I haven’t told Trace I love him yet. I want to, but I’m terrified he won’t say it back. I know he cares about me. We’ve been having so much fun together—going to a wine festival, the beach, biking, walking with Cheddar, and just hanging (and banging) at my place or his. I’ve even helped him with the work he’s doing on his house. I know nothing about construction or renovations, but I can paint and hold things in place while he uses his, ahem, big tools. Watching him work is like porn, honestly. He’s so strong and competent; it turns me on. He doesn’t complain when I attack him.
I did some research into love spells. There isn’t a hard rule against them, but they are considered questionably ethical. I struggle with my conscience a little, worried that without some magical help, Trace will never allow himself to have a relationship with me.
But I can’t do it. If Trace doesn’t love me because of me, I’m not going to do something unethical to make him. I’m worth more than that.
On the weekend, we go to an art festival in Old Town. The street is closed down with tents set up for eating and drinking and music. Other tents display art from various vendors. We check out all kinds of paintings, sculptures, and photographs, eat hot dogs and corn on the cob, and drink beer. At seven thirty we gather with the crowd to listen to the band, dancing along to the music.
When that’s done, we stroll the street to look at more of the vendors. As we approach one, a woman looks up. “Trace.”
His hand tenses in mine. “Parminder. Hi.”
She narrows her eyes at us, her gaze traveling to me, down to our clasped hands, and then back to Trace. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah. How are you?”
“I’m great. You remember Kay?”
The woman next to Parminder raises a hand in greeting.
“Yeah. Hi, Kay. And this is Romy.” He releases my hand and shifts away from me.
I force a smile. “Nice to meet you both. Are you enjoying the fair?”
“It’s so much fun,” Parminder says. “We were here last year, weren’t we, Trace?”
“Uh, yeah. That’s right.”
I keep my smile in place. Parminder’s eyes are shooting sharp, pointy barbs at both Trace and me. The air around us vibrates with tension.
Parminder’s hand goes to a silver chain at her throat. “I’m still wearing the necklace you bought me that night.” She lifts it so that the heart charm dangles and glints.
Trace’s smile is stiff. “Oh yeah. Well. We need to move on. Nice seeing you both.”
I scamper after him as he hoofs it down the street. “Nice to meet you!” I call.
He’s marching so fast I can barely keep up. “Hey. Slow down.”
He makes a turn between two tents and stops.
“Old girlfriend?” I guess.
“Sort of.” He grimaces. “We didn’t go out very long.”
“She’s really beautiful.”
He says nothing.
“You bought her jewelry.”
“That was a mistake. She thought things were serious.”
“But you don’t do relationships.”
“Right.” He bites out the word. Then he sighs. “Sorry. That was awkward.”
“No need to apologize. I bet there are lots of women out there you dated.” And they’re probably all unhappy and bitter.
Is that going to be me? Ugh.
“A few, I guess. Are you ready to go?”
“Sure.” Clearly he doesn’t want to run into Parminder again. To be honest, I’m with him on that. I don’t need to be reminded that Trace doesn’t want a relationship… with anyone.
21
Trace
“You did what?”
I’m in Joe’s office.
“I offered Romy a job.”
I blink. “Doing what?”
“Working on our website and our branding.”
“You didn’t even think we needed a website.”
“I guess I’ve realized that we need to get with the times.” He grimaces. “We can’t stay stuck in the past.”
“Huh.” When I told him that a few years ago, he didn’t seem convinced.
“She’s thinking about it. But it makes sense.”
“I guess. Sure.”
I’m not sure how I feel about this. I wasn’t happy about the family rule that I had to work five years somewhere else, but now I can see how valuable the experience is and how it opened my mind to different ways of doing things.
But Romy arrives, and he offers her a job after two minutes.
Okay, it’s been longer than that. And I guess she’s put in her time elsewhere, although working for an insurance company is a little different than a construction company, and the work she does there is a far cry from what she’d do here.
And… it would be great for her. Never mind my stupid self-doubts. She’d love working here.
We move on to talking about an issue with a remodel. “We’re going to end up behind schedule,” I tell Joe. “We’ve got everything framed in, but the clients are saying that’s not what they wanted. We showed them the blueprints, and they were good with it.”
Joe sighs. “People have a hard time imagining what it will look like from the blueprints.”
“Exactly! That’s what I’ve been telling you. We need to start using 3D modeling. It’s expensive, but it saves money when it comes to situations like this where we now have to tear things down and start again.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay, let me think about that.”
Back in my own office, I sit down and stare at my dark computer screen.
I don’t have a problem with Romy working here. Okay, I do. Fuck. I love the idea of seeing her every day, but what happens when this all goes to shit? That’s going to be even more awkward than we thought.
Running into Parminder that night at the street fair only reinforced how this could turn out. I’ve never been able to stay friends with the women I date; when I end things, they seem to hate me. I’m sure that’ll be true with Romy too.
Jesus fuck. What a mess.
I lean my head into my hands for a moment. The biggest problem with this whole scenario? I actually care about Romy. She’s a sweetheart with a fun, dirty side. She’s smart and kind. I admire her strong sense of justice and fairness. She’s beautiful. Already the whole family loves her. She lacks confidence in her witch abilities, but that will come with time.
But she’s going to end up hating me like every other woman I’ve been with.
Later, she comes over to my place for dinner, which we make together, and I use a little witchcraft in the kitchen to make sure our meal is delicious. I consider it a learning opportunity for Romy, who takes in everything I do with earnest attention. I even let her conjure up the garlic-rosemary butter that will go on the pan-seared steaks. We produce perfect creamy mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus.
“This is fun,” she says, tasting the potatoes.
It… actually is. I forgot the fun of magic. Teaching Romy has rekindled that in me. I needed this in my life.
We sit down to eat at the island.