Don't Give Me Butterflies

by Tara Sheets

  “Turn it the other way,” Juliette urged.

  Kat tried again, twisting the key in the other direction, but still nothing happened.

  Emma took the key and tried, then Juliette. For several minutes they worked at the lock.

  “Obviously the key fits,” Emma said with frustration. “Why isn’t it working?”

  “Maybe it’s rusted shut or something,” Juliette said, bending down to blow into the keyhole. Then she took the key and tried again. But no matter how many times they worked at the lock, it wouldn’t budge.

  “Well, this is craptacular.” Juliette sat back on the stone floor. “I feel like we’re so close, but—”

  “We’re missing something,” Emma finished.

  Kat felt the same way. “Is there anything you guys can think of? Maybe something you read or heard about growing up?”

  “Nothing about the cellar,” Emma said. “All my grandmother ever said was that the house knew a lot of things better than we did. We certainly never learned anything about keys and hidden locks.”

  Juliette groaned and rubbed her face. “All I remember was her telling us to wash our hands before dinner, and not to play in the road, and to always stick together.”

  “And support each other,” Emma said softly. “Grams was good about stuff like that.”

  “Good at reminding us that we were special,” Juliette said wistfully. “And that being special was a good thing.”

  Kat felt a sudden sense of melancholy. Like she’d lost out on knowing the woman Emma and Juliette remembered fondly. She wondered what it would be like to have someone in her corner like that, growing up. “Sounds like she was an amazing person.”

  “She really was.” Emma pushed to her feet. “I think she’d have loved you.”

  Juliette stood and slapped her hands together. “Let’s call it a day. This was good progress, people. We can try again tomorrow. Maybe look through the attic again. There has to be something we’re missing.”

  By the time they made their way back into the house, the lights were on and the pizza delivery car was just pulling into the driveway. For the rest of the evening, they rehashed what they’d found, discussing possibilities over bites of cheesy pizza and frozen margaritas and occasional input from the house. Every once in a while, the clover key would appear. Once when Juliette opened a kitchen drawer for napkins. And again when Emma reached her hand into the popcorn bowl. Later, when Kat was putting on her shoes to leave, the key showed up in the left toe of her boot.

  “Okay, this key is very persistent.” Kat set it on the hall table.

  “It’s the house.” Emma blew a curl off her forehead and tilted her face to the ceiling. “Give it a rest, okay? We’re doing the best we can.”

  As Kat turned to leave, she could’ve sworn the house settled in a hmph.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “You lied.” Kat propped her chin in her hands. She was seated in the farmhouse kitchen across from Jordan while his grandmother put away the teakettle. They’d just finished washing dishes after a delicious dinner of lasagna and Caesar salad. “You’re not doomed to live a life full of frozen waffles for dinner. You, Mr. Prescott, can cook.”

  Jordan relaxed back in his chair. “I can when I want to. I just don’t usually take the time because it’s no fun cooking for one.”

  “Well you’re here with us now,” Opal said, lifting her teacup. “You are no longer ‘one,’ you are ‘three.’ Five, if you count the dogs. I know for a fact they’d love some more of your leftovers.”

  Jordan glanced at Kat and winked, which made her body flush with heat. Every time he gave her that look, it reminded her of all the secret, sexy things they’d been doing together. She dragged her gaze away and stared into her teacup so Opal wouldn’t catch her getting all googly-eyed over him.

  Opal began filling them in on her preparations for the Summer’s End Gala. She told them about the auction baskets and the hired musicians and the photographer. “And who doesn’t like a black tie affair, once in a while?” she asked, drawing her apron over her head and hanging it on a hook. “It’s not often a person has a chance to get all gussied up. So I say both of you need to take advantage of it.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fun, Grandma, but I didn’t exactly pack my tuxedo when I came out here,” Jordan said.

  “Do you have your own tuxedo?” Kat asked. She wouldn’t mind seeing him all “gussied” up, as Opal put it. Lord knew Jordan could make a pair of old jeans and a ratty T-shirt look like a million bucks. She liked the idea of him in formal attire, all James Bond–style.

