Magic Uncorked: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife Magic Cocktail Club Book 1)

by Annabel Chase

  She waved a hand. “The details aren’t necessary.”

  “Maybe forbearance is the way to go,” Larry said. “We can freeze your payments now, but you’ll still need to pay it all back. Given that you’ve already missed three payments, I don’t think it would be wise to offer you more than two more months. You don’t want to end up in a hole so deep you can’t climb out.”

  Libbie silently agreed. “At the end of the forbearance period, what happens? I have to pay a lump sum?”

  “Or we can set up a repayment plan where we add a certain amount past due to each new payment as it comes due. Or we can modify the terms of the original loan.”

  Libbie couldn’t foresee being able to pay a lump sum, and she didn’t want to modify the original loan. She’d thought long and hard before choosing that particular one and didn’t want to extend the term.

  “I’ll go with forbearance and then a repayment plan,” she finally said. She only hoped that she was in a sturdy enough financial position by then to make the payments. She was going to have to cater every opportunity that she could find. Children’s parties. Retirements. Hell, she’d cater a Boy Scout picnic if it helped her pay the bills.

  Larry printed out the paperwork, and she signed, her heart fluttering with each stroke of the pen. She could do this. Whatever happened next was within her control. She thanked him profusely as she left, relieved that she was being given a chance to make things right. They’d get their mortgage money and she’d keep her house. A win-win.

  Her next stop was at the bank, where she removed Chris’s name from the accounts. They had been hers to start with, so she felt no guilt about cutting him off. Thankfully, he hadn’t wiped out the entire account since the last time she’d checked the balance. Part of her worried that he would. There wasn’t much there, but they wouldn’t starve. If there was one thing Libbie knew how to do, it was stretch a small amount of food to last several meals.

  She left the bank feeling a little better than when she’d walked in. Each action she took seemed to lighten the load. As she drove along Timber Trail, she passed the professional complex where Ethan Townsend’s office was located. She made a left turn into the complex and parked at his office. Maybe he knew something that could help her, either with Chris or this perceived curse.

  There was no one in the waiting area when she arrived and no receptionist. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room before deciding to knock on the closed office door. Too late, she realized he might be with a client. Thankfully, when he opened the door, she could see that he was alone. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. She’d already forgotten how attractive he was. He looked every bit as good now as he had during their meeting. He smiled when he saw her.

  “Libbie. What a pleasant surprise. How can I help you?”

  “I’m so sorry to barge in, but I was passing by and realized I could use your insight. How much do you charge for a consultation?”

  “For you, nothing. Come on in.” He widened the gap and stepped back so she could enter.

  Libbie felt strange being in the office without her friends. The air was charged with an intimacy that hadn’t been there during her last visit. Or maybe that was her imagination.

  Ethan sat behind the desk and offered a sympathetic smile. “How are you holding up?”

  The verbal dam busted open, and Libbie let loose a torrent of words that contained the entirety of events between Inga’s death and this moment. Ethan sat quietly and listened. Libbie could tell by the tilt of his head and the kindness in his eyes that he was a good listener and that he cared.

  “Wow,” he said, once she’d finished. “It’s been quite a week for you, Libbie Stark. I’m amazed you’re sitting here in one piece. I’d be in the corner curled up in the fetal position and whimpering softly.”

  She knew a man like him would be doing no such thing, but she appreciated his empathy.

  “As far as Chris is concerned, you can take legal action against him,” Ethan said.

  “It would probably cost me as much in legal fees, though.”

  Not to mention emotional energy.

  “Three mortgage payments, you said? Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

  Libbie appreciated his honesty and that he didn’t try to persuade her. “I’m better off handling the missed payments myself and holding it over Chris’s head.”

  Not that she had any leverage. He’d left some belongings at her house, but nothing of any real worth. She’d get more value out of tossing them into the fire pit and burning them than trying to hock them for money.

  “Is the house in both your names?” Ethan asked.

