It was the way his jaw was sharp but left a shadow underneath. He was all wolf with that jaw even though he couldn’t change shape. She paused, wondered if he could and what his skills were, and then shrugged the thought off. The light hit his cheeks highlighting the high points, making the hollows even more dramatic. But there was also the way his hair stood up as if it crackled with energy that hadn't been present the last time she'd seen him.
But what was the same? It was the way he looked at her and saw…her. Her, her. He didn’t only see Scarlett, the Mommy—all that Grant had seen of her for years. Gus saw the dreamer. He saw the woman who worked endlessly to support her kids. The girl who had worn roller skates every single day, everywhere for an entire summer. He saw the woman who would eat pizza at any time of the day, who loved baking and decorating cakes but rarely ate them, who loved the smell of lavender and roses. He saw the woman who woke in the night, worrying even when there wasn’t a murderer to be caught, and the woman whose temper burst out of her like a rocket but was otherwise oddly mild-mannered.
And he saw the woman who wasn’t ready for him to be possessive—even though he always had been—who wasn’t ready for him to insert himself into her life even though she’d missed him like a lost arm—who was full of trepidation and worry and was going to overthink every single step of her new life for a while.
He reached out and touched her cheek, just for a moment and then said, “I’m sorry.”
Scarlett handed him her coffee and said, “You owe me big for that one, ya jerk. I’m burned on my fingers, and you scared me to death.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I…”
“Don’t,” Scarlett said, “You know I’m evil in the morning. Hold this.”
She slapped the basket into his hands and started running her fingers over the plants, asking them for herbs, and feeling after their offering. She snipped and snipped as the herbs tangled over her fingers, telling her hello in the way plants did—with shivers of their leaves, puffs of their herby scent, and bright little shots of welcoming energy. The giving nature of plants renewed her in a way that seeing Gus lurk in her garden never could.
“I’m sure there’s something to eat,” Scarlett told Gus ungraciously and opened the door to the bakery. Henna looked him over, unsurprised, and handed him some cinnamon rolls that were coming out of the oven while Scarlett ignored them both to start another round of dough.
There was something so familiar in starting the dough, measuring the flour, adding the yeast and the water. She was making cinnamon loaves and the sweet scent of it was tickling her nose and making her want to almost dab it on her skin.
She set it to rise a few minutes later, moving onto cookies and then forming and boiling the bagel dough that Henna had made. When Scarlett had set those to bake, she began rolling out cinnamon roll dough.
She moved and baked and was soothed, never noticing when Gus left—only that he was gone and that a couple of hours had passed almost without thought. A timer Henna had set beeped and she flipped the sign on the door to open, letting in the first of their customers who walked up the moment the sign was turned over.
Because she knew Scarlett, Henna waited until Scarlett started humming as she worked before asking,“How are the girls?”
“They love the horses and the grove and they had ice cream for dinner,” Scarlett said as she started a brown sugar topping for her special brown-sugary cinnamon rolls.
“What did Harper say about leaving her blood at the crime scene?”
Scarlett buttered the pan, and spread browns sugar across the bottom of several pans, adding cream and mixing as she considered her answer.
“She won’t say.”
Henna humphed and continued sprinkling seasoning over the bagels she was putting in the oven. It was so early that most of the town was surely asleep.
“What’s been going on around here, Henna?”
“What do you mean?” Henna was lining pans with parchment paper as they worked in an orchestrated dance, they hadn’t done since Scarlett was in high school, but the steps came back with few mishaps.
“I mean how did Lacey Monroe get to be mayor?”
Henna shrugged as she dusted the pans with flour and started portioning the dough into balls and forming the loaves to rise in the pans.
“She was always mean and nasty, surely that didn’t change?”
“She was smooth,” Henna said working with a nutty whole wheat dough which would be amazing with a faux-tuna salad sandwich. Scarlett’s stomach had finally woken up and started grumbling. Unlike many, she preferred her sweets later in the day and took a break to make herself a bagel sandwich with egg, cheese, and sautéed vegetables.
