Page 7 of Oohs, Ahhhs, and Orbs

“Now, call your detective and tell him you’re closing, then go freshen up.” She eyed me critically. “I don’t know how you can still look amazing after working all day.”

We walked to the front of the store, where I turned the sign around to close. Then, I leaned in to squeeze her in a big hug. “Are you kidding? You never look less than ready for a runway, even after you’ve been exercising for an hour.”

Shayla winked at me. “Okay, we are just badass women who are beautiful and know our worth. Just like our mamas taught us.” She started to walk out the door but stopped before I could swing it shut. “Call me after your dinner. I don’t care how late it is.” She gave me a dead-eye stare, showing me how serious she was, and I knew I’d be in trouble if I didn’t call.

“Yes, ma’am. I promise to call. Love you!”

“Love you too, girl. Have fun!”

I locked the door, giving one last wave through the glass, and then sighed. Looking around the shop, I felt lost. I was going to have to pull myself together and face my greatest fear. I looked at Mildred, who was grinning at me while giving a little shimmy.

“It’s only dinner. Basically, it’s a business meeting. I can do this.”

Mildred’s wink reminded me an awful lot of Shayla’s, who I was sure would not be pleased at the comparison. I headed toward the back of the room, where the doorway led to the stairs of my small apartment while untying the apron I was wearing. I hung it on a hook next to the wooden table where I did much of my potion work, then paused. Reaching into the pocket, I slid the business card back out.

Mortimer meowed at my feet, rubbing against my leg, knowing he was about to get a plate of his favorite canned food once we got upstairs. I bent down to scratch behind his ears as I pulled my cell phone from my pocket. I would go to dinner, but I was driving myself. After dialing the number written in bold, masculine handwriting, I drew in a fortifying breath as I waited for the call to connect.

Chapter

Five

BRIDGETTE

Isat with my hands nervously twisting in my lap as I glanced around the restaurant. It was a place that everyone in Gainsburg had been to at least a time or two in their life. While the locally owned steakhouse wasn’t as popular as some of the larger chain restaurants in nearby towns, it was a favorite to celebrate milestones, including birthdays and anniversaries. It made me nervous as hell, knowing that we were being watched curiously.

Honestly, it was probably just my imagination. The town was small, but it wasn’tthatsmall. I was letting my nerves run away with me. In a conscious effort to pull my own head out of my ass, I gave my non-date a tight smile and reached for the glass of ice water in front of my linen roll of silverware.

“So,” I began after a tiny sip in an effort to not make a fool of myself by choking on an ice cube or—Goddess forbid—spilling the whole glass down my front. “What kind of questions did you need help with?”

The slight smirk that couldn’t be hidden behind his own glass of water had my back locking into place, my chin rising, and myeyes narrowing dangerously. He knew I was nervous,the fucker.Then, his gaze lifted, leaving my face, and I watched in silent fascination as the beautiful curve to his lips smoothed into an impassive, polite expression as the server made an appearance at his side. She bent over the table, placing our drinks down, along with a basket of rolls.

I thought her lean was a little excessive, but when I tried to glance slyly at Detective Storm to see if he had noticed the woman’s lovely assets, it was to see his eyes on me instead of the cleavage on display, that smirk a hint at the edges. When it dropped back into the polite glance at the waitress as she handed him a personal cup of honey butter for the rolls, I had to exercise all my self control to not visibly roll my eyes.

I’d read about those kinds of interactions in romance books but figured it was just for added drama. Women didn’t really flirt with handsome men while they were on dates with other women, right? But yet, there I sat on my non-date, even though she didn’t know that, and watched as the pretty brunette did all but place his napkin in his lap or write her name and number on his hand.

“I’m sorry, what?” I blinked as Logan held the small cup of butter toward me.

“Our server thought you might want some extra butter, babe.”

I darted a glance toward the woman, who I had been certain brought that butter specifically for Logan, just to see her scowling down at the cup. I thought about refusing out of spite but figured that would just make the whole situation even more awkward, and damn, did I really like butter on my rolls. So, hesitantly, I reached out for the butter, careful not to let our fingers brush even the tiniest bit.

I did my best to ignore the tiny flutter in my belly at hearing the man call me by a pet name. Never had I expected to hearan endearment directed at me by a man. Even though I tried to remind myself that he was merely putting on a show, it still did things to me. Things I would rather not think about with the man in question sitting directly across from me and looking way too smug for someone who didn’t even know me.

When his smirk grew into a smile, and a crease appeared on his left cheek, I felt that flip in my gut again and looked away quickly. I wasn’t going to let this man get under my skin. Maybe he was my mate, and perhaps he wouldn’t murder my heart, leaving it broken and bleeding at his feet, but I had my pride. And, yes, I was just as stubborn as my best friend had accused me of.

Before I could even reach for a roll, Logan was already sliding a small plate over to me with not one but two beautifully browned rolls sitting prettily on it.

“Thank you,” I said softly, the manners my mother had drilled into me winning out over the grumpiness I was desperately trying to hold onto as a shield.

Logan cleared his throat as he plucked another roll from the basket, tore a small piece from it, and dipped it in the extra butter cup. “What can you tell me about rituals?”

I paused before taking a bite of my honey butter slathered bread. “That’s a very vague question about a very broad subject. Could you be more specific?”

I watched as he chewed, then the way his throat shifted as he swallowed. I felt my cheeks warm at what I had never considered the intimate act of watching a man eat before and tore my eyes away to glance down at the menu, quickly deciding on a pasta dish.

“You are already aware I can’t go into specifics, but I’ll tell you what I can. Perhaps asking questions that you can confirm might be easier?” I glanced back at him to see him sitting there with one eyebrow raised in question. Damn, if that didn’t lookhot, too. After my nod of acceptance, he continued. “Are all rituals performed within a pentacle?”

I thought about his question for a second before shaking my head. “The majority, I suppose. Some only involve the use of candles or herbs. Something simple, like imbuing a potion with magic wouldn’t need a pentacle. If someone were to want a stronger or more sure result from what they are attempting to do, then yes.”

---