No Shoes, No Shirt, No Spells Read online

  “Are you all right?” His brows drew together in a puzzled frown as he continued to hold my arm. With his gorgeous green eyes fixed on me, he waited for an answer.

  “I--I—I’m sorry about that. I gave you the wrong order,” I muttered, like a complete fool.

  I looked to his friend who sat staring at me with the same confused and astonished look on his face.

  His eyebrows rose. “No, I ordered a cheeseburger and I’m pretty sure that’s what I was eating.” He placed emphasis on the word was. He gently released his hand from my arm.

  “Oh, well, um, I’m sorry about that. My bad.” I held my hands up in surrender.

  Yes, yes, it certainly was my bad. If only I could have melted into the hardwood floors, then I’d escape the mortification. I limped over and reached down, grabbed the burger and bun, then scooped up the pickles one by one.

  “Are you okay? Did you hurt your leg?” he asked with a concerned look on his face.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll walk it off.” I gently placed the bun and meat back on his plate. “Let me get you another one. It’ll just take a minute.” I wiped the mustard and ketchup from my fingers onto my apron, then took the plate from his table. What a way to make a great first impression. I had one chance, and I blew it.

  He waved his hand as he studied me, no doubt taking in my messy appearance. “No, that’s not necessary, I don’t have the time. I’ll take my check.”

  I’d never get his business again. He knew a crazy person when he saw one. His friend would never come back, either. Heck, within thirty minutes probably everyone in town would hear about me knocking the food from his hand. I’d be out of business before the end of the day.

  He stood and reached in his pocket for his wallet.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “It’s no trouble.”

  He gave a half grin. Obviously, he felt pity for me. “It’s fine, really. How much do I owe you?” He opened his wallet.

  “Nothing, of course. I can’t charge you for a half-eaten burger that I knocked out of your hand and proceeded to mop the floor with.” Heat rose in my cheeks.

  I wanted to tell him the truth and have him understand, but that was impossible. The truth was worse than the embarrassing lie I’d just come up with.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I’m positive. Again, I’m really sorry. I hope you’ll come back.”

  He eyed me up and down with a look I interpreted as full of mercy. “I’ll be back.”

  The odds of him returning were about as good as the odds of me taking that scum-sucking ex of mine back.

  As the thought entered my head, he flashed his gleaming white teeth at me. And this time I didn’t think it was a you’re-so-pitiful-I-have-to-be-polite smile, either. My stomach tingled as I watched the dimples on his face slide up into a full-on smile. His friend stood beside him, drawing my attention away from his gorgeous face, no easy task.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  I looked to him. “Nothing, of course. I’m really sorry.”

  I’d lose my business one way or another if I had to keep dishing out complimentary meals. He smiled again and I watched as they walked out of the café. I hoped he wasn’t walking out of my life for good. I may have resolved to be done with men until the end of time, but I could use a regular customer like him.

  “What in heaven’s name is wrong with you?” Mary Jane rushed over.

  “What’s wrong with me?” I pointed toward my chest, then turned it around on her. “You’re the one not paying attention.”

  Her face turned red. She opened her mouth, closed it again, her jaw tightening as she swallowed down whatever she was going to say.

  Guilt clasped its strangling grip around me for calling her out on the catastrophe. Perhaps catastrophe was a strong word, but it was darn close to accurate. Mary Jane always had been a good waitress, though. Well, by the way Grandma Imelda raved, I figured she had to be fantastic. Plus, she’d never do anything to hurt me on purpose. Everyone makes mistakes. Heaven knows I had made more than my share.

  I decided to break the silence. “I thought I could stop him.”

  Her lower lip softened. “Once he’s had one bite, it’s too late. You’re going to have to practice that magic, or it’s going to be chaos in this town.” Mary Jane stacked dirty dishes in the tub behind the counter. She blew her bangs out of her eyes, and faced me again.

  “Thanks for the advice.” I folded my arms in front of my chest. “I didn’t want this magic in the first place.”