“Did you want one?” Scarlett asked as her knife flew through the red pepper.
Henna nodded, and Scarlett made them food.
“Smooth how?” Scarlett asked, cracking the eggs into the pan.
“She came around, sweet-talking, leaving little gifts, buying things at your shop. I thought, why Henna, that Lacey sure has grown up. I wouldn’t have thought she’d turn out so nice. I never even realized…”
Scarlett glanced up as she flipped the egg, laid down the cheddar cheese and topped it with the sautéed veggies, “You never realized it was all an act until it was too late?”
Henna nodded, flushed, and then shook her head. It was this silent berating of herself that really peeved Scarlett off.
“Don’t,” Scarlett said, taking the toasted cheddar bagels that Henna handed over and loading them up with their breakfast. “Don’t do that to yourself. You gave her the benefit of the doubt and that was the druidic way.”
Henna poured them another cup of coffee and led the way to one of the tables near the window. “You wouldn’t have been taken in.”
“There was nothing Lacey could have done to make us friends after my childhood,” Scarlett told Henna. “Which is not the druidic way.”
“But your vote wouldn’t have been stolen by that harpy.”
“So…” Scarlett said, shrugging that statement off. She wiped her forehead and then stretched her neck. Baking was much harder physically than managing an office. “She finagled her way into office. Why hasn’t she been voted out?”
Henna took a deep breath and then said, “No one will run against her. She’s too nasty.”
“Really?” Scarlett heard the shock in her voice. “Surely someone in Mystic Cove wouldn’t care what she’d have done to them?”
“There’s only been one election since Lacey got voted in, but…”
Scarlett looked up at the sound in Henna’s voice. It was the sort of dawning suspicion that looking back provided.
“But,” Scarlett said for Henna, “Now, you think that someone might have been….persuaded to not run?”
“Blackmailed is more likely,” Henna said pragmatically. She cut her breakfast bagel in half and said, “I’m right ashamed of myself Scarlett. Myself and everyone in this town. What were we thinking?”
Scarlett stretched again and as they ate, she thought about all she’d learned, all she heard. When they were done eating, she asked, “What happened between Lacey and Gus?”
Henna shook her head and her answer was a muttered, “Who knows? Gus never said a thing and everything I heard from Lacey or one of her friends changed with each telling. Have you asked him?”
“Oh,” Scarlett said, shrugging, “I’m not sure he'd tell me...we haven't been close for a long time."
Henna cackled so long and hard at that statement that she choked and had to lean over her knees to catch her breath.
“What?” Scarlett asked when Henna fell silent.
“You don’t think you can get him to tell you.”
“It has been a long time.”
“That boy,” Henna said, laughing and talking through tears, “has been in love with you since kindergarten. You could ask him for his liver, and he’d slice it out himself.”
Scarlett shook her head and said,
“That’s crazy. We were just buddies.”
“No,” Henna said, wiping her eyes, and letting out stray giggles, “You are and always have been blind to him that way. Wake up.”
Blind, Scarlett thought? She wondered if what Henna said could be true.
“Even if that’s true,” Scarlett said, pausing when Henna burst into laughter again, “Me and the girls need a break, and I don’t know what I want beyond a nap and a shower where one of my girls doesn’t climb in and steal the hot water.”
Maybe she was lying to herself. Which was not the druidic way. But she didn’t want to admit that her heart and brain had disconnected from Grant as a part of a couple for a long time. She knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to LOVE and be loved. She wanted to fall asleep in someone’s arms and wake to someone kissing her temple. She wanted to feel wanted. To feel needed. To feel desired. She wanted to feel.
But, Scarlett couldn’t say that because then she might start admitting the rest. That she was terrified to love again. That she was hurt. That she was afraid. So afraid. The very idea of even opening that door in her mind made her feel broken inside.
