by Gina Kincade
Miranda glanced over at Ian, standing in the shadow of the doorway, and the way he looked at her, his deep-chocolate eyes full of approval, left her no doubt that he would have done the same thing and given Lily the box too.
“Spencer, is that you? Why are you standing way over there?” Lily asked, turning in the chair to look at Ian.
“Sorry, Lily. I’m not your son.”
She squinted at him. “You’re right. I can see that now. My old eyes sure aren’t what they used to be, but then nothing is.” She waved a thin arm at him “Well, come on in anyway. You don’t have to stay out there. Come pull up a chair for you and your wife.”
Miranda’s cheeks grew hot. “Oh, we’re not married.”
“Engaged, then?”
Miranda wanted to die. “Ah, no, Lily.”
“Why not? You afraid to ask her?” Lily kept her gaze directed at Ian as he took a chair from beside the bed and set it down by Miranda, then went and got another one that was across the room for himself. “A beautiful girl like that won’t stay single forever. You need to hurry up and ask, son, before it’s too late.”
Wanting to shift Lily’s attention onto another subject, Miranda asked, “How did you and your husband meet?”
“We met at the Harvest Fair, fifty-two years ago. He asked me to ride the Ferris wheel, and I knew then that he was the one for me.” A faraway look glazed over her eyes, and she plucked at the blanket on her lap with spindly fingers. Miranda knew she was thinking back to when she was young and in love. “And Charlie knew right away too,” Lily went on. “Didn’t take him long to pop the question. No, it sure didn’t. Those were such happy days. Of course, don’t get me wrong, we had our differences. Sometimes big ones. And there were days when I didn’t think we’d make it, but we always did. And you know how?”
Ian shook his head. “No, tell us.”
“We learned to compromise. It didn’t happen right away, of course. It took work. All things worthwhile do. But you two must know that. I’m sure you have your arguments, but you’re in love, and you do what it takes to stay together. Am I right?”
Miranda didn’t know what to say. Lily seemed so happy reminiscing that she didn’t want to ruin the old woman’s jovial mood by telling her that not only weren’t she and Ian a couple, but they were barely speaking. When she glanced over at him, he was still looking at Lily, and Lily didn’t seem to notice that neither one of them had answered her question, because she continued talking.
“One night we had a huge fight—I can’t even remembered now what it was about—but Charlie walked out, telling me our marriage was over and he wasn’t coming back. It was the worst night of my life. The next day, I looked everywhere for him. I went to his work, to his parents’ house, but I couldn’t find him. I was heartbroken. I couldn’t believe we’d been so stubborn. We’d each put our own wants ahead of the other’s and wouldn’t compromise. Thank goodness, Charlie came to his senses, though. Do you know what that wonderful man did? He bought me this carousel.”
She held the music box up in front of Miranda and Ian. “He said it reminded him of the day we met, and no matter how much he might want something, nothing was more important than our being together.”
Miranda swallowed the lump in her throat. She glanced over at Ian and could see that he too was quite taken with Lily’s story.
“I want you to have this.” Lily held the box out to Miranda.
“Oh no. I couldn’t. It means so much to you.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m giving it to you, so that every time you look at it and play its sweet tune, you’ll think of my story and remember to always treasure the love you share with that handsome man beside you, above everything else.”
Miranda’s eyes filled with tears, and the burn in her throat kept her from speaking.
Ian took the music box from Lily’s hands. “What a wonderful gift to go with a wonderful story. Thank you, Lily. We will certainly treasure this.”
Did he mean that? Or was he just saying that to placate Lily? Miranda leaned over and kissed Lily on the cheek. “Yes, thank you so much. I’d love to come back to visit again, if that’s all right with you.”
Lily’s smile lit up her face. “You’d better.” She slipped the diamond ring on her finger, then closed her eyes.
Ian kissed her good-bye too; then they left the old woman to her dreams.
Outside the door, Ian handed the music box to Miranda. “I believe this belongs to you.”
“Thanks.” So he had taken it in order to keep from upsetting Lily. How ridiculous of her to think that Ian might be rethinking their relationship.
They walked to the car in silence. Ian opened the door for her, and she slid onto the seat, placing the music box on her lap. She was glad when he climbed into the driver’s seat, put the key in the ignition, and immediately pulled out of the parking lot without saying a word. She didn’t want to talk or even think. All she wanted was to go home. Lily’s story had really affected her, making her wish she’d done things differently with Ian. She closed her eyes and tried to make her mind go blank. This had been a terrible trip. Too many memories had been stirred up, along with too many broken dreams.
After what seemed like just minutes, Ian stopped the car. They couldn’t be back in Pleasant View already. When she opened her eyes, she saw that they were in a restaurant parking lot. “What are you doing?”
He shifted the BMW into Park, then turned off the ignition. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I thought I’d take you out to eat.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve been thinking about everything Lily said, and it made me realize I’ve been the biggest jerk. I never should have let you go. Or I should have gone with you to Texas. Done something. Anything to keep us together.”