  “Too late for that now. Besides, the way I hear it, you don’t have any choice in the matter. It’s written in the stars.” She gestured toward the sky with an overly dramatic wave of her arms.

  “Written in the stars, huh?” We stopped talking long enough for me to take a customer’s cash and hand him change. When he was out of audible range, I continued, “Where do you get your magical information from?”

  “Your grandmother, of course.” She didn’t glance up as she wiped water off the counter.

  “Of course.” I rolled my eyes. “Right from the source.”

  More customers approached. After ringing up the inquisitive women and waiting for their departure, I continued the conversation with Mary Jane. “Why don’t you finish telling me how the heck you found out about the magic in the first place?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “One night I’d had a little too much…” She mimicked drinking with her right hand. “Anyway, I walked in on one of your grandmother’s spell-casting sessions. She could have led me to believe I’d imagined it, but she didn’t. The next morning she told me the truth and cast a spell to cure my hangover.”

  “I still don’t understand why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” I sat on a stool next to the register.

  “It’s some kind of magical oath. You know?”

  “Right.” Silly me. How could I forget about the oath?

  “I had my suspicions before that. Once she had a picnic over by Mystic Hollow Baptist Church. I saw sparks next to her and a tub of potato salad. Little Willie McDaniel thought it was fireworks. You know, sometimes I think she wanted me to know, that’s why she let me see it.”

  “Why do I miss all the excitement? Who’d have thought a church picnic could be so much fun?” I rearranged the sugar packets.

  “All good questions, but I’ll never understand the mystery that is your Grandma Imelda. She’s an enigma.” She laughed.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this new talent.”

  “It’s only been a day, it’ll grow on you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” I chuckled.

  Since I’d gotten back to town, Mary Jane and I hadn’t had a chance to catch up and spend time eating chocolate and watching silly movies like we used to; I missed that.

  “So, you still haven’t heard from Steve?” I asked.

  “Not a word. Next week it’ll be two years since our divorce.” Mary Jane stared straight-ahead, as if she was watching the bad memory play out in her head. “It’s as if he fell off the face of the earth, which is fine by me. Last I heard he was in Louisiana.”

  “What about the guy you were seeing? What was his name? Frank?

  “Yeah, I should have known he was a loser when he said he could tell I was good in bed because my hair was wild, as if I’d just woken up. Too bad he was terrible in bed. If his theory were correct, then I should have known his bedroom prowess was less-than-stellar by his lack of hair. I mean, really, what twenty-five-year-old has a comb-over? Just shave it bald for heaven’s sake, and be done with it, that’s much sexier.”

  My lips curved down into a grimace. “He said you’d be good in bed based on your ‘wild hair’?”

  “Word for word.” She held up her right hand. “Cross my heart.”

  “Listen, I want to apologize for not having much time to chat over the past few weeks and since I got back to Mystic Hollow. I’ll be the first to admit I was wallowing in se
lf-pity for quite a while.”

  “I know what you were doing, and I was about to come to New York and drag you out of your hole of self-despair when your grandma saved the day. Speaking of despair, you hear from Ray since you left New York?” Mary Jane asked, while twisting her ponytail with one hand. She always had to move her hands. Sometimes she got that ponytail moving so fast I thought it would spin on its own like a propeller.

  “He left a voice mail on my cell phone and threatened to come back for the Mustang. I told him he could have it over my dead body. I’d rather torch the thing. I own it now. Oh, I also told him I drove it through one of those automatic car washes. I thought he might cry.”

  “It serves him right. Good riddance. You’re better off without him. Anyone who’d cheat on you is nothing but a dirty rotten, scum-sucking pig. He’ll soon realize that floozy is nothing but a gold digger. When she gets tired of his tiny weenie, she’ll dump him.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t care what he does.” I grabbed a couple dirty dishes and headed for the kitchen. “I gotta get back to work. There’s food to cook, a kitchen to clean and magic to cast.” I clucked my tongue.