Henna took a sip of coffee on that statement and shrugged. Maybe there wasn’t anything to say, maybe she was catching her breath, Scarlett asked her next question to change the subject, “What’s the deal with Abby?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“She strikes me as…off.”
“Oh, she’s one of those quiet types, not good at making friends. Or dating. Sad little thing. Like always. Surely you remember her? She hasn’t changed much.”
Scarlett took a big bite and considered. In a lot of ways, Abby really was the same as her high school self with a more mature face.
“And Kelly?”
“Oh tight as thieves with Lacey. Came campaigning with her. Kelly put up posters and ran around wearing Lacey’s button and talking her up. Even ran that fall carnival and the holiday pageant for Lacey while Lacey walked around and schmoozed. Really, Kelly worked her behind off for the mayor. All for free.”
Scarlett’s lips twisted—this was an old-fashioned gossip session, and the teenage part of Scarlett hated it. She was supposed to have been above this, not nosing into her neighbor’s business. But there was a part of her that cared and wondered and—even worse—compared herself to her old classmates. If they lined up in a row, would Scarlett be the biggest failure? She shook her head and told herself that they wouldn’t be talking like this if Scarlett didn’t have to protect Luna, but Scarlett wasn’t sure she bought her own lies.
“What happened between Lacey and Brad?”
Scarlett had known that Brad and Lacey broke up and he and Kelly had married less than a year later—but Scarlett’s memories of that trio were with Lacey and Brad being the ones who were all over each other and Kelly the one who had dated a string of runner-ups. Memories of Brad in his football uniform and Lacey in her cheerleader gear making out against the lockers made Scarlett shudder before she refocused on the moment.
“Lacey dumped him and dated this guy who moved to town, oh, wow…around like eight years ago. Not long after you and Grant married. What was his name now?” Henna sipped her coffee and tapped her cheek, clearly searching her memory while Scarlett had to hold back her desire to snap at Henna that it didn’t matter.
“Oh, that’s right, Evan Macelton. He was rich and gorgeous. Even I noticed. Lacey chased him like a dog in heat. It was pathetic. She’d have been only in her early 20s and Evan was, 40 if he was a day. He was attractive, but Lacey was way too young for him. Anyhow, Kelly snapped up Brad before Lacey gave up on Evan. He moved away later—he was some sort of engineer or something. Traveled and worked in new places. The man never intended to stay here long, but by the time he left, Kelly was married and pregnant and Lacey acted like it didn’t matter.”
Scarlett examined her old friend’s face, reading it, and then asked, “But you don’t think she really felt that way?”
“I think she chased every eligible man after that and never got another. She even connived poor Gus into dating her. And she was after that new fellow, Lex. Speaking of boys that make you feel a little dirty—that man gives even me thoughts if you know what I mean. I even heard Lacey tell Kelly to start juice-fasting for the coming bridesmaid's dress.
Henna’s wrinkled face said what she thought of Lacey and Kelly. Given the druidic way of calmness—quiet stream thoughts and such, Scarlett was surprised to see so much irritation on her old friend’s face. Scarlett had never been very good at the deep root thoughts, but Henna was. She was an established druid, and she followed the way carefully. And yet…here she was.
“Oh geez,” Scarlett said and rose. This was making her remember how things had been in high school. It was resurrecting the girl who was still fighting for confidence and remember the hard times. How would it have been to have never left? Poor Kelly—she was gorgeous, but Lacey never did let anyone feel good about themselves. Imagining what Kelly’s life must have been like made Scarlett happy that Lacey wasn’t around and therefore, Scarlett also hated herself a little bit.
“You know what never did make sense to me about Lacey Monroe?” Henna’s face was a study in concentration and focus.
Scarlett glanced up waiting for an answer.
“How she finally made friends with Abby.”
“What?”
“They had lunch together every Friday and breakfast on Tuesday. They went shopping together on the weekends.”
