But then he started thinking. If she was banging around the kitchen like that, she was probably pissed off. And the only thing they had talked about was . . . the fact that she was cursed. Which was, of course, ridiculous.
Then he remembered that winter. It had been just after the holidays, and he’d been working late. Downtown was quiet, and he was trying to get some paperwork finished up for tax season. But he’d kept getting distracted, as usual, by just the idea that Mona was out there in her pink food truck. He had seen her when she’d pulled up in the morning, and when he’d gone out for lunch, and then when he’d happened to need to stretch his legs late in the afternoon, and so what if his distraction had taken him to the window that had a full view of the street where she was parked. She’d had that side window with the fold-out counter closed, but there had been a big APPLE OF MY PIE IS OPEN sign in the middle of it. Mona periodically appeared at the little side window, opened it to wave at people, handed out a hot chocolate or a warm muffin. She’d worn a bright pink knit hat and a pink-and – white-striped scarf that practically covered her entire face. Every time she’d leaned out to a customer, he saw the white cloud of her breath, and even though she’d been smiling, he thought, Why is she doing that to herself? It was freezing, and she was clearly not comfortable. Later, as he’d conveniently stretched his legs in front of his street-view window, he’d noticed Mona closing up for the night. Business can’t have been worth it, he remembered thinking. Then he saw a few flurries start to fall and he was glad she was going. That truck probably wouldn’t be great driving in the snow, and he’d wanted her to get home safely. Not that he cared. But the snow was just starting so it wasn’t dangerous yet, and it still looked pretty drifting down in front of the street lights. He’d looked up to fully admire the view, and he remembered the moon, gigantic and full and hazy from the snow clouds drifting in.
A full moon.
How could that be? In his experience, everything had an explanation, every problem had a solution. Every solution could be uncovered with cleverness, determination, focus, elbow grease, or some combination thereof. There were always solutions, and solutions could always be found.
But a curse? How do you fix a curse?
If there even was such a thing.
There must be another explanation. But the more he struggled to find one, the more evidence he found to support what she’d said. Every time her truck was out there, he had noticed. And every time she left, he noticed. Mona’s truck appeared outside his office window, the full moon appeared at night.
There was also a solid amount of evidence pointing to the possibility that he was a stalker.
But he didn’t follow her; she parked outside his office. Obviously, she was the stalker.
The cursed stalker.
Because he was a prime candidate for a stalking—a small-town accountant who was, he had to face it, generally pretty uptight.
Except when he was with Mona.
She brought out the fun in him.
Curse or no curse, she was worth a gamble.
Mona hoped Dan had fallen back to sleep, because she was about to run the mixer and it was going to be loud. If her night was going to be ruined . . .
No, she didn’t really want to ruin his night. He was probably awake, planning his escape from the crazy baker lady. But she couldn’t seem to get a handle on her emotions. Not that she was normally buttoned-up—she had a bit of a reputation for her quick temper—but she had never felt such violent shifts in her feelings. One minute she wanted to sock Dan in the jaw, the next she wanted to rip off his clothes.
There was an undercurrent of violence in both, she noticed.
She dropped a chunk of butter into the mixer and pushed it down into the flour with a big wooden spoon. Not violence, she thought. She pushed the button, and the mixer whirred to life, beating the butter and flour together into a creamy dough.
Not violence. Passion.
She felt passionately about him all the time. Sometimes it was passionate annoyance, sometimes it was just plain old red-blooded passion. But no matter what her feelings were for him, she felt them very strongly. More strongly than she was used to. More strongly than she was prepared for.
When the mixture was the right consistency, she stopped the mixer and started to wrestle the beaters out of the bowl.
“It already smells good in here.”
She squeaked in surprise and nearly dropped the bowl. She managed to get it onto the counter but lost control of the wooden spoon. She bobbled it a few times, like juggling a hot potato, and finally caught it in her hand. She held on tight and turned to face Dan.
“You’re up,” she said, noncommittally. She also took in his nearly-naked-but-for-his-boxer-briefs body noncommittally. Totally not committed to finding him attractive. Not at all.
She looked at him for another second, then had to turn back to her dough. Those eyes were too generous, and she was trying to enjoy the last comforting seconds of believing he was an asshole.
“I really do want to help,” he said, stepping up closer behind her.
She was suddenly, acutely aware of the thinness of her robe. He was still practically on the other side of the kitchen, but his body heat was distracting her. It was messing up her system. She had a lot to do and not a lot of time, and she was used to doing without help. Frankly, she thought it would be faster if she could do it all herself, the way she was used to.
So she explained it to him.
“No.” Not the most loquacious explanation, but it got her point across. Mostly. “But thank you.”
He just shrugged. Was this man completely impervious to insult?
“Do you mind if I just watch?”
She did mind, what with the thin robe and those blue eyes and the fact that, even though she had washed up, she could still smell him on her.
But then he sat down on a stool in the corner of the kitchen and pulled the pizza box open. She was about to tell him that she couldn’t give him an oven to heat it up when he pulled out a slice and took a big bite.
