Garrett shoots me a skeptical glance.
“Business good?” Lincoln asks, forestalling any questions from Garrett.
“Yeah. Great.” I chomp down the nacho.
“I don’t know how you work for family,” Lincoln says. “If I had to work with my dad, one of us would kill the other the first day.”
“Joe’s not my dad,” I remind him.
He rolls his eyes. “Might as well be.”
I shrug. “Sometimes it’s frustrating. Like, when I want to make changes and he doesn’t. If he was really my dad, I’d fight it out. But most of the time he lets me run the reno side of the business without interfering, so that’s good.”
“Yeah, it’s good if you can make your own decisions,” Garrett says.
“I’ve learned a lot from him,” I add. “Stuff they don’t teach you in college. And I like doing renovations. Selling real estate would definitely not be my thing.”
“I could sell real estate,” Miles muses.
We all scoff. Except, he probably could. Miles is so smart he could do anything. He works as a master marijuana extractor. It sounds like a joke, but he’s a highly skilled scientist. We call him a mad scientist even though he looks more like a football player.
“How was your date the other night?” Garrett asks.
Oh yeah. I swallow. “I should be so pissed at you.”
He blinks. “What? Why?”
“Amy stood me up.”
“Oh shit. Really?”
“You didn’t know? She didn’t talk to Julie?”
“No. That’s really weird. Julie doesn’t know her that well though.”
“Maybe she’s dead.”
Garrett chokes. “That’s morbid.”
“I mean, I hope she’s okay.”
“So how long did you sit there by yourself before you left?” Miles asks with a smirk.
“I was there for almost half an hour.” I pause. “And then this really cute chick walked in. I thought she was Amy. She sort of looked like how you described her, so I waved at her, and she came and sat with me.”
“Fuck me,” Lincoln complains, shoving a hand through his straight black hair. “You get stood up by your blind date, but a strange, hot girl drops in and picks you up.”
I laugh. “I don’t know who was picking up whom, but basically, yeah. We had fun.”
They’re all shaking their heads as the waitress sets my beer in front of me.
“Would you like to order some food?” Her smile is flirty.
“Uh…” I look at the guys. “We ordering dinner?”
“Give us a few,” Lincoln says to the waitress.
“You bet!” she chirps.
“You get some giggity giggity?” Miles asks.
“What the fuck?” We all stare at him.
“You know what I mean.” He chows down on a chip.
“No,” I say. “No giggity giggity. We went for ice cream.”
“Huh. I’m disappointed in you,” Lincoln says. “Usually you smash and dash.”
I roll my eyes even though that’s basically true. “No smashing either.”
“You want to see her again?” Garrett asks, a hint of incredulity raising his voice.
I don’t want to admit that to my friends. For one thing, I don’t very often see women more than once. They’ll be all over that like stink on a skunk. Also, there’s the issue of not knowing if she’s a witch. Amy’s a witch, and I assumed Romy was too while I still thought she was Julie’s friend. But thinking back over the evening… I don’t think she is. I’m usually pretty good at sensing that. Not that I care that much about rules. The coven’s done nothing for me. For years they’ve resisted helping me achieve my most important goal. So I occasionally date Rucker women. Whatever.
And I don’t want to see Romy again. I will see her again. I don’t know how, exactly. Showing up at her door is kind of stalkerish. But she and I aren’t done.
6
Romy
Saturday night arrives quickly. Joe called and offered to pick me up—how quaint! Since it’s not far from where he lives, I agreed.
I’ve rejected numerous outfits, trying to strike the right balance between casual and dressy, wanting to look like I care but I’m not trying too hard. A first impression can be a lasting impression. I end up in a dress I wore to a wedding last summer, but with a pair of flip-flops instead of heels, it’s more casual. The halter neckline shows off my shoulders, and the skirt is loose and flippy around my knees, the floral print summery.
Joe arrives just when he said he would. I let him into my condo, and he glances around, sizing the place up. “You own this?” he says.
“Me and the bank,” I quip. “But yes.”
“Good for you.”
When he pulls into the driveway of the massive house in Sheridan Park, I blink. It’s gorgeous. I guess the Candler business does well. With my purse over my shoulder, carrying the bottle of wine and bouquet of flowers I brought, I follow Joe along the curved stone sidewalk. The front yard has huge trees with lush landscaping, tons of hostas and daylilies. We climb the stone steps to the front door, which is flanked by two stone urns overflowing with impatiens and coleus, and Joe opens the door and steps into the house. I swear my knees are knocking together loud enough for them to hear it inside.
He steps aside and I walk into a foyer with gleaming dark hardwood floors and a wide staircase on the right.
“Come this way,” he says. “Everyone’s out in the sunroom. We tend to use that room a lot at this time of year.”
My eyes are probably bugging out of my head as I follow him down a hall and into an enormous kitchen, all white and stainless steel. A woman stands at the island, tall, slender, with long auburn hair. She moves around it to greet me.
“Romy, this is my wife, Cassandra. Cass, this is Romy.”
She smiles warmly at me and opens her arms for a hug. Taken aback, I thrust the flowers and wine at her. “Th-these are for you,” I stammer.
“Oh, thank you!” She hands the wine to Joe, who moves to a wine fridge, and sets the flowers on the island. “I’ll get those in water right away.” Then she turns back for that hug.
My mom and I weren’t huggers, but some of my friends are, so I’m learning to go with it. I don’t even know this woman, but I should be happy, I suppose, that she’s so welcoming.
She draws back and studies my face. “You’re nervous.”
I blink. That was another thing my mom and I didn’t do—talk openly about our feelings.
“Terrified,” I say.
She laughs softly. “Of course you are. This must be unsettling for you.”
“Just a bit. But…” I hesitate to say this was what I hoped for. “But I’m happy to meet you all.”
And never mind me. This must be unsettling for her.
“And we are to meet you. Come on out. Dinner won’t be ready for a little while. We can have a drink and get to know each other.”
She’s so friendly it calms my nerves somewhat, and I follow her across the kitchen to a door that opens into a bright sunroom. It’s amazing—the walls are all windows looking onto a yard as big and green as Lincoln Park. The room stretches almost the width of the house and is full of more plants—ferns and palms—wicker furniture with thick cushions, and low tables.