  “He doesn’t need his own tuxedo,” Opal said firmly. “I already scheduled you a fitting for a rental tux, Jordan. It’s at Belle of the Ball. You know the shop near the waterfront?”

  Jordan made a face. “The prom shop?”

  “It’s not just for proms,” Opal assured him. “Vivian handles weddings and funerals and other fancy events, too.”

  “Great,” he said without enthusiasm.

  Opal pursed her lips. “Now listen. I don’t ask much, but I expect you to be there. Everyone’s bringing their friends and families, so I need you.” She stared him down with an expression that could only be described as “grandma power.”

  “Of course,” Jordan said. “If it means that much to you, I’ll come.”

  “And as for you.” Opal turned her “grandma power” on Kat. “I know you say you don’t have a dress, but you can rent something from Belle of the Ball, too. There’s no reason why a beautiful girl like you should stay home from the biggest event of the year. I want you to come. You live here with us, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re family, too.”

  Kat opened her mouth, then shut it. Happiness bubbled up from inside her until she felt her nose tingle with emotion. Opal just included her in the family, and for that kindness, Kat would fly to the moon and back for her. “I’ll do my best, Opal.”

  “Good.” Opal gave a satisfied nod. “Then that’s settled. Now I’m off to bed. So long, you two night owls.”

  They said good night and waited until they heard Opal’s door shut down the hall.

  “Night owls?” Kat whispered. “Do you think she’s onto us?”

  “I doubt it,” Jordan said.

  For the past few nights, they’d been having secret get-togethers. On Monday, Jordan had stayed over at her apartment and sneaked back into the house before the sun came up. The night after that, they’d met in the kitchen for midnight ice cream sundaes, after which Kat followed Jordan back to his room for a second “dessert.” Last night, they’d gone out to make campfire s’mores, much to Waffles’s delight. And the more time Kat spent with Jordan, the more she wanted more. There was a part of her that wished she could just back away. Break it off now, before she got in too deep. But it was much too late for that. She was in way over her head this time, and there was nothing she could do but ride it out. In a perfect world, Jordan would decide to stay, but the world wasn’t perfect. Kat shook off those thoughts and forced herself to remain in the moment.

  “I think I’d enjoy seeing you dressed for prom,” she teased. “All gussied up from Belle of the Ball.” She’d drawn the name out for emphasis, then bit her lower lip to keep from laughing.

  Jordan narrowed his eyes and shot out of his chair.

  She backed away, unable to contain her laughter.

  He scooped her up, carrying her down the hall toward the stairs. “If I have to gussy myself up, so do you.”

  “I told Opal I’d do my best,” Kat said. “But I’m not big on gussying.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you wear. You’d look gorgeous in anything. A burlap sack. An empty barrel. A bedsheet.” He set her down at the foot of the stairs. “Actually, come up to my room so I can double-check about the bedsheet.”

  “No way. I can’t sleep over tonight.”

  “Is that what you thought I was planning?” he murmured against her neck. “Sleep?”

  Kat shivered, so tempted t
o follow him up to his room. “I know exactly what you were planning, and that’s why I can’t. If I don’t get some actual sleep, I’ll be sleepwalking through the day tomorrow, and I have to visit Emma and Juliette after work.”

  “Did you find out anything new at their house?”

  Kat took a seat on the bottom step, and he joined her. She filled him in on the odd night she’d had at Emma’s house, with the key and the hidden root cellar.

  While she was talking, Clementine padded up to them with a soft meow.

  “Oh, really?” Kat said to the orange tabby. To Jordan, she said, “Clementine needs more attention from you.”

  “Me?” He looked offended.

  “Yup. You.”

  The cat climbed into Jordan’s lap and began to purr.

  “She would like you to visit her kittens more often,” Kat said.

  Jordan smoothed his hand over Clementine, whose rumbling purr grew even louder. “I’ve checked on them twice today, already.”

  “But you’re the surrogate dad. You need to be more involved.”

  He made a face. “No, thanks. She can have full custody.”

