Callie looks over her shoulder at me and rolls her eyes. “The friends and family discount is fifteen percent. That’s it, Weston. Graysin, in exchange for my friendship and generosity, I will see you Saturday night for plate painting.”
With that, she steps around Everett and slides out of the house.
I place the book back on the pile before locking eyes with him.
“Do I even want to know what plate painting is?”
“It’s an annual event, Plate Painting in the Park, as it’s formally known. Every April, the town’s residents vie for the coveted honor of having their plate design be chosen for the local shops to sell to tourists who come into town, as a souvenir.”
“So, you win money?”
“Bragging rights.”
“Strange contest.”
“It started back in 1876. According to Miss Mary Beth, who loves to share Havenwood Falls history, legend has it there was this witch—”
“A witch?”
“Yes, a witch who had two great loves: hand-painted, china plates that she collected, and her familiar, a purple pig. Supposedly, out of spite, one of the founding families served the pig for dinner one evening at a party they hosted, in retaliation for a curse she placed on a family member.”
My mouth falls open. “They ate the pig? That’s horribly gross.”
“The witch didn’t take too kindly to it either. Grief-stricken, it was said she turned mad and began to paint scenes of the town on plates. Each also had an image of a purple pig on it. When she was finished with a design, she spelled it and gifted it to someone at the dinner party who’d eaten the pig. Her magic caused the scene to come to life and suck the soul out of the being who received the plate, trapping their soul forever within the china, tied to the pig. Today, when you paint your design, it must incorporate a purple pig somewhere on it. As tribute to her familiar.”
I stare at him. “This is the weirdest town I have ever been to.”
“I have a feeling it’s about to get even weirder for you.”
Everett looks around before pinning me with a knowing glare, which causes me to swallow.
“What?”
“You seem pretty sober.”
“I am . . . I mean, the alcohol’s effects have faded.”
“Right.” He throws me a cocky smirk. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the inn.”
“You don’t have to. I can walk myself.”
“I insist. That is, if you’re done here?” he challenges.
He motions for me to go ahead of him, which I do without argument. We walk side by side in silence through the town square, lost in our own thoughts. A cool breeze rushes over me, causing me to shiver. When I do, Everett stops in his tracks and shimmies out of his leather jacket before stepping into my space and placing it over my shoulders.
The body heat trapped in his jacket radiates into me, along with his scent. “Thank you,” I whisper, as another light breeze lifts.
Looking down at me, Everett lifts his hand and brushes away the piece of hair the wind has moved onto my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. “I know you’re not here just for the design job.”
Holding his gaze, I remain silent.
“You can trust me, Graysin. I promise you that.”
My lips part to reply, when the street lamp above our head explodes, drowning out my words.
The lights in the square flicker on and off, before one by one everything pops and cracks. Sparks and glass rain down on us, and a sharp pain pinches the skin next to my eye. Without hesitation Everett tugs me to him, curling his body over mine, protecting me from the showering debris.
Covering our heads, Everett weaves us through the tiny pieces of glass raindrops toward his house. Once we’re safely inside, he steps back and looks me over. “Are you all right?”
I nod, unable to speak, as he picks a small piece of glass out of my hair.
“Graysin?” he prompts.
“I’m fine,” I huff. “I’m fine,” I repeat more calmly, trying to convince us both.
“Stay here,” he orders, and heads back out into the street.
After the shock and adrenaline start to recede within me, I step toward the window pane framing the front door and look out. Everett is talking to a guy wearing jeans and a flannel shirt as they stand next to a black Chevy truck. They’re leaning in, speaking in hushed tones.
Suddenly they both slide their gazes toward the front door, to me. I catch the stranger’s shadowed gaze before he turns his focus back to Everett, and they finish their discussion.
Exhaling, I step back and head into the bathroom to assess the damage. There is a deep cut under my left eye that is bleeding, and about a thousand pieces of glass are lodged in my hair.
