"I. I did what?"
She rolled her eyes. "You what? The salad or telling me to come over? It was maybe thirty minutes ago, old age kicking in already?" He was sensitive about his age; she pretty much regretted that the second the words left her lips.
"I am not old, and I did not text you."
She tilted her head and quirked her brow. "You'd rather me think you stood me up? I have the proof, Jeff, you sent me a text."
God help me to deal with him. She grabbed the phone from her jacket pocket and pressed her thumb to unlock the screen. She flashed it towards him.
"See -" she stopped dead as a female voice echoed through the minimalist apartment.
"Oh, Jeffrey, I'm getting cold. Bring the food to bed, who needs plates when you can eat it off of..."
"What the hell?" Marci dropped the food as she took in two perky breasts and then the barely twenty-something they belonged to. Her brain fired, one thought after the other, finally placing her from the herb shop that Jeff liked for some of his potions.
"Oh, hey. I didn't know you worked delivery. Second job?" The tall, lanky girl stood unaware or not caring that she had on less clothing than a stripper.
Marci's jaw dropped. "I don't work delivery." Her tongue ran over her molars as she contemplated murder. The dilemma came to whether she murdered Jeff or the girl. No, screw that. She'd buy a curse. Marci ran through her client list and distinctly remembered working for a dark warlock a few months ago. He'd had a thing for her; maybe he'd be cool with a threesome of voodoo dolls.
"Marci, what the hell are you doing here?"
She pursed her lips and flicked her gaze back to the douche canoe just inside the door.
"I have no idea. Not you. Here, have some delivery. Put some meat on that girl; poor thing looks like she's starving."
She kicked the bag of food toward her now ex and spun on the heel of her barefoot as fast as she could without falling over. Reaching the parking lot and still fuming, she realized her phone remained clasped tightly in her fist.
Walking in the middle of the pavement, she stopped and closed her eyes.
One, two, three.
Breathing seemed like a good idea. Finding the strength not to cry and not to run back and commit homicide, she unlocked her phone and went to email. Something beyond her power was telling her everything she was looking for wasn't here.
Thumbing through a few useless spam emails for products guaranteed to enhance her sex life, a lottery she won in a country she couldn't point out on a map, and an ad for winter coats, finally she found it.
Clicking on the email, the last message he'd sent popped up. Marci re-read it again.
Dear Marci,
Yes, the place is still available. The couple who owns the inn is looking for something of an innkeeper, general manager, someone who wants to pretty much take over the inn. They are no longer on site, but I'm helping in their absence. Please let me know if you are still interested. I am aware of what the ad says, but know this isn't really a turn-key situation.
Best, Caleb McIntyre
Marci clicked reply faster than she could blink, the magic in her jumping up and around her like a puppy looking for attention. Yes. Her fingers tingled as her magic pushed her along. This was the right choice. Like everything she found, she just knew she was on the right track.
Hi Caleb,
I am very interested. When can I start? I know you mentioned I could keep any revenue after operating costs, and as long as that is still the case, I'd like to come next week.
Sincerely, Marci Adams
After she hit send, she ran to her car, anything to get away from whatever it was that had just happened -- anything to get away from the covens, the politics, and the city.
2
The phone rang, a welcome break to the eternal silence residing in every corner of his store. He rubbed a hand down his face and uncrossed his ankles. Pushing away from the back counter he grabbed the receiver. He didn't need to ask who it was; she called the same time nearly every day.
"McIntyre Hardware."
Caleb shook his head in amusement as the familiar voice of Mrs. Emerson wavered over the line. At least he'd get outside. Caleb questioned why he was out here again. His bear grumbled. They couldn't go live in a cave. They'd already figured out it wouldn't work for Caleb and yet his bear was bored to tears.
"Yes, Mrs. Emerson. No, your toilet shouldn't be making that noise. You need to stop the cat from playing on the tank. I'll be over once I grab my tools."
He flipped the sign over, not bothering to note the time he'd be back, and headed to the storeroom. He grabbed his tool bag and a new flapper off the shelf. Her cat had a habit of breaking the chain in the tank, a lot, or at least she said it was the cat.
Caleb didn't bother locking the door. Evergreen Valley had passed the tourist season and save for a few local shops, most closed for the season. The last few months nothing but regret hit him. His bear reared up like a dog trying to stick his head out the window; the issue was he was trying to force Caleb to jump ship.
Down. We'll go for a run soon.
The bear grumbled. He didn't want to go for a run. He wanted a mate.
That made him regret his choice to return to civilization. Six months wandering the mountains hadn't helped him forget his past any more than being an animal dulled the pain. In his bear form, he thought human emotions would cease. They hadn't.
He could smell the steamy chocolate in the air as he stepped out