“I think DiMartini’s pizza might be even better when it’s cold.”
Mona felt exactly the same way about it. God, if they felt the same way about cold pizza, they might as well get married.
“What?”
Had she said that last part out loud? He was annoying and annoyingly handsome, but she didn’t want to scare him off.
“Nothing,” she said, hoping he would just forget it all.
Because Dan was so good at letting things go.
“People have gotten married for less, you know.”
Nope, he wasn’t letting it go.
“People have gotten divorced for less, too.” Two could play at not letting things go.
“OK, let’s see what we’ve got.” He stood up and started pacing the far wall of the kitchen. “We both like cold pizza, that’s a plus. We both work downtown, usually. We could save on gas, that’s a plus. We both love Delicious, definite plus. We both . . . are intimidated by Mrs. Harris.”
Mona laughed. “You’re her boss! How can you be intimidated by her?!”
“Have you ever done something she doesn’t approve of?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, you’d know. She’s terrifying.” He went back to pacing. “What else? I have a stick up my ass and you’re more go with the flow. A lot of people would call that a negative, but I think it’s really a positive. I think we could balance each other out.” She shivered as his voice was a whisper in her ear. She hadn’t realized that he had come up behind her. “And you really showed me how to loosen up earlier.”
She turned, expecting to melt into his embrace. But he was gone, back to pacing.
“We both think my butt looks really good in these boxer briefs.”
She blushed, but when he turned around and wiggled his eyebrows at her, she laughed. His butt did look really good.
“Those are all positives. So, really, I don’t see any reason why we s
houldn’t get married.”
Now she really laughed, her breath coming out in a shocked cackle. “Dan!”
“Don’t you feel this between us? There’s something here.” Suddenly he was at the counter again, directly in front of her. “Something powerful and amazing, and I don’t want to just walk out of here until you promise you’ll see if this can work between us.”
So far Dan had always kissed her with his eyes closed. She knew that, so she closed the short distance between their mouths, welcoming the reprieve from his sharp, tender gaze.
But she pulled back quickly. “There’s one negative you didn’t mention,” she said, stepping back to the counter.
“What?” he said, eyes still closed, leaning in so his arms rested on the counter on either side of her hips.
“I’m cursed, and you don’t believe me.”
He opened his eyes then, but he didn’t straighten. His arms tensed, and his gaze bored into hers, hot and intense.
“That’s the thing, Mona. It doesn’t make any sense, no rational sense at all. I don’t want to believe you.” She started to turn away, but he grabbed her chin and she was forced to lock on to his gaze again. “I don’t want to believe you, but I do.”
Ten
It was ridiculous, of course. But as Dan leaned his forehead on Mona’s, he felt very very sure that, even though it was ridiculous, she was telling the truth.
Mona was cursed.
So what could he do about it? He could try to figure out how to fix it. There had to be a way to fix it: every problem had a solution.
He would just approach it the same way he approached every project. Do a little research, get all his ducks in a row, and then . . . attack. Or solve. Attack and solve.
He didn’t know where he could find information on curses or how to break them—did they have stuff like that at the library? He could at least observe Mona and see if there was anything in the way she was baking that might give him some clues. So he let her go and watched her get on with her work.
She broke an egg one-handed on the side of a mixing bowl. Pretty impressive. He ate half a slice of pizza in one bite. That was about the extent of his culinary talents. Slightly less impressive.
“So what made you decide to believe me?” she asked as she cracked another egg.
He shrugged as he chewed his mouthful of delicious, cold pizza. Then he realized she couldn’t see him while she was facing the counter, so he swallowed as fast as he could without choking. “I didn’t decide to believe you. I don’t think you can decide to believe anything. You do or you don’t. With you, I do.”
“Despite your best judgment?”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re the first cursed person I’ve ever met.”
He watched her stir and pour, her forearms flexing with the weight of the bowl.
“Do you think there are other people in this town like you?” he asked.
“What, you mean cursed?”
“Yeah. Or with special abilities. Special and sporadic abilities.”
“I don’t know. I don’t really talk about it much.”
“Maybe there are a whole mess of you, and you guys can form a coalition and save the world.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “With muffins?”
“Hey, your apple cake is really, really good. Don’t underestimate it.”
Mona leaned over and put a pan of something gooey into the oven.
“How much more do you have to do tonight?” he asked.
“A little more. The rest I need to do in the morning.”
“It’s almost morning now.”
She looked up at the clock and frowned. “OK, the rest I need to do in a few hours.”
“You need some sleep.”
“I don’t sleep during the full moon. I’m used to it. And even if I had time to, I can’t. When I sit still for too long, I get kind of itchy to bake.”
“Ah, the curse.”
“The curse. I’ll sleep tomorrow night.”
“Well, if there’s nothing else to do until tomorrow . . .”
She raised her eyebrows at him.
“. . . you could have some pizza.”
“Ha! I thought you were going to say we could make out.”
