” Glancing up in confusion as if she'd just realized he'd said something, she said, “Wait, what?”

  “Never mind,” Sam told her, waving away his comment as unimportant. “I love steak au poivre and the champagne is perfect for the occasion. We are celebrating, remember?”

  “Right, although I still can hardly believe it.” After a quick shake of her head to bring her back to the present, she pointed through the arched doorway leading off the smallish galley kitchen before opening an overhead cabinet.

  “Dinner is in there,” she said over her shoulder as she selected a matched pair of glasses for the champagne.

  Sam noted they were made of the finest cut crystal, and when he walked into the dining nook, he couldn't help but be impressed by the selection of elegant dinnerware and silver service she'd laid out for their meal. “Wow. Is this how you normally have a quiet dinner at home, or did you do all this for me?”

  Joining him in the nook, she shrugged. It's usually just me and Chloe and I tend to favor the Chinet but as you've mentioned, we are celebrating.”

  Gaining a new appreciation for the woman who leaned over to set the glasses she'd brought onto the table beside each of their place settings, Sam nodded in understanding. Still, he couldn't help but stare quizzically at her when she came back from the kitchen with their plates and took her seat across from him. Emma Riley clearly had refined tastes—something he hadn't expected though he did wholeheartedly approve.

  “Something wrong?” she asked, noting his curious expression.

  “No, not at all.” Forcing himself to pay attention now to dinner rather than the intriguing woman who was sharing it, Sam picked up his fork and knife to try the steak. It was the perfect temperature and so tender it practically melted on his tongue. He took a minute to savor the flavors of pepper and mustard sauce before slicing off another bite. “Mm. This is delicious, Emma. Maybe in addition to writing books you should open a restaurant.”

  Glancing up, he noted the sudden blush on her cheeks. She ducked her head and concentrated on cutting her own portion. “You certainly are good at making a girl feel accomplished.”

  “You are accomplished. You were already a fantastic researcher and writer before I came along. I didn't have anything to do with that.”

  “I don't know about fantastic—” she broke off. “Still, I would never have thought to submit that particular piece to a publisher and I have you to thank for the resulting contract.”

  “And so you have, with this delicious dinner. I appreciate that you offered to share it with me. I had hoped we might—” He broke off to consider his words. Motioning to the meal in front of him, he said, “I want you to know you didn't have to do this to repay me for anything, Emma. Other than hoping to be given the opportunity to share what you had learned with my customers, I didn't expect to get anything out of what I did.”

  Leaning back in his chair, one side of his lips curled wryly upward, he said, “Well, other than a chance to see you again, that is.”

  Cocking her head to one side, Emma peered curiously across the table at him. “Why did you want to see me again?”

  Sam knew he needed to think his answer through if he didn't want tonight to be the last time he saw her, but found himself blurting, “You intrigue me. I'll even admit I was curiously enchanted with you from the first time I laid eyes on you in the antique store.”

  “Enchanted. Right,” Emma said with a slow roll of her eyes.

  She didn't believe him but for some inexplicable reason, it was suddenly very important to Sam that she did. Completely serious now, he leaned forward and said, “Emma—I like you. You're a beautiful woman with a lot of talent, likely in more areas than I've had time to discover. You're passionate, too, although you probably don't like to admit that. You're obviously careful about getting involved with anyone. And particular.”

  When she said nothing, only continued to stare at him as if she couldn't possibly believe anything he was saying, he said, “I see hints of deep intelligence in those gorgeous, coffee colored eyes when I look at you, and to be honest, I am actually a little terrified you are just way too sharp for a guy like me.”

  Afraid he'd said too much already, Sam told himself to stop, to wait for her to respond. But words continued to spill from his lips, words he needed to get said before she called foul on his attempts to impress the truth of his interest in her. “The combination of all those things showing up—all qualities I admire—packs quite a wallop for a guy like me. All I get to see is a whole lot of mediocre most days.”

  He shrugged and picked up his knife and fork again to slice another portion of steak. “I'm sorry if you find my intrigue strange, but all of those things I've mentioned stir up a crazy sort of need in me to find out what else you might be hiding behind those impossibly long lashes of yours.”

  Blinking said lashes to break the direct contact of their gazes, she lowered her eyes to stare quietly at her plate rather than meet his eyes and Sam sighed. “My only ulterior motive, if I even have one, Emma, is that I would like to get to know you better. Is that so hard for you to accept? Or is it that I am really that distasteful a person to you?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Emma wanted to melt into a puddle in her chair and drip down onto the floor, out of his direct line of sight. Everything he'd said, all those nice things he'd said about her, couldn't possibly be the truth, even if she wanted them to be. Using the quilt for a tablecloth had been a terrible idea. Touching the thing wasn't just affecting her—it was obviously affecting Sam, too.

  Casting an accusatory glance in Chloe's direction, Emma tried to find her tongue. “I—I don't find you distasteful at all.”

  She didn't. Not only was he easily the most handsome man she'd seen in a while, he was easy to talk with, listen to, easy to be with, and most of all, easy to want more from. Especially when one dreamed about him every night. The scary part was how much she was enjoying his company, his presence, right now.

  Night after night, she had dreamed of him and after she woke, she'd thought about what she had dreamed until it was time to sleep again. Tonight, being with him like this over a quiet dinner in her apartment, it was like he'd never left and she liked him being there. In her home. In her life.

  The realization jolted her. “Sam? What are we doing here? Not here, in my apartment, but here … together? Yo
u and I, we don't, this isn't...”

  “Magic,” Sam finished for her. Gesturing toward the table, he said, “Jordan and his fiancee, Kaylee, would swear it's the quilt you picked up at Sevilles, but I don't believe it is. Our attraction, the things we feel for each other, they're real, Emma.”

  Emma's eyes widened and she leaned away from the table so she wouldn't be touching the material. “The quilt? What about the quilt?”

  Humor flashed in his eyes and he chuckled. “Kaylee believes the Seville sisters possess supernatural powers, that they are somehow able to infuse objects from their store with magical abilities—like the ability to bring two people together.”

  That would explain the dreams, she thought. Her interest more than piqued, she leaned forward again. “Did she buy something from Sevilles, too?”

  Sam nodded. “A snow globe. Inside was a house that she swore was a tiny replica of Jordan's place. She even admitted to seeing his dog in that thing once.”

  Emma's brows rose but she said, “Why would she think it possessed magic? Just because there was a house and a dog inside doesn't mean...”

  “Every time she looked at it, she thought of Jordan—to the point of distraction, apparently, because now she gives the thing credit for bringing the two of them together.” He gave her a look. “Silly, huh?”

  Her head cocked to one side, Emma ignored his question to ask one of her own. “What about her fiance? Did he buy something from the sisters as well?”

  “Jordan?” Sam nodded. “A letter box. He found a dog tag inside. To hear him tell the story, that little metal tag led him to the shelter where Kaylee volunteers. They promptly fell in love and the rest is history.”