He looks at me like I’ve just uttered a string of bad words, his furry eyebrows so close together that they almost look like a caterpillar on his face. He nods toward the bottle of water. Taking the hint, I get to work pouring out two glasses.
“There’s three working today, Ro,” he says.
I frown, glancing from him to the other guy with him, Samuel, his usual helper, but before I can ask who, there’s a bang, a muttered curse, and then a freakin’ god-like man comes through the opposite door.
No, not man, a teenager, like me but holy crap so not like me at all. He’s carrying a hearthstone across his shoulders, his face is strained as he lifts it higher so he can maneuver it into the room. His arms are bulging with muscles I wouldn’t think possible on a guy my age—and he’s definitely around my age because I’ve seen him at school. Seen, but never talked to, because Luca is some kind of football god and is way outside my social circle. He’s tall, dark, and mysterious, a grade ahead, and usually fully clothed. Right now, I’m staring at the definition of his upper body under a very thin white tank top, wondering if Ethan is onto something with the whole athlete thing.
“This is Luca,” Mr. Columbus says as he finishes downing his lemon water. “Apprenticing with me.”
Luca grunts something in my direction before lowering the hearthstone down. I feel like I’m drooling…am I drooling? I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen muscles like that before or even knew I had a thing for muscles like that.
“Hey.” He brushes his hair out of his eyes with his forearm as he straightens. “Could I get some of that water?”
His voice is so deep. His eyes are so green. His lips— “Ah, yeah, sure.” My face feels hot. Crap, I’m blushing. Ugh, how embarrassing. I turn my back to the guys and pray that my face will calm the hell down. Mr. Columbus puts his glass back on the tray and I refill it before making one up for Luca.
I’m just turning around with it in my hand when Luca steps up next to me. “I know you.”
I almost drop the glass. I have no idea how to respond to that.
Samuel and Mr. Columbus pull out their cigarettes. “Ten minutes, then we’re back to it. Thanks for the water, sweetheart.” They nod at me before leaving the room.
I hold out the glass of sparkling water for Luca. We’re alone now. Let the awkward silence begin.
He takes his glass. He’s standing pretty close to me. So close that I can see the beads of sweat on his skin and get a waft of his scent and it’s pretty appealing actually, spicy kinda and full of heat…wait…what? I don’t even know what that means but my body definitely does. I’m amped up, like I’m standing too close to a live wire. My heart is about to short-circuit and I’ve got this twittery urge to gush out a bunch of nonsense words about school, or homework, or even how much he smells like Chai tea. Somehow, I keep my mouth shut.
He downs the water, then flips his hair out of his eyes again. “You do go to Fern County, right?” he asks. His eyes are the kind of green that look like you could get lost in them, framed by long, dark lashes that even Ethan would die for.
I gulp. Nod.
“I’ve seen you around.”
A sizzle rolls over my brain, like the live wire is ready to spark a flame. I open my mouth. I close my mouth. I’m not sure what to do with that information. He’s seen me? Like, he’s looked at me? Holy crap. I take his empty glass. My hand is shaking. Without meaning to, I sway closer to him. “You have?”
He smiles. His teeth are so straight and white…what a thing to notice. “Yep, I’ve always wanted to say hi, but you’re with that guy all the time.”
He’s wanted to say hi? Have I died? Is this an alternative dimension? I clear my throat. “Ethan? He’s my best friend.”
Luca nods, bites his bottom lip. Oh man. He’s got these firm lips and a scruff on his jaw. It looks soft. I just want to reach up and—
“Cool. Not your boyfriend, though.”
It’s a question but not a question. My stomach floats up to my throat like I’ve just reached G-force on a roller coaster. Is this excitement? Fear? Am I about to throw up? What’s going on here? My mouth is actually hanging open.
“You like books, huh?” He nods toward the bookshelf that lines one of the walls. “You read all of those?”