“No, I’m the jerk, Ian. I shouldn’t have left you. I can always get another job, but there’ll never be another you.”
He opened his arms, and she went willingly into them, leaning her head against his shoulder as he kissed her. When their lips parted, he whispered against her hair, “I never stopped loving you.”
“I never stopped loving you either.” As Miranda was about to kiss him again, her phone rang. She reached into her purse and pulled it out. When she glanced at the screen, she groaned. “It’s my mom with her impeccable timing.”
He laughed. “Go on, answer it. I’ll always be thankful for your mother. If she hadn’t set us up on our first date, I never would have met you, and if she hadn’t bought the music box, I would’ve lost the love of my life.”
“She’s not the best matchmaker around for nothing,” she said to Ian, then into the phone: “Can’t talk, Mom. I’m on a date with Ian.” Before Beatrice could respond, Miranda hung up. She settled back into Ian’s arms. “So where were we? Oh yeah, we were right here.”
She brought her mouth up to meet his, but before she kissed him, he said, “So I guess this means you’ll be my valentine.”
Joy bubbled inside her, giving her a feeling of peace and contentment. She whispered against his lips, “Of course. Forever.”
The End
Where to Find More of Raine English
Website: www.RaineEnglish.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/RaineEnglish
Newsletter signup: http://bit.ly/RaineEnglishNews
Bookbub: www.bookbub.com/authors/raine-english
Facebook Author Page: www.facebook.com/RaineEnglish
Additional Books by Raine English
No Time for Romance
No Time for Love
Amy – Beach Brides
Love’s Light
Bree – Perfect Match
Shadows and Lies
From Now On
The Christmas Gift
A Little Romance
At Second Glance
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Raine English began her career as a journalist, but writing romance novels was her passion. Her stories have won
many awards, including finalling in the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart and winning the Daphne du Maurier Award. Along with sweet contemporary romance, Raine enjoys writing paranormal and Gothic romantic suspense. When not behind her computer, you can find her reading. She lives in New England with her family and her two French bulldogs, Dolly and Bailey.
Paranormal Romance
Magically Delicious
Kat Parrish
1 Flame
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Copyright Kat Parrish 2019
Edited by: Anne-marie Ma
Trigger warning: Several characters in this story are dealing with the deaths of loved ones—mothers, a father, a wife. In every case, cancer is the culprit. This comes from my own experience—cancer has decimated my family and orphaned me at an early age. It took my baby sister, my mother, both my aunts, all five of my great aunts, both of my great-grandmothers and a couple of cousins. It tried to take my younger brother, but he survived.
There is a problematic stepfamily situation that is resolved at the end and also balanced by a loving stepfamily.
One unhappy character body shames another because she’s projecting. We discover the source of her unhappiness and she later mends her ways.
There is a conversation late in the story in which our two main characters discuss a case his cop father was involved with—the Green River Killer case, which was solved with the help of Ted Bundy. (This is true.) This is admittedly dark, but the conversation immediately goes in another, much cozier direction.
Finally, the male m.c. has a sexist persona that masks his more vulnerable side. It is clear that he appreciates living in a world of strong women (including his sister and the heroine) but feels his pugnacious personality is useful for the social justice work he does. Thomas is a good guy.
About Magically Delicious
Love is the secret ingredient.
Lily Ostrander is a witch whose talent is spreading love through her cooking—healing families, strengthening marriages, and generally helping everyone feel better about themselves.
Too bad the talents she has don’t work on her.
Or do they?
When she’s hired to cater a Valentine’s Day anniversary party, Lily’s glad of the distraction from her single state. She knows she’ll be busy that day and into the night; what she doesn’t expect is to find herself falling for the most unexpected guest she encounters.
Thomas Eakins is a Seattle celebrity, an abrasive attorney and justice warrior, who is the unlikeliest white knight Lily has ever encountered.
Maybe opposites do attract.
Maybe all it takes is a little magic.
Chapter One: Rainy Days and Sundays
All ten of the guest parking spaces were taken when I arrived at One Pioneer West, the upscale condo complex where my grandmother had recently settled after selling her house on Puget Sound. How could ten people be visiting, I wondered, since there were only thirty condos in the ten-story building.
I unloaded my van and left my stuff on a cart next to the elevator lobby door, hoping no one would pilfer from it or knock it over in the time it took me to find a parking space.
Traffic in downtown Seattle is always a mess and street parking is practically nonexistent, even on a weekend. For some reason, traffic was particularly heavy on this Sunday morning and I had to drive nearly half a mile to find an open space.
And of course it was raining.
Fortunately, I had my raingear on, but there was a stiff wind that kept blowing my raincoat hood back, so by the time I finally slogged back to the condo building, I was soaked to the skin and my hair was a tangled, dripping mess. My grandmother, who always looks impeccable, no matter what the weather, would disapprove, but then, I knew she’d give me a break because I don’t have her talent for repelling precipitation. She wasn’t a full-on weather witch like my cousin, Roz, but being able to walk through a blizzard or a downpour without getting so much as a damp eyelash was an extremely useful ability, particularly in Seattle.