  “Did you drive the shiny red car so you can show off?” Mary Jane readjusted her ponytail. Her copper-colored hair shone like a penny in the sunlight. Her tan skin from weekends at the lake blended with her hair and made her white shorts and blue shirt appear even brighter. I should make a trip to the lake. Relaxation time would do my soul some good.

  “I sure did, although I should probably start walking to work. I’ll need to burn all the calories I can with all this temptation around me all day.”

  My ex had moved to New York first, leaving me his prized Mustang. He’d restored the car from nothing more than a rusted-out shell. Now that I thought about it, he’d probably given it to me out of guilt. When Ray asked me to move to New York, I knew I wouldn’t need the car, so I’d kept it at my mom’s house, not realizing that I’d soon be back in Mystic Hollow. My stay in The Big Apple had been short-lived.

  Before I made it to the kitchen door, the sensation smacked me in the face. The feeling that hits you when someone is watching you washed over me. A lump formed in my throat. Something was definitely out of sync in Mystic Hollow.

  Chapter Eight

  The odd feeling stayed with me for the rest of the day. The next morning wasn’t any different, if anything, the sensation had grown. Something strange brewed in the distance. I felt it in my bones, coursing through my veins, like an infection antibiotics just couldn’t shake. Dark clouds had formed, rolling in quickly from the south. The wind whipped against the window, whistling and hissing through the cracks in the jambs—a storm would be here soon. The neon sign blinked Open in a steady rhythm.

  “How ’bout a refill on my coffee? I got a chill I can’t seem to shake. Storms do that to my arthritis,” the man at the end of the counter said, breaking my reverie.

  “Sorry, coming right up.” I hurried over and took the pot off the heating element, watching the door as if waiting for something to happen. “I got it,” I told Mary Jane. She couldn’t take her eyes off the door, either.

  “Your cherry pie seems about the only thing that helps ease my aching joints,” the man offered, then chuckled. I barely noticed his compliment until the thought hit me: my magic must be working.

  My stomach rumbled when I noticed the stray crumbs on his plate, but my thoughts were too consumed with watching the door to worry about my hunger. I poured the hot liquid into his awaiting mug. I hadn’t eaten since the night before and should get a slice for myself before it was all gone. But before another thought of cherries or flaky crusts could run through my mind, the door to the café flew open, allowing the rain to surge in, bringing a stranger with it.

  He shook his umbrella, then ambled over to the counter, his gaze intent on me the entire time. I stiffened and glanced over at Mary Jane.

  This man looked like he had a bone to pick with me. The last thing I needed was trouble. What could he possibly want from me?

  “Whoa. Come to mama,” Mary Jane muttered. “He’s a tall glass of water.”

  Mary Jane moved closer. In spite of her apparent awareness of his magnetism, I knew she had a short fuse sometimes, and if he said one cross word, she’d give him a verbal tongue-lashing. She didn’t like rude people as much as she didn’t like not wearing a hat. Of course she couldn’t hurt a fly—she was all talk, but he didn’t know that. With any luck, her sharp words would make him uncomfortable. Although, I needed to remember: the customer was always right. Right?

  The stranger plopped down on the stool in front of me, placed his briefcase down, then removed his black fedora, and positioned it on the counter beside him. He wore black pants and a white button-up shirt. I gave a halfhearted smile and nodded in return.

  “Hi,” I said weakly, handing him a menu. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Somehow, I knew he wanted more than coffee, and it wasn’t the cherry pie he wanted, either.

  “Sure. I’ll take sugar and cream, please.”

  My hand wobbled slightly as I placed a mug in front of him and poured. He studied the menu and I studied him. It was hard not to—he was good-looking. Dark hair, tall, and well-built. He wasn’t from around here, I knew by his accent. Was he lost? Not a lot of tourists in these parts.

  Mary Jane watched from over my shoulder, being her inquisitive self, as usual. By the look on her face, I knew she was dying for me to ask the stranger why he was in town. I suppose it was my job to make small talk with customers, so what harm could it do?

