by Cate Lawley
Then she remembered his daughter and her boyfriend. They seemed normal enough. And both of them had been surprised by Devlin’s silence. There might be hope for the man after all—not that she really cared. She’d gone four years ignoring all opportunities for male companionship that extended beyond friendship, and a pretty face wasn’t going to change that. Neither were broad shoulders. Or thick, elegantly silvering hair.
But he had seemed smitten. “Ugh. Since when does a little interest make my knees weak?” She shoved away from the door and marched into the kitchen on her very not weak knees. Time for some caffeine.
Chapter 5
Glenda flipped the sign on The Goode Witch Shoppe’s front door to “Closed.” She was feeling quite pleased with the little gem of a house she’d found in Felicity’s neighborhood. She was confident the house had been an important move on the chessboard of Devlin’s love life, but she still wanted to do a little checking up on all the players before she left the shop for the night. She felt more invested in this match than perhaps she should. Not ideal, but there it was.
She removed her reading glasses, letting them hang from the chain around her neck, and then she flicked her fingers. Numbers snaked through the air in front of her. Nothing flashy since the shop was relatively dark. Odd flashes of light would spark curiosity she didn’t need. No, these numbers were quiet little wisps that pulled together to form an equation then faded away like smoke.
As she suspected. The ring Mark purchased more than a month previous would soon be gracing Zelda’s finger. Her father’s move was just enough to tip the couple into the next stage of their relationship. Glenda clapped her hands together. They truly were a lovely couple.
She flicked her fingers again, but was startled mid-cast by a tapping on the glass of the front door. She looked up to find a woman in a florist delivery uniform holding a clipboard.
Glenda checked that no wispy remnants of her magic remained then hurried to unlock the door. She spoke through a gap, because she didn’t want to invite someone inside to linger after hours. “I’m sorry; we’ve just closed. But we open tomorrow at ten o’clock on the dot.”
“I’m actually here with a delivery.” The woman lifted her clipboard. “Not to shop.”
Flowers? Why would they come to the shop?
When Glenda didn’t respond, the delivery woman said, “This is The Goode Witch Shoppe?” The woman glanced between the painted letters on the glass door and Glenda.
“I’m sorry. Yes, of course, but the girls have gone home.”
The delivery woman checked her clipboard. “Could you possibly sign for a Ms. Goode? Glenda Goode?”
“Oh. Yes. That’s actually me. I wasn’t expecting…” Glenda shook her head. Not this woman’s problem. She reached for the clipboard.
The delivery woman pointed at the space where she should sign, and Glenda scribbled her name.
But who could possibly be sending her flowers? And why at the shop?
Glenda’s confusion grew when the delivery woman returned with a massive bouquet of orchids in an attractive vase. She wasn’t familiar with the purple flowers. “What are they?”
“Dendrobium orchids, I believe. I’ve always thought they were exotic and elegant.” She grinned. “I hope you enjoy them.”
Glenda nodded as she accepted the vase. “Thank you,” she murmured the words as an afterthought, because she couldn’t quite wrap her head around who could possibly be sending her flowers.
She carefully placed the vase on the counter by the register, and she took a moment to enjoy them. A small smile playing about her mouth, she took out the card.
The house is perfect. Thank you for all you do. Devlin
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d received flowers. Even the occasional “thank you” was few and far between. Newly matched couples were either too busy falling in love or so in love that they had other concerns. Yes, she received a quick word about how lovely she was to have managed it, but frequently the matched couples didn’t know what part she’d played. And when she did receive a thank you…well, it was nothing like this.
Surrounded by the scent of flowers, she sat down at her computer to do a little special research. She didn’t delve much into the light web. Some practitioners specialized in research, and if she couldn’t find what she needed, she’d call in a favor. But she’d spend some quality time in the magical world’s underground internet before she called in reinforcements. Never very good at delegating, this case would be especially difficult for her to relinquish to anyone less invested.
Maybe, if she dug into the furthest reaches of the light web, just maybe, she could find a way to bring back Felicity’s memory.
Chapter 6
Devlin’s lower back ached, and the rest of his body felt like he’d just completed a full body workout. Six hours of shifting boxes, unloading and rearranging furniture, and unpacking did that to a guy in his late forties.
Devlin gave Mark a critical look, but the kid showed no signs of the exhaustion that was only minutes from taking over his own body.
“Can I get you a water?” Mark asked.
When Devlin nodded—because the thought of standing up made him cringe—the kid bounced out of his seat at the kitchen table and headed to the cooler where they’d stashed cold drinks.
“Are you not even a little tired?”
Mark turned with a surprised look on his face. “You’re kidding, right? We’ve been here since nine and it’s, what? Four o’clock?”
Devlin stretched out his back as best he could from a sitting position, then slumped back into his chair. “You seem…” He searched for a word that wouldn’t make him feel ancient.
“Trust me, I’m tired. Zelda and I had a serious hit of caffeine after lunch.” He shot the kitchen door a guilty look. “She said you’re trying to cut down, and so she stashed the iced coffee in the car. Sorry.”
Devlin laughed. “No, that’s okay. Don’t suppose there’s any left, though?”
