Frog Hollow (Witches of Sanctuary Book 1) Page 7

  Sera gives him another look.

  “Fine.” He sighs. “Let’s go see the second level.”

  He walks off without indicating he wants me to follow him. I make an ugly, childish face at him, hoping he has eyes in the back of his head. I wind my way toward the back of the store after him. He stops at the edge of the stairwell and waits for me. He wipes his bronze hair away from his face, the red knot of his forehead visible for the first time. He motions toward the steps. “You first.”

  The stairwell is tiny at best. It’s obviously only meant to fit one person at a time. I squeeze by him, my shoulder grazing his chest, and he takes a step back. An entire foot back. When I look over my shoulder at him, he stares at the floor.

  He’s really taking this southern gentleman thing too far.

  I turn back to the stairs, watching each step as I climb. The steps are painted in opposing colors of blue and white with a name of a famous author. I repeat the names silently to myself as I hop up the incline. Once at the top, the room expands with more shelves and another cozy reading area that leads out onto a balcony. I go there first to peek through the open door. “Wow.” I smile out at the street below. “This is a great view.”

  “Yeah,” Reid says softly behind me. “Fiona always loved to sit out here every morning and drink her coffee. Hence the coffee counter I helped her install.”

  I turn to see him pointing at the small round counter in the corner equipped with an old-fashioned coffee pot and new shiny cappuccino machine. “You helped her?” I examine the obviously new addition and imagine Reid here working. Shirtless. Or maybe in just that rolled-up plaid shirt.

  “Fiona let me work here during my summers off from college. I needed a reason to get out of the house and away from those two.” He throws a glance behind him, indicating he means Seraphina and Abby. “This place was always quiet enough.”

  I turn back to the window, gazing at the small metal chairs on the balcony. I could see my mother sitting there, cup of coffee in hand, staring out over the town she loved so dearly. “Thank you for everything you’ve done today.”

  When he doesn’t answer, I turn, only to hear his footsteps retreating back down the stairs. I run to catch up to him, skipping down three steps at a time until I can reach his arm. I pull him to a halt just below the last step. “Wait.”

  He stops, not bothering to turn around to face me.

  “You won’t even let me thank you?” I sound angry because I am.

  He averts his face, his eyes avoiding mine. “I don’t deserve one,” he says, his voice strained. “What I did today was out of obligation to Fiona. It wasn’t for you.”

  Anger and pain bite so deeply inside me that I feel the need to double over to keep it from ripping me in two, but I don’t let it take me. Instead, I grit my teeth and fight back. I pull his chin around, forcing him to look at me. When his eyes connect with mine, I use my other hand to push his hair away so I can cup it over the exposed wound on his forehead.

  He tries to jerk away, the pain from it flickering across his face, but I hold him still. “I’m sorry.” I feel my fingers begin to tingle and burn. “If I had known it was you that night, I wouldn’t have hit you quite so hard.” Then I smile at him, my annoyance clear on my face. “Or at least not somewhere so visible.”

  I see his face relaxing and know the pain he feels is dulling behind my hand.

  “However, I will not apologize for my decision to stay here.”

  I pull my hand away, revealing freshly healed skin beneath my fingers. “So why don’t you let me know when you decide to stop being an ass about it?”

  I push by him, shoving him against the wall to squeeze down the stairs. I don’t bother to look back as I stalk through the bookstore. Sera and Abby stand at the counter looking through a large file of paperwork, pretending they hadn’t heard the exchange, but the smile Abby tries to hide tells me differently. “I’ll meet you at the car,” I tell them. “I will manage the books myself tomorrow.”

  I swing the door open, the bell ringing loudly over my head. I walk silently back down the street. I smile at everyone I meet, focusing on returning to my earlier good mood. It doesn’t matter how guilty I feel about my decision, because that is my own burden to bear, but I refuse to let Reid Thomas force his guilt on me too. He obviously cared for my mother, and for that reason alone, I will tolerate him. However, that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.