  “So, you’re not from around here?” I’m not known for my subtlety. Better to get right to the point.

  “No.” His voice had a laugh in it. “How’d you guess?”

  “I know everyone in this town and I don’t know you.” Okay, so I didn’t know everyone, but he didn’t know that. I wiped off the counter—better than staring.

  He nodded. “Good point.”

  “Plus, you talk like a Yankee.” I grinned.

  “A Yankee?” He unsuccessfully attempted to hide a smile behind his coffee mug.

  I’d gotten used to the accent, but now that I’d returned home, it stood out like a veggie burger with low-fat cheese on Mystic Café’s menu.

  I nodded. “Yes, you know, from up north.”

  “Maybe you should be a detective or a reporter,” he said.

  “Is that what you are?” I asked.

  He sipped his coffee and eyed me for a minute. “Not exactly, but I am from New York.”

  “I knew you were a Yankee!” I chuckled.

  “You got me—guilty as charged.” He held his hands up in surrender.

  He had a teasing tone in his voice, but I knew he was there for something more than witty banter.

  The customer at the end of the counter approached the register, handing me cash for his cherry pie and coffee. His movements appeared less stiff. The spell really had improved his arthritis pain.

  When the customer had walked away, the stranger continued his questioning, “So, what’s going on in Mystic Hollow, Kentucky?”

  I shot a look to Mary Jane and she shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

  He took a sip of coffee, then placed his mug down, never taking his eyes off me.

  I glanced down at my apron and fidgeted with a loose thread, avoiding his stare. “Nothing goes on in this town,” I said.

  With his gaze still fixed on me, his grin faded and he said, “Someone told me otherwise.”

  “Someone did?” I bet my gulp was audible from across the room.

  “Let’s not worry about how I know yet.” He wrapped his hands around his mug.

  How he knew what? What did he know?

  “It seems you’ve had an out of the ordinary few days.”

  “There were moments.” I swallowed hard.

  “One moment in particular?” He regarded me with purpose, waiting for an answer.

  “Right. Well… I’m
not sure what you’re talking about. I wish something went on in this town, it can be boring. But sorry, there’s nothing to report.” I wiped the countertop again, brushing off invisible crumbs.

  He opened his briefcase and pulled out a card, then handed it to me.

  The card read:

  National Organization of Magic

  Tom Owenton, Lead Investigator

  Uh-oh.

  Chapter Nine

  “Our records indicate that we haven’t had a problem with Mystic Café or your grandmother since…” He shuffled his papers, then peered up at me. “Since never.”

  “You keep records?” My mouth dropped. The fact that they kept files and already had one on me was disconcerting. Had they been spying on me?

  “Yes, we do.” His expression was stern, the teasing tone had vanished.

  I leaned over to get a closer look and he slapped the file closed.

  “Was that my picture stapled to the inside? How did you get that photo?”

  The picture was of Grandma Imelda and me last Christmas, smiling for the camera, both of us wearing reindeer antlers. Of all the pictures, they had to pick one where I looked like Rudolph?

  “Your grandmother had to send it in when she applied for you to take over.”

  “There’s an application process?” My mouth hung open. What I wouldn’t do to get my hands on that file.

  He nodded. “You look just like your grandmother, by the way, minus the gray hair, of course. Your hair is beautiful, though. Did your grandmother have dark hair like you?”

  “Why don’t you look it up in your file?” I placed my hands on my hips.

  “The antlers are a nice touch.” He smiled cheekily.

  “It was Christmas and Grandma Imelda thought they were cute,” I retorted.

  “I’m sure Santa would approve.” He flipped through the file pages again.

  “What does the file say about me?” I demanded.

  “Other than this little snafu, not much yet, and I’m hoping it’ll remain that way.” He scrubbed his hand over his face.

  “I didn’t mean to mess up the magic, it was a slip up.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest.