“Eighty-five,” Jake said.
“Ninety.”
“Fuck. Ninety-five.”
“One hundred!”
He threw up a hand. “I’m out.”
“Going once, going twice. One hundred thousand dollars to the lovely lady in the black dress.” The auctioneer looked thrilled. Sure, he was probably getting at least three times the commission he expected.
Jake and Jasper boxed me in the second it was over, tall and tanned and totally ripped in their not-quite-matching flannel shirts. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Jake was the more easily pissed, foul-mouthed of the two.
“That house is just too much for you,” Jasper said, trying to level with me. “It’s over now, so tell me—what did you see in this place? Did I miss a treasure chest?”
“I’m not even going to discuss this,” I said. “I love the house and it’s mine. You lost and you can wonder about the treasure chest in the basement forever. Go back to Massachusetts.”
“We’re not far, if you need to hire two skilled contractors,” Jasper said, as Jake just gave me the finger, or actually, two fingers, both middle ones.
“Real charming,” I said. “That definitely won’t make me want to drive up the price next time.”
“Helena,” Kiersten said, sidling up to me the minute they were gone. “Babe, you got caught up in that one, huh?”
“Why does everyone think I overpaid!? This is a great house!” I said, and I didn’t sound frantic at all. Did I? No. No. I could be a very composed and regal figure when I wanted to be. “It’s going to be some witch’s dream home when I’m done.”
“Prove me wrong,” Kiersten said, with a smile that dripped oh-honey-are-you-okay. “I can’t wait to see the listing.”
As I walked back to my truck, Bevan flew down onto my shoulder. “You were so busy talking to that mundane,” he said, “that I never had a chance to tell you that this house seems like it might have termites.”
I rubbed my temples. I was going to need more than coffee.
CHAPTER THREE
HELENA
A DASHINGLY MASCULINE hand lifted from the corner when I walked into Sandy’s Diner. As I walked toward the booth, hugging the vintage Chanel bag that I was starting to wonder if I would have to pawn to pay for this house, my eyes couldn’t help but follow the hand to the slightly tanned forearm, the rolled up black sleeve, the shoulder—mm, god, I was a sucker for a good shoulder. His hair was no longer slicked back, but hanging over his eyes. Golden brown eyes, blinding me with their beauty again once he slid off his sunglasses. His smile was suave, but genuine. That was good. I didn’t need any cynical smiles in my life.
Graham had just transformed from a guy who was too preppy to someone extremely my type. There was still a whiff of yacht, but it was drowned out by the black clothes and messy hair. I could tell he’d been running his fingers back and forth in it. He was drinking black coffee.
“I didn’t order yet,” he said. “This is my treat, by the way. Not that it’s expensive. And I know it’s not really a date. I’m just getting the feeling…” He looked at me. I remembered to release my hands from the bag strap. I saw him note the Chanel clasp with the tiniest hint of surprise. I had tried to dress up for this (non) date, just because I hadn’t been on a (non) date in a long time. My black blouse was just a tiny bit sheer and I put on some kitten heels. I had to dig this stuff out of a plastic bag in my truck that I was going to take to the thrift store. Good thing I was too preoccupied to hit Goodwill on time.
“You’re getting the feeling…”
“That maybe you’re not great with money.” He gave me a piercing look now. “Or you’re…from money. Or both.”
“That isn’t really your business.” I’m sure I flushed.
“Did you buy it?” He added, “They didn’t tell me the buyer, but I know what they paid.”
“Yeah,” I said, grabbing the menu and pretending to skim it. “I bought it. It’s a great house.”
“You fool.”
I snapped the menu down. “Excuse me?”
“I told you not to buy it.”
“I remember. So you’re calling me a fool now?” Sort of an old-fashioned word for a human to use, I thought. But definitely a word an old wizard like his grandfather might say.
“Why did you do it?” he asked.
“It’s a great house.”
“Yes. I heard you the first time. So you’re not going to tell me any reason? Is there a gold mine on the property?”
He certainly was not making me feel any better. “I got competitive,” I said.
“Who was competing against you to drive the price up that high!?”
“Can we just let it go and have some burgers?”
“Yeah, sure.” He looked back at the menu but I could tell he wasn’t reading it, and was, in fact, being driven crazy by the knowledge that I paid so much for his grandfather’s house. His foot was tapping against the linoleum and he was jabbing a finger into the side of his forehead.
“It’s my money,” I said. “Or, at least, it was. I suppose it’s your money now. And my house.”
“I was never going to come up here again,” he said. “I don’t even have any family, so what the hell would I do with a huge house out in the country, a thousand miles from home? And all the repairs—it would be a nightmare. I’m glad someone’s taking it on. I get the feeling you will take good care of the house and find it new buyers. But my grandfather’s death is messing with my brain. I don’t know why. He was a hundred and four. At that age, his life is the surprise, not the death. I don’t know why I’m getting so upset about these old memories, but—to be honest—I’m feeling some regret that I sold the house.”
“I see.”
“I even started to think, maybe whoever bought it, I’d just buy