  ***

  Later that evening, I find myself back home, my previous good mood still eluding me, with three giant boxes piled onto my kitchen table. Abby sits across from me, a calculator in hand, reviewing the inventory list Reid put together, while I pretend I know how to interpret months’ worth of bank statements.

  A deep pain thumps in my head as I try to focus on the tiny print. Finally, my pen falls to the table, as does my head. I let out a groan that is quickly followed by a replication of it from Abby.

  “I know. It’s tedious.”

  “It’s torture,” I correct. “But a welcome kind of torture. If that makes any sense.”

  “She would be thrilled to know you’re going to reopen the shop.”

  I nod against the table, not really knowing what to say. Behind the ache in my head and the flurrying emotions, I’m thrilled too. My enthusiasm is muted, though, because I can’t stop thinking about the look on Reid’s face every time he mentions my mother. “They were close,” I say finally. “My mom and Reid.”

  Abby nods. “Fiona understood him. She was always able to make Reid talk when the rest of us just seemed to make him angry.”

  I laugh, humorless. I think about how many times I’ve made him angry in just a few short days. “Why is he like that?” I ask, unsure if I want to know the answer.

  Abby grins, leaning back in her chair. “It’s hard being the only male in the family. With our father never caring enough to stick around, and Sadie’s dad too busy with his work on the coast to bother, he’s always felt the burden to take care of us.”

  “But you’re gifted,” I say, as if it isn’t obvious. “That makes you pretty self-reliant. I really want him to help with the store, especially since he seems to have an attachment to it.”

  “He will. In his own way. We all promised Mom we would help you get it up and running before the festival.”

  My eyes rise, curious. “Festival?”

  The first thing that pops into my mind is one of those run-down carnivals that comes to town every so often, with rusty rides and greasy food.

  “The Heritage Festival is next week.” Abby taps her pen against the table. “It’s a kind of celebration of our local culture. There’s always lots of great music in front of the courthouse, and all the local business owners have booths or tents specializing in their specific trade. People come from miles away to eat our food, shop through our art collections, and, in your case, to buy your books.”

  My mouth falls open. “I’m supposed to have the store ready to open within a week?”

  “We all plan on helping you.” She attempts to sound reassuring. “Your mother disappeared shortly after the festival last year, so this would be the first time the store would be closed for it.”

  I already know I have to follow through. Now I understand why Reid spent his entire day working—because we have a deadline to meet. A sense of urgency rises in me, reminding me of my days in college during the week before final exams. “We really need to get these books straightened out.” I turn my attention back down to the tiny printed numbers.

  “We’ll get there.” I notice the extra emphasis she places on the plural.

  I bite my lip, nodding down at the paper. “I believe that.”

  As I say it, I feel the warmth of fur wrap itself around my leg beneath the table. I sit up to peek underneath and find the large blue cat licking my ankle. “You’re still here,” I say, not really surprised.

  Abby lets out a laugh, bending down to look under the table. “Of course he’s still here. Romeo is you
r cat now.”

  I look up at her, confused. “My cat?”

  “He belonged to Fiona. He’s been living with us, but now I’m sure he’ll want to stay with you.”

  The cat swirls around my legs again, giving me another affectionate lick. “Romeo, huh?”

  “Reid named him. He says Romeo has always had a thing for women.”

  “Smart cat.” I smile and run my hand down Romeo’s back as he stretches into it with a purr.

  “I think Reid is just jealous because Romeo hates him,” Abby says, laughing. “He still has a scar above his eye from where Romeo scratched him when he was a kitten.”

  I grin, despite myself. “I like you already,” I tell the cat, who returns my affection in full. “Just for that, I’ll let you stay. I could use a roommate in this big house.”

  Abby lets out a deep-rooted, evil laugh. “You being here will be good for him,” she says, “and I don’t mean the cat.”