I jerk my gaze to the books he’s motioning at and shake my head, which helps snap me out of my weird brain scramble. “Some, not all. My mom’s books are there. I mean, not her books that she wrote.” Those are on display in her office. “But the ones she reads for fun.” Which are all paranormal in some way. Not really my thing.
“I met your mom. She’s a cool lady. I’ve seen her on TV before, giving interviews. She sounds like she really knows her stuff.”
“Yeah, she does. If you need to know anything about ghosts, past-life regressions, psychic predictions, all that kind of stuff, she’s the one to ask.” It’s a little strange to have someone my age talk about my mom in a positive way. Usually I get questions or comments that remind me just how freakish she seems to outsiders.
Does she think she’s talking to ghosts all the time? Does your dad’s ghost stop by often? I’ve heard she’s so random, like she could be in the middle of an interview and just stops to stare into space. Your mom probably drinks a lot, right?
“I could get you a signed copy of one of her books if you want,” I say. Maybe this guy is just a fan or more probably, his mom is. So he’s taking an interest in the daughter of a local celebrity to get some free stuff or something. It would make more sense than him knowing who I am, or talking to me just because we go to the same school.
“Thanks, but I haven’t ever been a huge reader of nonfiction, or fiction really lately. Not much time for that when I’ve got practice and games.”
Right. I’ve never actually seen him play—also not my kind of thing—but I’ve heard that he’s really talented, or dedicated, or something that makes him a valuable player.
“But I guess I’ll have more time for that now.” He says it almost like a whisper, hard to hear and holding a tone that makes me frown. I’m just about to ask what he means when he continues. “I used to read a lot of thrillers when I was younger.” He shrugs. “Guess I could get back into that.”
“Well, you’re welcome to borrow any of the books on the shelves.”
While he’s scanning the room, I give him another up and down and find myself impressed all over again. He’s built unlike any of the guys I know. I mean, he’s tall and so fit. I bet there isn’t an ounce of fat on his body. His hair looks so soft, waves that are almost curls of dark brown that make me want to reach up and run my fingers—
“Anyway, you’re Ro, right?”
I try to hide my surprise by fiddling with the glasses on the tray. He actually knows my name. Holy crap. “Um…yeah…Rowan Marshall.”
He chuckles. “Right, as in Dr. Marshall’s daughter, current resident of the Marshall mansion. Pretty cool that you guys are fixing this old place up.”
“Talk around town was that it was going to fall to ruins before you and your mom moved in.” Mr. Columbus grabs a cookie from the tray as he enters the room with Samuel. “What, with your dad’s family gone.” He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
It was five years after my dad died that Mom even found out about this place. He didn’t have a will, so it took a while before the deed passed over to her. My dad and his folks didn’t exactly see eye to eye from what Mom has said. He left home when he turned eighteen and never went back. My grandparents didn’t even know that he was married or that he had a child when they passed away, which is pretty freaking sad if you ask me.
“I always thought this place was cool,” Luca says. I sneak another glance his way. He scans the room and his gaze lingers on the crown molding, then the glass knobs that are basically on anything that requires a knob. He tilts his head so he can eye the coffered ceiling
and I get the impression that he notices things that other people our age don’t. “Haunted as hell, sure, but cool.”
Or he’s looking for things that don’t exist. “Haven’t seen any ghosts yet.”
“Maybe you’re just not looking hard enough.” He winks and it is basically the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
I melt. Seriously, I melt into a puddle of hot mess on the floor.
“Breaks over,” Mr. Columbus grumbles with a nudge to Luca’s shoulder. “We’ve got to get this hearth up before we can call it a day.”
“Well, Rowan, it’s nice to finally meet you. Looking forward to seeing you around.”
He is?
Luca doesn’t wait for me to answer, thankfully. He just grins like he actually means it and that shoots my body right back into outer space.
Chapter Three
I don’t float for long because the size of Mom’s fan mail pile slams me right back to Earth. You’d think in this time of wifi that most people would send their mail via email, but they also still send it the old-fashioned way, by the hundreds.