  “No, it’s my house. He moved in after we’d been dating a couple of months. His lease was up, and it just seemed...” She trailed off, wanting to say ‘stupid.’

  “I understand,” Ethan said. “It was convenient and made sense at the time. And then he started handling the bills and it took the burden off you.”

  Libbie could kick herself. She knew she tended to be too nice and not to make a fuss, but it had never bitten her in the ass quite as badly as this. “My kids and I could’ve been homeless because I put my trust in the wrong person.” They could still be homeless, in fact, if she didn’t get her act together and find catering work quickly.

  “What about family? Anyone you could ask for an interest-free loan until you’re back on your feet?”

  Libbie snorted. “No,” she said simply.

  Although her parents had the money, there was no way she’d ask for it. Chances were good they’d say no, anyway, under the guise of saving it as college tuition for Emily’s kids.

  “As it happens, I’ll be planning a client party at my house soon. If you’re interested in catering it, I’d be happy to discuss it with you.”

  Libbie eyed him closely. “Are you saying that because you’ve heard my tale of woe?”

  “Not at all. I would’ve considered it either way.”

  Libbie wasn’t sure whether to believe him. “I’m not interested in a handout or a literal pity party.”

  “It would be neither. In fact, you’d be doing me a huge favor. I should’ve already planned this, but I’ve been too busy with client matters to give it attention. I underestimated how much extra work I’d have after Deb died. I feel like I’ve been digging my way out for months.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “Probably because I have.”

  Libbie resisted the urge to jump up and do a happy dance. “That sounds great.”

  “How about coming by Monday night? Unless you already have plans,” he added quickly.

  “No plans. What time works for you?”

  “I’m usually home and out of my suit by seven.”

  “No need to change on my account.” She liked the way he looked in his suit.

  He tugged at the knot in his tie. “Trust me. It’s the first thing I do when I get home. There are times when I feel imprisoned in my own clothes.”

  Libbie grew flushed at the thought of liberating him from his...prison. What was she thinking? Chris was barely out of the house, and this was her lawyer. Okay, not her lawyer exactly, but a potential client at the very least.

  “I’ll see you on Monday at seven,” she said.

  She left the office feeling slightly confused by her reaction to him. Nick had just accused her of jumping into a relationship with Chris after their marriage. Now, here she was, fantasizing about the very next man she met. Libbie had never considered herself to be the kind of woman who needed a man in her life, yet her behavior seemed to tell a different story.

  Libbie got into her car and chastised herself for being ridiculous. She wasn’t dating him. She was meeting him about a job—a job that she desperately needed right now. Their relationship would be strictly professional.

  When she crawled into bed later that night and glanced at the empty space beside her, she realized that she didn’t feel any sadness at all. Instead, it seemed as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her chest. With
Hercules at the base of the bed, acting as her bedroom guardian, Libbie fell asleep to a symphony of crickets and frogs.

  Chapter Eight

  “Your tequila sunrise, just as Inga requested.” Kate handed Libbie a tall glass filled to the brim and complete with a little umbrella. The four friends were gathered on Kate’s brick patio. Lucas had taken all three kids to the movies so that the women could enjoy their cocktail club time without interference.

  “No Prosecco to start?” Libbie asked.

  “I thought we’d break from tradition. It seemed appropriate.”

  “You pulled out all the stops,” Libbie said. She shifted the hot pink umbrella to the side for a careful sip.

  “And I’m using Inga’s tequila,” Kate said. “Only the best for our departed friend and, of course, our friend in need.”

  “Yes, tell us what happened,” Julie said from her place at the pale teak table. “Your text was so vague.”

  That had been deliberate on Libbie’s part to avoid having to field different follow-up phone calls. She knew she’d be seeing her friends tonight and preferred to get it all out in one fell swoop. She joined them at the table and shared the down and dirty version.

  “Let’s find him right now,” Julie said, her face flushed with anger and alcohol. “We’ll tie him to a tree in the woods, strip off his pants, and coat his balls with honey. He’ll either get stung by bees or provide a tasty snack for a bear.”

  “Quite frankly, I think the bear’s too good for him,” Kate said.

  Libbie nearly spit out her drink as laughter erupted from her throat.

  “Do you know where he’s staying?” Rebecca asked.

  “His friend Brody’s,” Libbie said. He’d told her that much when he’d finally responded to her angry texts. He’d denied any wrongdoing, of course. Tried to blame Libbie for mishandling funds, but she’d pushed back until he refused to discuss it any further and called her crazy. He then had the gall to ask her to pack the rest of his belongings so he could swing by and collect them another time. She’d agreed but only to be rid of all traces of him, once and for all.

  “I know Brody,” Rebecca said. “He adopted a dog from the shelter a few months ago. I bet if he knew what Chris did, he’d kick him out.”

  “I appreciate your support, but I don’t need Chris to be homeless just because I might’ve been,” Libbie insisted. “I’ll handle this my way.”

  Kate cocked a thin eyebrow; it was so pale that it was almost transparent against her porcelain skin. “What’s your way? Smiling on the outside but crying on the inside?”

  Libbie flinched. “No, not this time.”

  “Why? What’s different this time?” Julie pressed.

  Libbie raised her chin a fraction. “I am.”

  “What’s your plan?” Rebecca asked. She’d made short work of the tequila sunrise and had switched to water. “How are you going to make the back payments, plus pay your other bills now that you’re out of work?”

  “I won’t be out of work for long. I’ll be catering. The overhead is low, and I know where to source the ingredients for less money.”

  “Who are you, and what have you done with Libbie?” Julie asked with a disbelieving laugh.

  Libbie blinked. “What?”

  “You sound so...together.” Julie seemed to be choosing her words carefully.

  “Not that you aren’t together,” Rebecca added quickly. “You’re obviously a great mom, and you were the best thing about Basecamp.”

  “Joe called me, but I didn’t answer,” Libbie said.

  It had been earlier in the day. She’d let the call go to voicemail and proceeded to listen to Joe beg her to come back. Although she took no pleasure in his pleading tone, she didn’t call him back either.

  “Good. He doesn’t deserve you,” Kate said.

  Libbie smirked. “According to you, no one seems to deserve me. If that’s the case, I might as well book my one-way ticket to a deserted island and shack up with my new best friend, Wilson.”

  Kate gave a firm shake of her head. “No, that volleyball doesn’t deserve you either.”

  Julie smiled at her. “You said you consulted with that hot lawyer. How was that?”

  Libbie tipped back her glass and finished the last of the tequila sunrise. “It was a business meeting. That’s how it was.”

  “Oh, please. I saw the way he looked at you during our meeting,” Julie said. “While his mouth was saying legal stuff, his eyes were saying very illegal stuff.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  Libbie’s cheeks burned. “What time is the witch due?” She was desperate to change the topic.

  “I’m not sure we should call her that,” Rebecca said. “What if it’s offensive?”

  “I don’t think it’s offensive. If anything, it’s aspirational,” Kate said. “If Inga was a witch and I aspire to be as awesome as she was...” She shrugged and took a swig of her cocktail.

  The doorbell rang, and they froze. Julie was the first to laugh. “Are we scared of her?”

  “Her name’s Lorraine,” Kate said. “How scared can we be?” She scraped back her chair and went to greet their guest.

  “What about the ashes?” Rebecca asked. “Are we doing that tonight?”

  Libbie shook her head. “Kate’s getting them tomorrow, so we’ll do it tomorrow night if that works for everyone.” They figured maybe the witch would have suggestions, if there was something special they should do with Inga’s remains given her true nature. They didn’t want to scatter her in the woods without doing some kind of ritual, assuming there was one.

  “Will she use the jar Inga left us?” Rebecca asked.

  Libbie shrugged. “It was either that or an empty prosecco bottle. Inga would be fine with either one.”

  “It isn’t as though the ashes are staying there forever,” Julie pointed out. “We’re scattering them.”