  I give her a smirk that insists I highly doubt it. I pull the cat up into my lap, stroking its fur. If I am going to be at odds with Reid, I’m happy to know I will at least have an accomplice. Romeo paws playfully at my mouth as I yawn down at him. “I think I’ve had all the numbers I can handle for tonight.”

  “Me too.” Abby starts shoveling papers back into the box. “I can help you again tomorrow night, if you like?”

  “Thanks.” I yawn again. “That would be great.”

  I set Romeo down as she gets up to gather her things. I give her another hug, a little sad to see her go. “Thank you, for everything. I can’t explain how much it means to me.”

  “We’re just so glad to finally have you home. And like my mom said, don’t worry about Reid. He’ll come around, eventually.” She pulls away from me, grinning. “Let him suffer a few weeks. Maybe he’ll finally learn his lesson.”

  “Which would be?” I ask, predicting her answer.

  “Never piss you off.” She chuckles and gives Romeo a pat on the head before disappearing out the door.

  I turn around to look at my house. It now appears so vastly different from the night before. Now, filled with a combination of old and new things, Romeo scurrying around on top of the furniture, it feels like a real home. I look at my new cat, contemplating my first decision as a pet owner. “Do you like bologna?” I ask him. “Because I do believe I am fresh out of cat food.”

  He purrs before darting toward the kitchen. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I pick up my Ryan Gosling mug full of wine and follow him. This isn’t just a house now. It’s our home.

  Chapter 7

  A HELPING HAND

  When I contemplate the word tradition, I imagine some type of joyful activity, like kissing under the mistletoe at Christmas or eating your weight in chocolate on Valentine’s Day. I don’t associate the term with self-torture. Whoever thought an outdoor festival in the middle of June is ever a good idea obviously dislodged a few of their marbles.

  I stare out the door of the bookstore, eyeing the gigantic tent Reid and Grady so graciously set up for me. Mounds of books are stacked neatly on the long tables outlining the edge. It doesn’t fool me for a second. I know better than to think the white canvas of the tent top offers any relief from the sweltering heat. I can see it in the air, the humidity floating in sweaty little waves.

  I know I can’t shut down the book sale on account of my sun allergy, especially after the boys went through all the trouble of putting up the tent. Not to mention the hours of labor Abby, Sadie, and I put in this week to get the store back to working order. Above all, I don’t want to be known as the creepy pale chick who broke town tradition.

  Instead, I prepare myself accordingly. I decide to wear as little clothing as possible, without risking the innocence of my visiting book enthusiasts. I chose a strappy blue sundress that would allow airflow to all the necessary places, accompanied by a large, floppy mid-day hat to keep the sun out of my eyes.

  I look in the glass of the store’s door, adjusting my side braid so my hat doesn’t look too silly. I smile at myself, twisting around, admiring my ensemble. I could pass for a southern belle. I consider trying out the accent, but I’m not ready to go that far yet. When I deem myself presentable, making sure I don’t have lipstick on my teeth or a visible panty line, I push the door open, plastering on my best smile while I secure the sign to the window.

  Annual Sanctuary Book Emporium Sale

  Corner of Main and Jackson Ave.

  Saturday 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.

  I take a second to marvel at the hard work the boys accomplished, because not only did they put up the tent, but also carried and organized all the books I want to include in the sale. I feel mildly guilty as I stare at the rows of books, knowing I could have done the job in half the time and effort if only it were acceptable to use my powers in public. I will have to figure out a way to express my gratitude, maybe in the form of some homemade brownies or something. Boys always seem to like that sort of thing.

  I find the stool I asked them to bring, along with a box of donated magazines from Sadie to keep myself busy during the slow hours. I look around at the vacant street, realizing slow isn’t the correct term. The town is dead. I sigh, knowing I’m in for a long, boring day. I settle on the stool with my magazine while I lean back against one of the tent poles and prop my feet on top of a table, making sure I don’t flash anyone.

