“Sure,” he said absentmindedly, and turned to stare at her legs. She wasn’t sure if he was aware of his staring, but she definitely was. His gaze was hot as they traced their way up her calves, over the curve of her hip into the dip of her waist, skimming the sides of her breasts to rest on her now-flaming red face. He visibly shook himself and cleared his throat.
“I’m ready,” he said, his voice hoarse. She almost smiled at that, but the laughter died when she saw his look wasn’t receding. Oh. He was affected by her, too.
They stood in front of the wall of romance novels a beat too long, both of them wanting, but neither ready to do anything about it.
Cleo broke the spell first. “Right. Meeting your aunt. Will other family members be there? Also, you know I’m fine driving over there myself, right?”
“There will definitely be other family there. Things will be easier if I take you the first time.”
“My first time?” Cleo asked.
Ian barked a short laugh, and Cleo realized her unintentional double-entendre.
“Shut up. You know what I mean,” Cleo smiled at Ian’s good humor.
“I do. And I mean it. My family tends to be a little weird.”
“Clearly runs in the family,” Cleo said archly. Ian wiggled his eyebrows in response and headed out the door.
They took Ian’s car - he had air conditioning, and Cleo was no idiot. Ian kept an easy conversation going and Cleo felt herself slipping too-comfortably into talking about herself, more than she was used to. When she tried to turn the conversation about Ian, he was generous about discussing his family, but reticent to share about himself. Cleo wasn’t offended. Her list of conversational no-nos was a mile long. But she discovered they both read more than they watched television or movies, both were decent employees but preferred being self-employed, and they both had a deep and abiding love of terrible pop music.
Cleo was busy extolling the values of Korean pop songs when Ian pulled off the country highway to a dirt road. An empty little building stood sentry to the start of the winding path. A guard station, Cleo realized. Nothing fancy, just a simple little structure with an open window. It was empty, but Ian slowed as he approached and gave a head nod.
“Hiya Ian,” a voice crackled from an unseen radio. There must’ve been a camera somewhere.
“Ian, what?” Cleo started to say, when she saw a bear lumber past her window. She suppressed a scream, but her hand shot out and grabbed Ian’s arm. She pointed towards the bear. Her hand trembled with the rest of her.
Ian swore quietly. Not afraid, just exasperated. It ratcheted down Cleo’s anxiety slightly, but only just.
“The bears here are friendly but” he raised his voice slightly, “kind of assholes when they scare visitors.”
“I don’t know that bears can be assholes,” Cleo said.
“They definitely can be assholes,” Ian promised grimly, and started pulling the car forward.
Jenny’s house was a huge lodge building, more suited to big-game hunters than witches. It had pretty green shutters against the log slabs. There were enormous window boxes full of color and sweet little vinca trailing down everywhere. It looked like a dream. Two enormous sugar maples framed the house, dappling parts of it in shade. She sighed in appreciation.
Ian shot her a half-grin. “It’s a nice house, you think?”
“The best,” she breathed.
“Agreed,” he said, and then slid out of his car. She followed him, drinking in the circling cobblestones winding their way to the door framed by large spikes of purple catmint and the occasional waving native grasses. The more she looked, the more she liked what she saw. Large pots held strawberries or lavender, and the air was clean and tart with the flowers.
She barely noticed the front door opening, or the woman standing there with the grin that mirrored Ian’s.
“Green witches, man!” she laughed. “They all go crazy for the front garden” she said to Ian.
Cleo disengaged from the garden, slightly alarmed that she had started to sink into the plants and her affinity without even noticing. “Sorry, hi, I’m Cleo. Great garden,” she said lamely.
“It’s great because I didn’t do it at all,” Jenny laughed. She looked like a cheerleader, or maybe a cheerleading coach, Cleo amended after noticing the fine wrinkles bracketing her wide blue eyes and mouth. Her blonde hair was in a high ponytail, and her tidy little frame was lightly muscled. She was lovely with the commanding presence of a general.
Jenny invited them in. Ian declined, saying he was going to find his cousins and left Cleo with an encouraging smile and a warm, possessive touch to her arm. Jenny watched the interaction with her head tilted in consideration, and Cleo felt like explaining that Ian was just a very nice person, mostly, and there was nothing more to it. She held her tongue, though, and Jenny didn’t say anything.
Jenny led them through her house: comfortably worn couches, scarred wooden floors, mission style chairs, fresh flowers in mis-matched pitchers everywhere. There were stacks of books, knitting projects, kids’ baseball mitts, and Legos on the table. It had the unapologetic air of a happy family, and felt to Cleo, a little like walking through a movie set. She wasn’t aware that people actually lived like this.
They walked through the surprisingly small kitchen, grabbing some bubbly water from the fridge, and onto the equally surprisingly huge deck. It overlooked a swing set and a heavily wooded preserve, much like Cleo’s own. Jenny curled up in a