“Sure, but you grilled me and I only cracked after extreme pressure was applied.”
Devlin nodded. “Sold.”
A good dose of caffeine would set him straight. At least until the rest of the kitchen gear was unpacked. The kitchen needed a remodel, but he planned to save that for last and have a pro come in to do it. He’d install new flooring, do some wallpaper-scraping and a little painting, and start on the bathrooms, before he’d even think about tackling the kitchen.
Mark came through the side door with a thermos of cold brew coffee. He handed it to him and said, “A little milk and a little sugar.”
“That’s perfect. I want to finish unpacking the kitchen tonight, so you’re doing me a solid.”
“Yeah, except I feel like a dealer. Is there any reason Zelda’s so concerned about you over-imbibing on caffeine?”
“She thinks I need to learn how to relax now that I’m retired.” Devlin grimaced.
“Retired? I didn’t realize…she thinks you’re going to do what exactly all day long? I mean, you’re not even fifty, and fifty is early to completely retire.”
“Yeah. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m looking for another career. I figured I’d wait until I actually found something I wanted to do—and until then, the house will keep me busy.”
Zelda walked in the kitchen on the tail end of Devlin’s comment. “So, Dad, I’ve been thinking about it.” She paused and gave him a squinty-eyed look. “I think you should get a puppy. Just to keep you company now that you’ll be home more, and I’m not around the house.”
“Not a terrible idea,” he said, as if the idea were a new one. “I’ll think about it.”
Much as he would have loved to have a dog, reaping and being Zelda’s dad had taken all of his focus and energy. But not any longer. He didn’t see any need to let Zelda know he’d already decided to add a pup to the family. If it was her idea, he could probably sneak some guilt-free pet sitting out of her.
“How’s the box
-sorting going?” Mark asked.
Zelda waved a hand in the air. “Done ages ago. I’ve been hanging up clothes.”
Devlin did a double-take. “I’m sorry—hanging up my clothes? All of my clothes?”
She gave him a cheery smile. “All of the ones you should keep. You need to update, Dad. Badly.”
He closed his eyes, envisioning his favorite t-shirts in the fabric recycling pile. He knew there was only one solution. He opened his eyes, resigned to his fate. “One shopping trip, and you leave all of my clothes exactly where they are. Nothing leaves the house for the donation or recycling bins.”
Zelda briskly presented her hand to shake on the deal. “Done.” Pumping his hand enthusiastically, she added, “You’ll thank me for this. And if you don’t, your cute neighbor Felicity will.” She gave him a mischievous smile when she said “cute.”
“Hmm. I thought I might bring a bottle of wine by. Tomorrow? Or is that too soon?” Devlin decided if his daughter was that interested in seeing him get a date, he might as well get some advice. Not that she had much dating experience, but she might have some feminine insight.
“Wait till we get you a new pair of jeans and some decent shorts. And a few shirts.” She looked at his ratty, faded navy T-shirt and sighed. “Several shirts.”
“Hey, watch it kid. I’m moving today. I’m allowed to look grungy on moving day.”
“If you guys are done planning Devlin’s wardrobe refurbishment, maybe we can get back to it. I’d like to get to bed at a reasonable hour—without worrying about my girlfriend’s dad crashing on the floor in a sleeping bag.”
Devlin pointed at Mark. “He makes an excellent point. The bedroom is next. Then you guys can get out of here.”
As they migrated to the master bedroom, Devlin couldn’t help but notice that his daughter looked quite satisfied with her achievements. And he’d committed to both a dog and a new wardrobe.
Change keeps one young. He kept telling himself that as he stretched out his tired arms and back.
Three days later, dressed in a pair of cargo shorts and a dark T-shirt that was free of holes and not even a little dingy, he knocked on Felicity’s door.
He grinned. He’d won the wardrobe battle. He’d retained veto power, so he’d managed to leave the half a dozen stores Zelda carted him through with clothes that felt comfortable, suited his casual and newly “retired” lifestyle, and were hole-free.
After a minute or two, he realized no one was coming to the door, but he was pretty sure she was home. Her car was in the drive, so he’d assumed she was.
He considered the bottle for a few seconds before deciding to leave it at the door, then dug a pen out of his pocket to write a note. He was looking around her small front porch for something to write on when the front door opened.
She glanced from him to the bottle now sitting on the small table next to her front door. Smiling, she picked up the bottle and said, “For me?”
He clicked the pen in his hand and shoved it back in his pocket. “Yeah. When you didn’t answer, I thought I’d leave a note, but…no paper.”
She opened the door wider. “Come on in. If you have a minute, we can have a drink.” She grabbed the wine bottle off the table and then stepped back to let him inside.
“That sounds great.” He stepped inside a home structurally similar to his own, but worlds apart in appearance. “It looks like you’ve already done some updating. My place has a long way to go before it’s truly livable.”
“Oh?” She moved into the kitchen and he was a few feet behind, but he thought he detected an edge to her voice.
“Would you like me to open it?”
She gave him a pleasant but bland smile and handed him the wine bottle and corkscrew. “What were you planning?” He must have looked confused, because she said, “Your house? What are you planning to do to make it livable?”