I’ve started to pluck shards out when the front door opens and closes. Everett’s boots are heavy on the floor as he makes his way into the bathroom. He watches me for a brief moment before stepping in and wrapping his fingers around my wrist, preventing me from cleaning out the glass.
“The safest way to get the pieces out is to take a shower. Come on.” He leads me by my wrist to the stairs, and I pull my arm back, stopping him.
“I can just go back to the inn, it’s fine, really, Everett. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Your hair is full of glass, and you have a bad cut near your eye. Besides, the sheriff and his team are out there trying to figure things out. It’s best to stay out of their way.”
“Is that who that guy was you were speaking to?”
“Yeah. Ric Kasun.”
“Was anyone else hurt?”
“No. Luckily, we were the only ones out at this hour.”
I look up the flight of stairs.
“Come on.” He threads our fingers together and pulls me up the stairs. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Once we get to the top of the landing, I notice that Everett’s combined two back rooms into one big, cozy living room. We pass a full bathroom as he guides me down the long hallway toward the front of the house—the layout upstairs mirroring the downstairs.
He stops us in front of a set of double doors and opens them, bringing us into a minimalist-decorated master suite. We don’t stop until we’re in the attached expansive bathroom.
“Sit,” he orders, pointing to a bench positioned in front of a tall window.
Taking a seat, I watch as he opens the glass door and turns on the rain showerhead. Steam billows out of the oversized glass shower, fogging up the mirror positioned on the gray wall that reflects the crystal chandelier hanging over the Victorian tub.
After rummaging through a drawer under the double sinks, Everett kneels in front of me on the rug adorning the black and white tiled floor. Opening the first aid kit, he takes out a cotton ball and antiseptic packet. I stiffen, trying to keep myself calm, because I know it’s going to sting.
Everett moves slowly toward me, his eyes locking onto mine, making my chest tighten.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice low and rough.
I nod, unable to speak.
“I want to be sure there isn’t any glass inside the wound,” he says in a calm manner, moving closer, his breath fanning my cheek as he gently inspects my injury.
When he dabs the wound with the little ball of cotton, I try not to flinch. My eyes squeeze shut, as I attempt to keep myself calm. My breath picks up while I bask in the warmth emanating from Everett’s body as he leans close to me, cementing me to the bench. His touch is soft and gentle.
My lids flutter open when I realize his hand has stopped moving, but his body is still close as he stares at me. Remaining still, I focus on the unreal verdant layers of his irises. When he shifts closer, his gaze never leaves mine as his breath grazes my lips, causing my body to tingle.
With the lightest touch, his fingertips run down my cheek, and my breath halts.
“Shower.” The word comes out raspy and rough.
I stare at him, shocked. “You want to shower with me?” I whisper, confused.
Everett’s brow creases. “Do you want me to shower with you?”
“Yes,” I breathe out dreamily and without thinking, before quickly coming to my senses.
Everett flashes me his cocky grin.
“Wait. What?” Mortification crosses over me. “No, I mean— I just— You said . . .”
He laughs, apparently amused by my ramblings. “You. You, Graysin, should shower. Alone. Get all the glass out of your hair. Just be careful not to cut yourself or step on the shards, okay?”
“I’ll be naked.” The three words fall out of my mouth without consideration of their meaning. I groan at myself and my idiocy. Am I twelve? “Meaning, I have nothing to wear after I shower.”
Everett chuckles again and stands. “I’ll leave some clean clothes on the bed for you.”
“You want me to wear your clothes?”
He runs a hand through his thick hair. “If you prefer, you’re welcome to remain . . . naked.”
“No!” I shout, without meaning to. “I mean, thank you,” I say, calmer. “That’s fine. Your clothes. Mine. Whatever,” I ramble, unable to stop the verbal diarrhea coming out of my mouth.
“There may be small pieces of glass on your clothing, so leave them in the corner, and I’ll see to it they’re cleaned for you. Fresh towels are in the second drawer down on the vanity.”
