“Even I wouldn’t hang this in my house,” I say. “Sad-eyed waifs are not my thing. Now, if it was a sad-eyed puppy . . .” I catch his look. “Kidding. No sad-eyed anything. But this is part of a quartet of infamous cursed paintings.” My smile fades. “Dangerously cursed.”
“Fatalities?”
“Yep, which is why I’m trying to buy it. Uncurse it if I can, and if I can’t, then I’ll get rid of it. Safely.”
I’m putting my phone down when it dings again.
“Seriously?” I mutter. “Sorry about this.”
“Cancelling a weekend at the last minute is a cause for apology,” he says. “Trying to remove a cursed object from the world is not.”
I shift on the chair, hoping I don’t look too uncomfortable. I want to be angry with him. Annoyed, at least. He’s not making that easy.
I open the bidding app and let out a profanity that has his brows shooting up. He sets down his sandwich as I show him the screen.
“Some guy just doubled my bid.”
It was already double what I wanted to pay. I don’t say that. Even the current bid would be pocket change for Connolly.
I turn over my phone and set it down. “I’ll figure that out later. The auction doesn’t close for another couple of days.”
“Tell me about the painting.”
I shrug. “Definitely cursed. Definitely lethal. Not much to say beyond that.”
“Really?” he murmurs. “There’s no story?”
His gaze meets mine, green eyes glittering. He knows there’s a story, and he knows I love to tell them. Still, I hesitate.
Was this week a temporary withdrawal? He wasn’t sure that he wanted to continue the friendship, and now he is? He has the right to reconsider, especially given my curse. If that’s what he’s done—and he’s now showing me that he’s past that—then okay. Let’s do this.
I sip my wine. I take a bite of my salad. And then I start the story.
Chapter Three
By the time I finish the story, we’re done with the meal and ready for the brownies. I slip into the back to make coffee. There’s a machine up front—a one-cup brewer with inexpensive knockoff pods. That’s fine for customers, and it’s fine for me, yet I’ve invested in a pour-over system in the back, along with single-origin coffee, for the guy sitting out front. Not that he wouldn’t drink the pods. I’ve seen him drink worse when his caffeine level runs low. But learning a new brewing technique and buying better beans is my way of showing that I “get” him.
Am I overdoing it? Trying too hard?
Gah! I’m overthinking this, and I don’t like it. Don’t like it at all.
As I take him his coffee, he has my brownie set out, with his own cut into tiny cubes, and I have to laugh at that. It’s an in-joke—I’d once cut his up when he was in the balancing phase of a luck-roll. Connolly is a luck worker. He can manipulate luck, but when he does, he suffers a bout of bad in return for the good, when even a bite of brownie could send him into a choking fit.
Ellie sits on a dresser, watching him, narrow-eyed, as she always does. I could take that as a bad sign, but she doesn’t dislike Connolly. She’s just suspicious of this new person in my life. Maybe suspicious of the role he’s filling and how fast he’s filling it.
I pass over the coffee, and I’m about to sit when my phone buzzes.
“Oh, look,” I mutter. “The bid has gone up again.”
I flip over my phone and unlock it. The bid pops up. I read it and swear under my breath.
“Something wrong?” Connolly asks as he eats a tidbit of brownie.
“Someone paid the full asking price. Two grand.”
“That’s inconvenient.” He washes the brownie down with a sip of coffee. “Is there any way of tracking the buyer? You could contact them and try to uncurse it.”
“How? Oh, excuse me, that painting you bought really is cursed. But I can fix it. For free.”
“I wouldn’t say free. Ask for a few hundred and then negotiate. People are overly suspicious of free.”
I shake my head. “While I highly doubt the buyer will let a stranger see their new painting, I can reach out. It’s a username with an account. Damn. It’s a brand-new account, created a few minutes ago. Username . . .” I glance up at him. “PotOfGold7. You bought it.”
“Me?” His brows arch as he pops another brownie bit into his mouth. “That sounds like a leprechaun reference. It certainly wouldn’t be me.”
“Did you just pay two thousand dollars for a cursed painting, Aiden?”
“Certainly not,” he says. “I invested two thousand dollars in a painting that can be uncursed and resold.”
“Not for two grand.”
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “One must make a few poor investments to properly appreciate the good ones.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s your family motto.”
He takes another bit of brownie. “No, our motto is Oderint dum metuant.” He pops the bit into his mouth. “Let them hate, so long as they fear.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I fear you’ve wasted at least fifteen-hundred bucks.”
“It’s not wasted if it removes a cursed painting from the world.” He lifts his coffee. “Do they offer charitable donation receipts for that?”
I sigh. Then I meet his eyes. “Thank you, Aiden, but—”
“You did not ask me to buy it, or even hint that you wanted me to. Allow me the occasional good deed, Kennedy, even if it doesn’t earn a tax write-off.” He checks his phone. “It says the seller is in New York state. May I suggest we pick it up in person? Perhaps tonight?”
I peer at him.
What’s going on, Connolly? You just did a one-eighty, from canceling our plans and ignoring my calls to buying me a two-thousand-dollar painting and wanting to drive two hours to pick it up.
“Is everything okay, Aiden?”
He meets my gaze again, locking it in. “Everything is fine with us.”
I hesitate. I can’t miss his wording. He’s saying that whatever is going on has nothing to do with me. Which suggests something is going on.
“And you?” I say carefully. “Is everything okay with you?”
His cheek twitches, even as his gaze stays steady. “Everything will be fine.”
I don’t miss the nuances in that answer, either, but it’s all he’s giving me, and I do not have the right to press for more.
“Sure,” I say. “I close at five, and I’m free after that.”
“Excellent. I will make the arrangements and pick you up at six. We’ll have dinner in the city.”
I’m waiting outside the house at six. Hope is with me, while Ani is in the house making dinner. When a car rolls up in front of the house, Hope bends and squints at the driver. The car stops, passenger window rolling down.
“Traded your wheels, huh?” Hope says. “Gotta say, I liked the other one better.”
“As do I,” Connolly says. “However, it’s in the shop.”