***
“Hey, Lily,” Jack, the weekend concierge, said as I rolled the cart through the lobby. “I didn’t think you worked on Sundays.”
Usually I don’t, I thought grumpily. Getting out of my warm and cozy bed and facing the icy rain had taken enormous willpower. “It’s Red Hat Society day,” I said, knowing he’d understand. Like me, Jack owed his job at least partially to nepotism—his great aunt was on the condo board—and Naomi Wang was a member of my grandmother’s group.
“What’s the theme today?” he asked, rolling his eyes.
“Think pink,” I said. “In honor of Valentine’s Day.”
Normally for Red Hat Society days I fixed a full-on brunch but this Sunday the ladies intended to take in a special exhibit at the Museum of Pop Culture, so I was just doing a selection of hearty appetizers and a dessert spread. “Don’t worry about fixing pink food,” my grandmother had said when I suggested shrimp cocktails and little ramekins of sour cherry soup. “We’re not wed to the theme.”
Jack grimaced. “I hate Valentine’s Day,” he said.
“I feel your pain,” I said, because I pretty much felt the same way.
“I’ve never been able to crack the code,” he said glumly. “Girls want flowers but if you get them roses, they say it’s a cliché. They want jewelry, but they want to pick it out themselves. If you get them candy, they’re dieting; if you don’t, they wonder if you think they’re too fat.” He looked at me hopefully, like I might be able to offer some insight into the mysteries of Valentine’s Day protocol. I wish I had some answers for him. Jack’s an adorkable twenty-two-year-old who’s in business school with an eye toward the hotel and hospitality industries. I was surprised someone hadn’t snapped him up because he was funny and smart and cute in a scruffy college student kind of way. He always seemed to have a girlfriend, but none of them seemed to be keepers.
“Does your girlfriend like to pamper herself?” I asked, trying to remember the name of his latest flame. Annika? Marika?
“Erika has a makeup case that’s bigger than a dorm refrigerator.” Erika!
“Get Erika gift certificate to Banya 5,” I said, naming my favorite spa in Seattle. “They have a seasonal blueberry facial that’s great, but get her one of the packages. They’re decadent, especially the ones that include salt scrubs.”
Jack looked at me with something that might have been awe. “It’s kind of scary that you know their services menu by heart.”
I shrugged. “I like being pampered too,” I said, pointing my cart toward the elevators that went to the higher floors.
“Later,” he said and went back to cruising hotel websites on his laptop, He was working his way through the world’s hotels country by country and taking notes.
***
I breathed a sigh of relief when I got to my grandmother’s door and found I’d arrived there before any of the guests. My grandmother hates tardiness and I hate disappointing her. And of course, she had everything ready for her guests. Stella did not rush around at the last minute. There was soft music drifting from discreet speakers displayed on her overstuffed bookshelves. There was an umbrella stand thoughtfully positioned near the front door, even though all but one of her guests lived in the same condo. The living room was set up for lively conversation with three sofas arranged in a U-shape facing the artificial fireplace, which was turned on, adding to the cozy ambience.
The well-stocked bar cart had been rolled out for easy access and my grandmother was pouring herself an aperitif of Dubonnet over ice when I came in. That was her winter go-to drink; in the spring and summer she preferred Campari and soda or Lillet. When she saw my bedraggled state, she wordlessly handed me a bar towel to dry my hair and pointed me toward her guest bathroom where I knew I would find a hair dryer and anything else I might need to put myself back together again.
My grandmother had more sample cosmetics than a counter at Sephora.
When I came back into t
he living room, she was standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping her drink and looking out at the rain. I went over and hugged her. “Thank you for coming out in the rain, sweetie,” she said.
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone but you,” I said, only half-joking. “You look nice.” My grandmother always looks nice. Today she was wearing a purple wrap dress and a red turban with purple embellishments. On anyone else, the outfit might have looked overly theatrical, but she rocked it. Stella Ostrander had always been stylish—even twenty years ago when my mom and I had lived with her, she’d been a fashionista who set her own rules. She used to dress me up like a doll and send me to school in outfits that were wildly inappropriate for a little kid—long velvet skirts and faux fur jackets and feathered boas instead of knitted scarves. I got sent home a couple of times with orders to change my clothes and when that happened, my grandmother would take my hand and march straight into the principal’s office to demand a look at the school’s dress code. Of course there was no prohibition against wearing sequin-encrusted ice-skating costumes with matching headbands—one of Stella’s thrift store finds—until I showed up in just such attire. Each time my grandmother visited, the code got upgraded with specific new prohibitions—no cowboy boots made of mock crocodile skin, no belly dancer belts, no gold lame blouses.