  The morning goes by slowly, with only a few people stopping by, including Cari on her way down the street to open Rooster’s for lunch. She asks me about my lessons with Sera, and I excitedly explain that within the past two days I’ve learned how to freeze the lake behind my house into ice. She’s apparently thrilled with my progress, but our celebration is cut short when a couple of the other shopkeepers come by to tell me how glad they are to see someone carrying on my mother’s tradition. It makes me feel really crappy for wanting to ditch the entire idea, but fortunately, they don’t have to know that part.

  Tents start popping up everywhere, each store down the street setting up for the evening festivities. I become bored with my magazine rather quickly, throwing it over the side of the table, resigned to just amusing myself with my own thoughts. That is never a good idea, because my thoughts, when left alone to do as they may, always seem to drift to things better left alone.

  Reid Thomas being such a thing.

  However, my rebellious nature spurs me forward as I try to decipher his actions of late. He continues to ignore me, which really isn’t such a big surprise. He makes it very clear I shouldn’t be here or within a hundred miles of this place. He doesn’t say it out loud as he did that first night, but the sentiment is evident in the disappointed glare I receive every morning at the breakfast table. It’s as if he wakes up hoping to find out I’ve run off during the night.

  Then there are the nice things he does. Things he doesn’t know I see. In fact, he adamantly refused to help Grady set up my tent when Abby first suggested it. I would have thought he followed through on his threat if weren’t for that fact he didn’t show up for dinner last night. Grady called Abby later to say Reid showed up unexpectedly and didn’t speak a word the entire night but worked harder than anyone else.

  Then, of course, there are the new locks on my windows. I laugh, thinking how Reid must have assumed I wouldn’t notice the minor change. I smile, letting myself pretend, even if it is just for a moment, that Reid actually cares.

  “Hello.”

  The greeting startles me, and I jump as I register the amused voice. I glance up to see a tall, dark-haired figure standing only inches away from me. My hand darts out in search of the table, but it’s too late. I’ve managed to knock myself off balance. One of the stool’s legs sinks deeper into the gravel, sending me flying backward with my feet in the air. I land with a thud as the gravel sinks into my flesh, stinging viciously.

  I painfully roll over, shoving the tail of my dress back down to my knees. A trail of blood is dabbled along my palms. I take a moment to feel sorry for myself and
soak in the misery of the pain and embarrassment.

  When I go to shift my weight in an attempt to get up, the sun vanishes. Gravel crunches next to me. I slowly raise my eyes to find the source of my mishap looming over me.

  I almost swallow my tongue.

  “I’m so sorry,” the figure proclaims. His tone is rough. Regretful. With the slightest French accent. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  It’s the guy from the balcony.

  I don’t speak. He bends down, eyeing the blood on my hands. His frown instantly deepens. “And I certainly didn’t mean to cause you harm.”

  Our eyes connect. Crystal blue hidden behind lavish lashes. “I’m okay.”

  Mesmerized, but okay. There is something different about his eyes.

  He drops his stare back down to my hand. His fingers graze my wrist. “My grandmother always says if there is blood involved, everything is not okay.”

  He picks my wrist up, laying my hand in his palm. Slowly. Cautiously. He blows against the open cut. I wince as the remaining fragments of gravel roll off.

  I stare like an idiot. His creamy, olive complexion contrasts perfectly with dark, messy hair. His lips, soft and full, are only inches away from my skin.

  “I’m not okay,” I finally agree.

  He hums, smiling at me. “I didn’t think so.”

  He stands up and offers me his hand. I take it, wincing. I’m really not okay. I try to dust off my dress, but my palms hurt.

  “Come on.” He nods casually toward the bookstore up the street. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I think these books can manage a minute or two without you.”

  I follow him silently up the street. He walks beside me, completely at ease. He smiles and waves at a patron across the street.

  They don’t wave back. They just stop and stare.

  I can’t blame them. I’m staring too.

  I notice he still carries one of my books under his arm. I crane my head to see which one he’s selected, but the title is hidden. He stops in front of the shop door and waits for me. “Ladies first.”