She’s sorted them by date stamp but it’s going to take me hours to go through them. I suppress a groan even though I know my head will be pounding and my mood underground by the time I’m through with all of this. Mom needs me so I switch to business mode, pushing all thoughts of Luca, his soft looking almost-curls, his swoony green eyes, and his drool-worthy muscles out of my mind.
As I seat myself at the desk, I notice a smaller pile that’s set aside with a sticky note that says start here. With a sigh, I dutifully pull the pile in front of me and pick the first one up.
I check the date. October of last year. I glance at the address, then do a double take because it isn’t addressed to my mom as I would expect. It’s addressed to me. What the…
I riffle through the rest of the small pile. They’re all addressed to me and they’re all dated around the same time …October, November…even one in December.
Right…that’s when I was interviewed with Mom for that Halloween special. First time being on camera and I was sweating buckets. Mom told me to be myself but I had to lie a little when it came to the ghost talk. I don’t believe in the stuff my mom believes in. I mean, I’ve read her books, I understand her research and her theories—I just don’t see what she sees. Granted, I’ve never actually been on one of her ghost expeditions. I’m basing my lack of belief purely on the fact that I’ve never encountered a ghost in my life, while living in a house that’s supposedly haunted. For the interview, I spoke my truth, mostly, but I did make it seem like I’d be open to an experience. In reality, I don’t think an experience is even possible. There’s no such thing as ghosts.
Sorry, Mom.
I open the first letter. Just focus. Don’t dwell. Get them done. I begin to read.
It’s not what I’m expecting.
Dear Rowan,
My dad died in a car accident, too, when I was a baby, just like yours did. I was wondering if you had a way to cope with it because I’m not doing that great of a job all by myself.
…
For the first time in a long time, coming out of a fan letter marathon session doesn’t leave me feeling like a shriveled-up banana, emotionally dehydrated and rotten inside.
After reading all of my letters and working on meaningful responses, I moved onto Mom’s and found the work went by quickly. I’m lighter somehow, unburdened now that the job is done but also like being able to answer the letters of grieving teenagers helped me as much as I tried to help them.
“How’d it go?” Ethan is waiting for me in the kitchen when I wander in to get a snack. I’m not surprised he’s here—he comes and goes as he wants and Mom usually expects him for dinner. In fact, many nights, like tonight, he’s the one cooking it.
“It was good, actually.” I put the glasses from earlier in the dishwasher, then lean in to see what he’s working on. “That smells delicious.” And it does, mint, garlic…
“Pork roast with rosemary potatoes.” His hands are covered in goop that he’s massaging on the meat. It’s totally gross but he’s all in when he’s cooking. “Saw your mom in the front sitting room on my way in. She was talking to him.”
Ethan means she was talking to my dad. Or at my dad…the ghost of him. “She’s doing that more lately.” His urn is in the front room, and when she’s having a particular kind of day, not necessarily bad or good, just one of those days, she goes in there to talk to him. She says that his ashes anchor his spirit but that the residual memory of his time here as a child, which he apparently told her was wonderful, is what helps his spirit to manifest.
“Well, whatever works for her.” Ethan moves to the sink so he can wash his hands. “I didn’t want to disturb her so I just started prepping. It didn’t seem like she’d planned anything for dinner.”
“I think the plan is usually for you to come and cook for us.” I plop down at the island and pick up an apple.
“Well, my dad isn’t working a double shift tonight so he wants to go out for dinner. I can’t stay.” Ethan opens the oven and shoves the roast in before closing the door. “But I know everyone here appreciates my cooking.”
“We appreciate your company. Get it right.” I point the apple at him before taking a bite. It’s tart but also sweet. The flavor hits the back of my mouth, my stomach growls, and I realize that I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.