“Thank you, Everett,” I whisper, and smile. “I mean it.”
He looks around uncomfortably. “I’ll just leave you to it then.”
“Perfect.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Okay.” He spins, and as soon as the door clicks behind him, I roll my eyes.
Pull your shit together, Graysin. Seriously. Stop propositioning him sexually.
An hour later, I’m standing in a towel in Everett’s bedroom staring at the T-shirt he’s laid out, having an internal battle with myself about whether or not I should put it on. If I do, I know it will smell like him and make my brain stop functioning properly, and honestly, I can’t afford to humiliate myself in front of him any more.
I throw a dirty look at the cotton tee and go back into his bathroom to put away the hair dryer and hang up the towels I’ve used. To waste time, I dig through my bag and pull out the mascara and gloss I always carry for emergencies, as well as my body lotion.
Another twenty minutes later, I’ve run out of excuses not to wear his shirt or leave his room. Giving up, I pad back into his brown-toned room, sigh, and slip on the I Believe in Gargoyles tee, glaring at the strange logo. Gargoyles? Between this, the witch story, and Callie’s gypsy comments, I’m starting to think the residents of Havenwood Falls have a supernatural fetish.
My toes dig into the plush carpet as I admire the large bed, the minimalist side tables and lamps, and the small bookshelf, backlit with an amber hue, that hangs over the headboard. His room is abnormally clean and void of personal items. It’s weird. I run my fingers over the natural raw jute grasscloth wallpaper and eye the smoky brown quartz he’s inlaid in the furniture and around the room. It’s the same stone as in his beaded bracelet. He must have a thing for it.
A few minutes later, I’m heading down the hall toward the sound of the TV coming from the upstairs living room. Peering in the doorway, I look around to find the side of Everett’s head peeking up from a chair. Try not to say anything stupid, Graysin. Be normal.
My gaze follows his to the large, flat-screen TV taking up most of the wall on the left side of the room. A long console table sits underneath it. In the middle of the room are two couches, separated by two oversized square ottomans, decorated with trays on their tops. Tables with lamps flank each couch. Everything is designed tastefully in warm, earthy-brown tones.
I study him. He’s sitting in one of two chairs facing the TV, separated by a small table made of the same brown quartz. Interesting. Behind him is a large pool table with a masculine light fixture hanging over it. A wet bar with cabinets and a small fridge sits on the wall behind the pool table.
The other two walls are lined with bookshelves. It’s masculine and cozy.
When I walk in, Everett’s focus shifts from the TV to me, and my heart stops beating.
He’s wearing lounge pants and nothing else. Literally. No socks. No shirt. I know this because I’m staring at his perfect, chiseled, tan chest. My gaze falls to his stomach muscles and the small patch of dark hair lower, before landing on the Celtic tattoo on his forearm. Clenching my teeth, I return my eyes to his chest, where there is a circular tattoo in black ink over his left pectoral, just above his heart. I can’t make out what it is, though.
“Hey,” he greets, yanking me out of my gawking.
“Hey. Hi. Hey . . .there . . . you.” And there goes all control I thought I had over my mouth.
“It’s constant with you, isn’t it?” he asks.
“What is?”
“The awkwardness?”
I dip my chin in agreement. “Apparently so.”
He watches me curiously, like I’m a cute enigma. “Pellegrino?”
“Please.”
Everett stands and turns toward the wet bar, giving me a full view of a large phoenix tattooed in black and brown ink and shading, covering the entirety of his corded back. God. It’s beautiful.
I watch in awe as he bends over, opening the small fridge and pulling out a sparkling water for me. “Do you want a glass with ice?” he asks.
“You’re fine,” I respond. “I mean, you’re fine— Crap!” My voice cracks, and he looks over his shoulder at me. “The bottle is fine.” I say each word slowly and sink onto one of the couches.
He swaggers back, twists the cap off the bottle, and hands me the water.