  Kate returned to the patio, along with an older woman wearing a floor-length kaftan made from a plum-colored jacquard weave. Her gray hair was braided down her back, and she carried a large canvas tote bag that read I love the person I’ve become because I fought to become her.

  “This looks like a fun party.” The older woman smiled at them. “I’m Lorraine, Soul Seer or Messenger of the Spirits. I can’t decide which one I like better.”

  “I thought you were the Voice of the Moon Goddess,” Kate said.

  “Not anymore,” Lorraine said. “It didn’t suit me after a couple years.”

  “I like Soul Seer,” Rebecca said. “Then again, I’m a sucker for alliteration.”

  “Would you like a drink?” Kate offered. “We have a full bar.”

  Lorraine’s face flashed with recognition. “Ah, right. This is the cocktail club.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the teak bar that matched the rest of the patio set. “I wouldn’t object to a dirty martini.”

  “I can handle that one. It’s my husband’s favorite.” Kate retreated behind the bar to fix the cocktail.

  Lorraine moved in a half circle, drinking in each woman as she went. “I understand you ladies need information.”

  Libbie looked her straight in the eye. “That’s right. We’ve recently learned about witches, and we’d like to know more. As much wisdom as you can impart.”

  “I see,” Lorraine said slowly. “And how did you happen to hear about witches, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “We’ve inherited some assets,” Libbie said, gauging Lorraine’s reaction to her use of the word ‘assets.’ “We’re a little confused and thought you could help.”

  Lorraine dropped the tote bag onto the patio with a thud. “You mean you’re witches, too.”

  “I’m not sure that we need to slap a label on it,” Kate said. She returned to the table and passed the martini glass to their guest.

  Lorraine tipped her head back and gave a throaty laugh. “It’s not a label, honey. It’s an honor. Embrace it.”

  Libbie stared into her glass as she d
igested the words. “We’re really witches,” she said, more to herself.

  “Not what you pictured, are we?” Lorraine asked. “You wanted a wart on my nose. Trust me, I have a wart. It just isn’t anywhere visible, thank Goddess.” She sipped her martini and sighed. “Wonderful work, darling. You’re a natural.”

  Libbie chewed her lip, debating her next question. “What if I don’t want it?”

  Lorraine regarded her. “Don’t want what?”

  “To be a witch. What if I want to go back to being me?”

  Lorraine pinned her with a hard look. “Were you really you in the first place?”

  Libbie didn’t know how to respond. “I feel like I’ve been cursed.”

  “Ask yourself why that is.” Lorraine took Kate’s empty chair and settled beside Libbie.

  “That’s easy. Ever since we opened Pandora’s box of bad breath, things have started to go wrong. I quit my job. My boyfriend left me and took my money with him.” Libbie rubbed her temples. “My life is a mess.”

  Lorraine fixed her with a penetrating stare. “Is it actually a mess, darling, or are you simply uncomfortable with being uncomfortable?”

  “I’m not going to be able to pay my bills, so I guess I’m uncomfortable with the idea of my kids and me being homeless.”

  Seemed reasonable to Libbie.

  “You’re a messenger to the spirit world,” Julie said. “Can we get in touch with our friend? The one who left us her gifts? Maybe she could explain how this works and if Libbie really doesn’t want to keep hers...”

  “Libbie is keeping hers,” Kate interjected. “I know things seem bleak right now, but I think you’re headed in the right direction. And if you take time to reflect on it, I think you’ll agree with me.”

  Lorraine’s brow creased. “If your friend was truly a witch, I’m not so sure I can reach her. Witches don’t usually hang around afterward. They have better places to be. It’s basically the way I feel every time my cousin Marta has a LuLaRoe party. I could tie my leggings together and rappel down Mount Everest. That’s how many I’ve collected.”

  Libbie felt conflicted. On the one hand, it seemed as though Godzilla himself had marched straight through her life, breathing fire as he went. On the other hand, she felt...better.