  Clementine meowed, and Jordan leaned toward her. “Trust me, I’d be a terrible role model. Your kittens would be knocking back beers and hanging with the alley cats in no time flat.”

  The purring cat butted her head against Jordan’s chest.

  “Ooh, that’s a head mash!” Kat said. “Those are hard to come by. You should just give in to her demands. It’s futile to resist. She has you wrapped around her little paw, like it or not.”

  He gently set Clementine aside, pulled Kat to her feet, and whispered, “Like it.” Then he drew her in for a long, slow kiss that eventually led to her sleepwalking through the following day, after all. But it was so worth it.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Can you make a ‘Get Rich Quick’ cupcake?” Kat asked as she stirred her third cappuccino a little too fast. Some of it sloshed onto the wrought iron bistro table. “If so, I’d like a baker’s dozen of those.”

  Kat was sitting with the Holloways at Fairy Cakes near the waterfront. They’d all agreed to get together at Emma’s bakery for coffee. But even with the cozy atmosphere and great company, Kat felt oddly unsettled. Things between her and Jordan were so good, it was making her nervous. She was falling for him, and that meant she was in danger of losing control of her goals. Maybe if she could at least control her finances and gain some security there, it would make her feel better prepared for whatever happened next.

  Emma leaned across the table and handed Kat a napkin. “Even if I could make that kind of cupcake, I doubt it would work for you.”

  “Why? Did you read my tea leaves, or something?” Kat dropped her chin into her hands. “I’m destined to be poor forever, aren’t I? Just give it to me straight. I can take it.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Emma said.

  Kat took a sip of her drink. “Then how about a ‘Winning Lotto Numbers’ cupcake? I’d be on board with that one, too. I’m not picky.”

  “Holloway magic doesn’t work on us.” Juliette bit into her cupcake with an expression of utter bliss.

  “It only works on other people,” Emma explained. “And since you’re somehow linked to us, you’re probably immune to the charms.”

  “Let’s conduct an experiment.” Juliette set a delicately frosted blackberry and vanilla cupcake on Kat’s plate. “Try this.”

  Kat lifted the fluffy cupcake and took a bite, suddenly understanding Juliette’s blissed-out expression. It was utterly delicious. She sucked the sweet, tart frosting off her fingertip, marveling at the heavenly concoction Emma had whipped up. “Wow. This one tastes like . . .” It was hard to describe. The French vanilla was rich and decadent, and the addition of fresh blackberries reminded her of sweet, lazy days spent outside. “It reminds me of walking in the warm sunshine picking berries.”

  “But does it make you feel anything?” Juliette asked quizzically.

  “I feel . . .” Kat glanced back and forth between the two women. “Good, I guess.”

  “You sure you don’t have the sudden desire to run and tell someone you love them?” Emma asked.

  “What? Of course not!” Kat gave her a “now you’re talking crazy” look, even though Jordan’s face flashed across her mind. She cleared her throat. “Why would I?”

  “Because that,” Juliette said, pointing to the cupcake, “is called ‘Summer Loving.’ It’s supposed to make you feel open to sharing your feelings with the one you love.”

  Again, Jordan’s face appeared in Kat’s mind, but that was ridiculous. She ignored it. Hard. Regardless of her growing infatuation with him, she definitely had no desire to run home and tell him anything. God, the idea was mortifying even to contemplate. “No sudden desires,” Kat said firmly.

  “Not even just a teensy urge?” Emma asked with a soft smile.

  “Like, a mysteriously teensy urge?” Juliette teased.

  Kat rolled her eyes. These women were not subtle. “I can promise you, I have no urges to profess my undying love to anyone. Except Emma, for creating these heavenly treats.” She took another bite, chewing forcefully.

  Juliette sat back in her chair. “Told you,” she said to Emma. “I knew your cupcake charms weren’t going to work on her. My ‘Be Chill’ soap never worked for her, either. We’re definitely related, somehow. We just have to figure out how.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll all hit the attic again,” Emma said. “There’s got to be something we’re missing.”

  Kat sipped her coffee, channeling all her focus into the task ahead.

