Page 10 of Solstice

“Yes. I’m Doreen.”

“Ah. Well, that explains a lot.” He reached to take the application from the black-haired demoness with one hand and patted Dori’s shoulder with the other “I’m Thomas Kemp, town supervisor. Now I want you to rest assured that I’m going to handle your application personally, Ms. Stewart.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Did you leave your check?”

“She wouldn’t take it.” Dori pulled the folded check from her pocket. Seventy-five hard-earned dollars. But she would make several times that much if her table was busy.

“I’ll call as soon as everything has been processed, Ms. Stewart,” Thomas Kemp, town supervisor, said, taking the check from her hand. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You have a nice day now.”

Dori took only a moment to send the demon spawn a smug look of triumph before heading out the door. She felt good when she hit the streets. She hadn’t had a spirited battle like that since trying to get a parade permit for Pagan Pride Day in Manhattan the first year they’d held it. Damn, she missed being in the thick of things.

She reminded herself that that part of her life was over. She wasn’t backtracking; she wasn’t “priestessing.” She was just going to tell fortunes to make a few extra bucks.

She sucked in the crisp, fresh air as she strolled along the sidewalks. It was snowy in Crescent Cove. Snowy enough to make it as beautiful as a Currier and Ives Christmas card. It wasn’t too cold, either. Cool enough so her breath made little steam puffs, but not quite enough to numb her fingers or burn her nose. She actually enjoyed her walk down the block and across the street to the diner to begin her day’s work. When Jason came in around noon, wearing his black cop jacket, he sat at the counter, not at his usual table. She tried not to assume it was because he wanted to be closer to her, that maybe he’d changed his mind and was finally going to ask her out again.

She was still attracted to him. She’d been nursing a bad crush ever since turning him down the first time he’d asked, and she was beginning to detect those old feelings stirring to life deep down. He’d always been so good-looking, so attentive, and she hadn’t found a better lover since. Even though it had been his first time, too.

It had been in the summer, in a secluded cove near the shore, with the moon riding high. He’d brought a blanket, a bottle of wine and a condom. Everything needed for teenage romance. And it had been incredible.

She smiled at him for a change, unable to banish the memory from her mind, and brought him a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “On your lunch break?” she asked.

“You guessed it.” He moved his gaze over her face in a way that made it clear he liked what he saw. He’d always been able to flatter without a word. But he hadn’t looked at her like that in a long time. Why now? she wondered. Or was it all in her mind? Her inner thoughts manifesting an overactive imagination.

“What’ll you have?”

“Ham and cheese on potato bread. Side of fries.” His voice stroked her nerve endings. She’d been better off when he’d basically ignored her existence.

“Mayo on the sandwich?”

“Let’s go with the honey mustard today. And no cheese.”

“Don’t tell me you’re dieting.”

“Real men don’t diet. This is strictly preventative.”

She smiled and turned to shout the order through the window into the kitchen.

When she turned back, he said, “You sure seem cheerful today, Dori.”

“Do I? Well, I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“Yeah? Why?”

She smiled and thought about last night’s extremely pleasant dream. But she wasn’t going to confess that. “I took your advice. Applied for a table at the craft fair.”

He didn’t smile back. He frowned, instead. “When did you do that?”

“This morning. Oh, it wasn’t at all pleasant at first. Some little twit of a female—a Mrs. Redmond—tried to say I couldn’t have a table, but then this Thomas something or other—

“Kemp?”

“Yeah. He stepped in and said he’d handle it personally.”

“I...see.”

“What?” The bell rang behind her and she moved to pick up his sandwich, then brought it back to him.

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