When Ethan and I met in first grade, we were destined to be best friends. When another kid tried to take a ball away from me, he blasted the kid with attitude like a momma bear protecting a cub. And when we got off the bus at the end of the day and there was no one there waiting to pick him up, he came home with me, marching right up the porch steps despite the fact that my house was the big, scary, haunted house on the corner that everyone always avoided but gawked at from a safe distance. And he’s been doing that ever since.
“We like you more than we like your cooking and that’s saying something.”
Ethan ducks his head in an uncharacteristic show of embarrassment. “Right, my surrogate family.”
Ethan’s mom took off when he was a baby. His dad does the best he can, but he works a lot of shifts at a factory in the city so he’s not around much. Not working a double shift is a big deal and getting to spend time with his dad is at the top of the list of wishes Ethan makes every year when he blows out his birthday candles. I know, even though Ethan is containing it, on the inside he’s a kid in a bouncy castle, especially since dinner out means his dad isn’t going to fall asleep on the couch watching a movie.
He lifts his finger to scold me. “Don’t spoil your dinner, young lady.” And then he pulls a container out from under the counter and shoves it toward me. “As promised.”
The smell of freshly baked cookies hits me straight in the pleasure center of my brain. “Ohhhhh, yes!”
“I whipped these up while I was putting groceries away at home.”
It’s not just the cookies that are ooey-gooey—it’s Ethan, too. He’s always taking care of my gastro-emotional needs.
“Hey, you’ll never guess what happened to me today.” I put my apple core down and pick up a cookie. It’s still got a bit of warmth to it and the chocolate chips are melty. “Mr. Tremmel has me working with Abby on a project.”
He snags a cookie himself. “What?” His eyes are wide. “Oh, no, that’s a partnership from hell.” He takes a bite of his cookie. “Can you get out of it somehow?”
I polish off my own cookie. “Mr. Tremmel is pretty stuck on the idea.” Unlike Mom, I know I can tell Ethan all about Abby’s stupid love spell idea. “Abby wants us to do something for some kind of Lover’s Day.”
“Loooover’s Day?” Ethan wags his eyebrows like a deranged romance hero. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“Neither did I.”
“So, what’s i
t’s like a Valentine’s Day reboot? What are you going to do? Candy grams?” He turns back to the counter. “I love those little cinnamon hearts. Or maybe you guys could get those hearts with the words on them, like ‘get naked’ and ‘hot bod.’”
“I don’t think that’s what those candies actually say.” I laugh. “But, no, Tremmel doesn’t want anything like that.” I pick up another cookie. “Abby wants to do love spells…wait, no, crush spells for hookups.”
Ethan looks over his shoulder and gives me an oh come on look. “Um…creepy much?”
“I know, I know.” I shake my head. “I plan to come up with a better idea tonight so I can change her mind.”
“Good idea.” Ethan shoves a container into the microwave. “Don’t you think Mr. Tremmel will have a problem with something like crush spells? Seems a little too ‘foolish’ for him.”
I hadn’t really considered it but Ethan is right. Mr. Tremmel is a pretty serious man. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him crack a smile about anything that doesn’t involve cats. “Like I said, not my idea. Abby kinda, sorta reminded me that I owe her.”
“You think she knows?” Ethan’s expression is all horror, which probably mirrors the one I had on my face when Abby was talking about changing her focus from science to business earlier today.
“I don’t know, but she told me that she has to do well on this project because she’s trying for a scholarship and needs a referral from Mr. T. Did you know she isn’t all into science anymore?” Of course he didn’t. Why would he? He avoids her more than I do. “She’s focused on business studies now, probably because of what happened…”
Ethan and I give each other a teeth-baring cringe.
“So I went along with it.”
“Well, you do owe her, even if she doesn’t know it was you that ruined her science aspirations.” Then he snorts. “Remember the way her project kind of flew straight up and then splattered all over the judges?”
I do remember. It was a disaster, but spectacular all the same.
Ethan laughs but I know it’s just a cover-up. We both felt like monsters after what happened and then later like despicable cowards when we didn’t fess up. “It looked like a massacre in there.”
Love Spells and Other Disasters Page 3