  * * *

  “I’m telling you, there has to be a clue in here.” Emma’s muffled voice came from the corner of her attic.

  Today the carousel horse was smack in the center of the room, so the air smelled sweet and cheerful, like popcorn and cotton candy and peanuts. At least there was that aspect of the search to make the Sunday afternoon a little brighter.

  She settled near a trunk of photo albums and started going through them again, looking for clues. But what? They were searching for a way to open a lock, with no idea what they’d even find. Not for the first time, frustration gripped her because it all seemed so futile. The more she started to believe she might be related to these amazing women, the harder it seemed to prove.

  “What about a locksmith?” Juliette grumbled from a beanbag chair against the wall. She lifted a music box off a pile of old books and turned it over in her hands. “Or maybe we could blast the lock open with some dynamite, like in the movies.”

  “Right.” Emma emerged from behind an old wardrobe. “I’m sure the house would love that.”

  A pile of clothes beside Juliette bucked into the air, landing all over her.

  “Fine,” Juliette said to the ceiling. “No dynamite.” She brushed the clothes away and opened the green enamel jewelry box in her lap.

  A tinkling melody began to play, filling the attic with a lovely song.

  “But why does it have to be so difficult?” Juliette complained. “I mean, we have a key. We have a lock. What more do we need?”

  Emma started to hum to the melody.

  Kat was on the other side of the room, but she could hear the music clearly. The blue velvet dress lay in her lap. Not because she’d been looking for it, but because it kept showing up in every box she opened. She’d finally stopped trying to pack it away.

  Kat began humming along with Emma. “I know that song from somewhere. What is it?”

  Juliette turned the music box and looked at the bottom. “There’s no title.”

  “I think it’s a song Grams used to sing,” Emma said.

  Juliette shut the lid and tossed it into a box of clothes.

  Kat lifted the last stack of albums from her box across the room. Her hand brushed against a small, rectangular box with hard, sleek edges. Very slowly, she lifted out the exact same music box Juliette had just set aside. “Um . . . you guys?”

>   Juliette saw the music box in Kat’s hands and scrambled off the beanbag chair.

  Both cousins hurried over to where Kat was sitting.

  Kat opened the music box, letting the soft melody fill the attic room again. It was heartbreakingly sweet, and strangely familiar. “What song is this?” She searched the box, but there was no indication of the name or place it originated. There wasn’t even a key to wind it. “How does this work?”

  “No clue,” Juliette said.

  Kat looked for a hidden compartment. “Batteries?”

  “No,” Emma said. “It’s an antique, so no batteries. It’s just one of the house’s things. They don’t always make sense.”

  Kat cocked her head, listening to the lovely music. “I know I’ve heard this song before.” But where? She wracked her brain, trying to remember. The melody continued to play, and the longer it played, the more powerful it seemed, until Kat felt as though it wove a spell around the three of them.

  Somewhere over by the carousel horse, an object clattered to the floor.

  Kat jumped.

  “It’s just that banjo,” Emma said.

  Kat stared at the banjo on the floor a few feet away. The strings. The glossy wood.

  The music box continued its melody.

  A fragment of a memory flashed in her mind. Colorful scarves. An enchanted prince playing a guitar. A jolt of recognition shot through her. Kat gasped. “I know where I’ve heard this! It’s an old Irish lullaby.”

  Juliette took the music box and stared at it, as if she could find answers in the emerald green, velvet-lined interior. “How do you know?”

  “Jordan played it for me on his guitar,” Kat said.

  “Jordan?” Juliette looked incredulous.

  Kat nodded.

  “Wait.” Juliette held up a hand. “He’s mysterious and handsome and he plays the guitar? No wonder you’ve been floozying it up in Floozyville with him. Who wouldn’t?”

  “Does the song have words?” Emma pressed. “Did he sing it?”

  “No,” Kat said. “But he played it beautifully. He said he learned it from someone in his parents’ folk band.”

  “And now he’s the son of musicians?” Juliette threw her hands in the air. “You’ve been holding back on us, Kat. Your Mr. Mysterious is much more than just another pretty face.”