“We can absolutely make out if you want to, but aren’t you starving? It’s always sex with you, young lady. I’m beginning to think you’re just using me for my khakis.”
Her stomach growled.
“And I got the pizza all nice and cold for you, just like you like it.” He inched the box in her general direction.
She smiled, and for the first time since she had left the bed—her bed—it reached her eyes. She took a bite of the slice he held out to her, then went back to work.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood like that, watching her move around the kitchen with fluid confidence. It was the same way she moved around Apple of My Pie—quickly, but not rushed. It looked like she knew what she was reaching for before her arm even moved. Sometimes he swore the cabinets opened before her hands reached them. But that, surely, was a trick of his sex-addled mind. She was cursed, not Mary Poppins.
When she looked like she could take a three-second break, Dan stepped in with another slice of pizza. She told him she didn’t usually get to eat when she baked, and she thanked him. But he wasn’t sure she actually saw him. She was calm and focused, the eye of a baking storm. One minute he saw flour and sugar and butter, and then suddenly he was seeing pie crusts and cookies. Some of them went into the oven, some she covered in plastic wrap and maneuvered into the already-stuffed industrial-sized refrigerator. He started to offer to help, but she obviously had a system, because she would shift something just a fraction and suddenly there was room for whatever was in her hands.
Eventually, though, Dan had to admit he was not a superhuman like Mona obviously was. He was just an accountant, one who had appointments tomorrow and a business to run. He should go. He should leave her to her baking and talk to her tomorrow, maybe stop by for something sweet on his lunch break, or maybe offer to get Mrs. Harris her morning treat. And then tomorrow night the moon would be decidedly un-full and he could have her all to himself.
But he didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. He didn’t want to interrupt Mona’s flow, either. So he cleaned up the pizza mess, leaving the last two slices on a plate for her, and he headed to bed. As he lay down, he hoped she would wake him up when she got there. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.
Mona surveyed the mess in her kitchen and nodded, satisfied. She had plenty to do in the morning—which, as she checked the clock, was in a few hours—but she had gotten enough done tonight that it wouldn’t be a crazy rush. Just the usual rush. She was happy. All that done, and with the massive distraction of the Hot Accountant.
She was feeling pretty good about herself, and she wanted to share that feeling. But when she turned, Dan was gone, just a plate with two slices of pizza in his place.
Had he left? His keys were still on the counter, so maybe he’d been so alarmed by the reality of her moon magic that he’d run out, leaving his car behind. Maybe he’d left his pants, too. Then she saw a shadow move outside her window. Oh, great, now she was going to get murdered, she thought. But then the shadow moved and the moonlight hit it just right, and she realized it was Dan. Dan, basking in the moonlight in her yard, his shirtless form framed by the apple trees. It was a nice picture.
She headed to the door to join him, ignoring the call of the plate of pizza. Her stomach was going through enough right now as the pull to go outside fought in her guts with the pull to stay in and hide. She didn’t think she could take pizza, too.
The grass felt soft and dewy under her bare feet as she padded over to Dan. There was a slight breeze that lifted the ends of her hair, tickling it across her forehead and clearing the air so she couldn’t smell flour and butter anymore, just trees and summer. The moon was low, but it was bright, and it reflected Dan’s pale skin so it looked like he was g
lowing out here in her little apple orchard. As he watched the sky, she took the chance to appreciate the fine muscles of his arms and shoulders. She stayed in the shadow of the house, ogling her accountant.
No, he wasn’t her accountant. He said he believed her about her curse, but she wasn’t sure if she believed him. And even if he did, there was something about this guy that was too good to be true. This world did not make men who were kind and hot and hard-working and sincere and hot. Or if it did, they were also secretly ax murderers. Oh, God, she was going to get ax-murdered in her yard. She knew it. And her friends knew to leave her alone when she was baking; she wouldn’t be discovered for days.
She must have made a sound, because Dan turned. When he faced her, he smiled. It was dark, but light enough that she could see that this was not the smile of an ax murderer. This was the smile of a kind, hot, sincere, hot man who believed her curse was real and was still really into her.
She ignored the knot in her stomach and stepped out of the shadows to meet him.
“Hey,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. So comfortable, as if he’d done it many times before. “I just needed some air after a great nap. You done?”
“For now.” She rested her head on his shoulder, relaxing into his warmth. She never slept during her cursed-baking extravaganzas, but she felt close to it now. Standing in her backyard, with Dan’s arm around her shoulders, she felt closer to sleep than she had in days.
She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Usually she just went on a baking binge, and then slept for about twenty-four hours. It wasn’t the most healthy cycle, but her body had more or less gotten used to it. Not that she had a choice—she couldn’t sleep if she wanted to. Once right out of high school, she threw all of the flour and butter and baking powder in the dumpster behind the diner, hoping that some distance between her addled brain and baking ingredients would let her sleep. But, no. At four a.m. she was driving miles and miles to the nearest all-night grocery store, and even with stale ingredients she baked masterpieces. That was the first time she had made apple cheese tarts, and now they were one of her best sellers.
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