He wasn’t mistaken. She was edgier now.
As he uncorked the wine, he talked about his plans. “I have some time on my hands, so I thought I’d do some of the simpler things myself. The bathrooms have wallpaper that might date back to the eighties. The floor is dinged up pretty badly. But I’m in luck there. Since so little has been done to the house, the wood’s thick enough to be refinished, probably at least twice more after I’ve finished if I don’t wreck it.”
She looked surprisingly relieved at the risk he was taking with his floors. “I’m sure you’ll manage it. You seem a capable sort of guy.” She pulled out two wine glasses and placed them on the counter. As he poured, she asked, “No other big renovations?”
After he finished pouring the second glass, he set the bottle down and picked up his glass for a toast. “Yes, actually. To my kitchen renovations, may they go as planned whenever I eventually get to them.”
Finally, a genuine smile emerged and she clinked her glass against his. “So you’re not leveling the house? Or digging out the yard for a pool, or building on a second story?”
“Oh, no. No, I wouldn’t do that. First of all, I moved here to downsize. But it would be a shame to change the character of the place. I suppose with some careful planning, it might be possible to extend the kitchen and one of the bedrooms out without significantly altering the look and feel… But I don’t need the space. And I have no clue where a pool would fit.”
She snorted, a half-amused, half-cynical sound. “Most buyers in this area aren’t particularly concerned with retaining the character of the individual houses or the neighborhood.” She touched her glass to his again and took a more significant drink. “And you’d be shocked how creative people become in pursuit of a pool.”
It was odd watching her reactions. Her passion for maintaining the integrity of the neighborhood was clear. He didn’t remember her being so decisively outspoken. And yet, she’d always been passionate about history, art, and culture.
He took a breath, trying to orient himself to the present Felicity once again, not the girl twenty years younger and so much less experienced. Right, renovations…“No fears I’ll be making any massive changes. I like the place with two bedrooms and two baths and a nice little garden in the back. Although, fair warning, I’ll probably get around to building a deck, if I can convince my daughter’s boyfriend to lend a hand with his excellent carpentry skills.”
“Lovely.” Her hazel eyes twinkled up at him. “You can invite me over to share your deck.” She tipped her head toward the back of the house and left.
Taking her actions as an invitation, he picked up his wine glass and followed.
“I’m an artist, and I have a studio out back.” She looked over her shoulder. “That’s why it took me so long to get to the front door.”
“Ah. I was afraid I’d caught you at an inconvenient moment.”
“Not at all. I was just wrapping up for the day.” She lifted her wine glass. “Your timing is superb. I was thinking I might have a beer.”
That was certainly different. The Felicity he’d known hadn’t liked beer.
He followed her into her yard. “If I’d known you liked beer, I would have brought a six-pack. Next time, perhaps?”
Hopefully that was subtle enough not to be crass. He shook his head. Maybe that wasn’t a concern. She’d invited him right in and opened up a bottle of wine. She certainly didn’t seem as shy as he remembered.
She stopped in front of a shed. Not new, not old, but it could certainly use a little refurbishing. She grinned at him and said, “I’m rather particular. What type of beer are we talking about?”
Oh, yes, she was definitely flirting with him. He was that out of practice. “Whatever you like; you tell me.”
“Huh. Where’s the fun in that?” She pulled a key out from the pocket of her pants, and then unlocked the shed.
His eyes lingered on the curve of her waist, accentuated by the fitted T-shirt she wore. Now that he looked closer, he could see smudges of paint on her shirt and pants. A painter. He’d never have guessed she’d become a painter. But as he co
nsidered it, it made so much sense. She’d always loved color and texture and been fascinated by light. And she had loved beautiful things.
When she flicked the light on, he had to catch his breath. This was what she’d decided to do with her life. To create beauty. It was so perfectly Felicity.
Vibrant colors and fanciful images jumped off the pages. A giant board hanging on the wall to the left held a series of sketches, each of which contained a little girl and a dog. “These are for a story?”
She nodded then drank a sip of wine. “A children’s book my friend wrote.”
“You paint. You illustrate children’s books. What else do you do?”
“Well, the children’s book is new. We’ll see how that goes. But I also blog, teach craft and painting classes, run an Etsy store, manage my print collection on my website, and design the odd book cover. To start with.” She met his gaze and nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I know. It’s crazy.”
“No, it’s amazing.” He meant it. What she did was amazing. She was amazing.
“What I’m doing isn’t that different from what most independent artists do. If you’re not represented by a gallery or supported by patrons, then patching together whatever you’re good at and pays is pretty standard.”
He nodded, like he understood. That was a world so far removed from his own previous careers, he could only imagine what she described. “So, you’ve lived in the neighborhood a while?”
She laughed, a rolling sound that was not quite a chuckle but still had a deep quality.
“What?”
“I’m poor, so I must have bought before the neighborhood gentrified?”
Devlin lifted his hands defensively. “That didn’t even cross my mind.”
“Well, it’s absolutely true. And in part why I’m so attached to keeping the things that are great about this place intact.” A few more quiet laughs trickled out. “I don’t make a lot of money, but I’m not embarrassed by the fact. I love what I do.”