“Thanks.”
Folding himself into the chair, his gaze dips to my shirt.
“Turns out the lights short-circuited. The crew managed to fix it while you were showering.”
“That’s good news.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes when he looks at me. “You okay?”
He points to my eye.
“The skin feels sore and tight, but that’s it.”
“Did you find everything you needed?” Everett’s gaze skims over my bare legs.
“I did. I’m afraid there might be a ton of glass in your shower.”
“My shirt . . . looks good on you.” His tone is rough.
“That’s a large tattoo you have on your back,” I blurt out, changing the subject.
“It’s my family crest.”
“And the one on your chest?”
“A symbol of something I represent.” His attention falls back to the logo on my shirt.
“Does the Celtic tattoo also have a special meaning?”
His impassive gaze meets mine. “It protects me from the darkness.”
I search his eyes. “And what kind of darkness would you need protection from?”
He sits back before speaking. “The kind of darkness that haunts most people’s nightmares.”
Chapter 5
Phoenix Rising
A contented sigh escapes my lips as I stretch and yawn, lazily waking up. It feels so good to get a peaceful night’s sleep. Truth be told, I haven’t had one in over a month—not since Jenni. My lids flutter open, and I push myself up a little, taking in the luxurious bed I’m perfectly tucked into.
In Everett’s master suite.
“Oh shit,” I mumble into the empty room.
Groaning at myself, I fall back into the soft mattress.
“Coffee?”
“What time is it?”
“Ten. In the morning.”
With a startle, I sit up and throw off the covers, swinging my legs over his heavenly bed.
Everett pauses for a few seconds, leaning on the door frame, before slowly approaching me, steaming coffee mug in hand. His expression is full of trepidation, and I’m curious as to what is causing it. His eyes fall from mine, slowly grazing over me until his attention is back on my face.
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“If I give you this,” he lifts the mug, “do you swear not to throw it on me?”
“I’m late for work,” I whisper-shout, ignoring the jab.
“Technically, you’re already at the office.”
My head drops into my hands. “Oh my god. I slept with my boss.”
“Not to point out the obvious, but you slept in the same house as your boss, not with him. For the record, I was on the lower guest level, and you were up here, with an entire floor between us.”
An awkward, pained screech jumps out of my throat as I peek at him through my fingers.
Everett’s eyes search mine, making my heart go all crazy, and I force myself to ignore it.
“An entire floor that houses the office we work in, together. Oh no. Miss Mary Beth.”
“Here.” He pushes the coffee at me. “She doesn’t work on Tuesdays or Thursdays.”
Another awkward sound between a cry and a groan grips my throat.
“Graysin.”
“Everett.”
He squats down, pushing back on his heels as I cling to the hot coffee cup for support. “And if something were to happen between us, we’re both adults.”
I stare at him, shocked and insanely curious. Does he want something to happen between us?
“If you’d like to take your time, you’re welcome to. Your clothes have been laundered for you and are free of glass shards. They’re hanging up on the back of the bathroom door. When you’re ready, I’ll meet you downstairs, and we can begin our day. Maybe without awkwardness. Yeah?”
I frown into my mug. “How did you know I take a splash of cream and coconut crystals?”
“I can read your mind,” he says, seriously.
My gaze snaps to his. “Very funny.”
Looking at me, he offers a sly grin. “I tend to think it is, especially when you talk to yourself.”
My mouth falls open. Everett stands, winks, and saunters out of the room. What the hell?
My gaze runs over the antique pieces as excitement fills me. Over the past few weeks I’ve been shopping mainly online and in catalogs for the library. It’s nice to be able to touch and feel the pieces of furniture I’m considering using in the design. It’s also nice to be away from Everett. Since my impromptu sleepover weeks ago, things have become a bit weird between us. Even so, some of the things he said that night have lingered and plagued me, causing my imagination to run wild.
Covetousness: A Havenwood Falls Novella Page 5