“Shut up,” Scarlett said, shocked into near-silence. The last of her egg sandwich dropped from her hands onto the floor.
Henna chuckled and then said, “Seemed to really bug Kelly, actually. She has lunch with Lacey every day—except when Abby does.”
“Huh,” Scarlett said, baffled. “That is just weird.”
“Mmmmm-hmmm,” Henna said and then stood, “Let’s get baking, huh? We usually get busy around now.”
Chapter 8
“Why hello there.”
Scarlett turned and faced the stranger. Operative word being stranger. This was the first person she’d seen since being home that she couldn’t immediately identify as a tourist: large bag, sunglasses, walking shoes, and rumpled shorts. This man was wearing jeans, hiking boots, and t-shirt snug over a large, muscular chest. There was something about a strong man and a tight tee that demanded that Scarlett consider what was under there. She liked it better than a bare chest because she had a great imagination—the truth was usually a disappointment.
She had to snap her gaze from his pecs to his face, and he caught her ogling him.
Given how he had to be new to Mystic Cove and he was so very pretty, Scarlett couldn’t even imagine the ripples he must have sent through the women in town. She’d give a hundred dollars to have been able to see Henna’s face the first time she caught sight of this man walking into the bakery. There was something incestuous about lusting after Gus. But this stranger—he was like free eye candy.
Especially given he was built like a wrestler: all wide shoulders, big legs, and strong hands. His head was shaved, his eyes were a cool blue, with just the right amount of scruff on his chin, but he moved like he was the strongest guy around which made Scarlett want to kick him in the back of the knees. But only a little bit because he had a glint of humor in his eyes that saved him from crossing the line into a total jerk-bag.
“Hello.” Her voice was as curious as was his gaze roving over her. She was certain her curiosity was quite a bit less interested in that way. She felt like she’d been judged and weighed, but she couldn’t decide if she’d been found wanted or found wanting. She told herself she didn’t care, but she was sure he’d come to some sort of conclusion and curiosity was as present in her mind as her irritation that he hadn’t even tried to hide the direction of his thoughts.
She watched his gaze travel up and down her body, taking note of her green eyes, the curves of her body, and—if she were honest—her tangled mom-bun, her jeans she’d worn
for who knew how many days in a row, and the epic bags under her eyes. She hadn’t looked this bad since right after Luna was born.
“And who have we here?”
Oh. Oh no he didn’t. “Did you really just speak in the third person?”
He laughed a growly, toe-curling sort of laugh and then said, “It’s this town. It makes you a little crazy.”
“On that, we don’t disagree, but my face is up here,” she said pointing at her chin—ignoring the double-standard since she’d been ogling him. “And I’ll give you exactly 1/2 of a point for the charming delivery of one of the most horrible lines I’ve ever heard. Who are you? What do you want?”
“Lex.”
He said it like she should have heard his name. And maybe—ok certainly—she would have heard it if she weren’t barely back to Mystic Cove herself. The people around here had been so busy getting the dirt on her personal trauma and rehashing Lacey’s death, they didn’t have to spread the lesser rumors.
All she said, however, was, “Lex no last name?”
“Lex Warder,” he said, grinned, and rubbed his jaw. And doing those things in a way that said he knew she would be interested in him—that he was used to perking the interest of all the single ladies and most of the ones who weren’t single.
She rolled her eyes and said flatly, “Hello, Lex.”
She said it like she was his grade school teacher, and she had found yet another frog in his pocket. Because he deserved it, she turned and walked away from him. The last thing she needed was some self-obsessed, too knowingly handsome, too sure of himself, too arrogant—what? Warlock. She glanced back and thought, yes, definitely, warlock.
“Hey now,” he said. “I saw you look back at me.”
She paused and then said, “Only to see if my guess was right. Warlock?”
He shrugged, but there was the slightest nod of his chin in confirmation.
“Ok then.” She went to leave again, but he stopped her yet again.
Bedtimes and Broomsticks Page 6