Page 27 of Spellbound
I hadn’t been ready for those kisses to end.
“See you in a little while, Asher.” And he turned and went to get in his truck. I stood there, frozen, and almost afraid to move, in case it was all a dream, but I woke myself up by moving too fast and ruining it. As I watched him driving away up the road, I knew it hadn’t been any kind of dream. Ben Jackson had asked me on a date, and he’d be back later to pick me up. It was almost too good to be true.
I closed the door behind him and sat down hard on the sofa again, wondering what on earth I was getting myself into, because I had a feeling that I was way out of my depth with a man like him.
I went into the bedroom and saw my suitcase, though I had no memory of bringing it in. Another memory lapse, or had someone brought it inside for me? I decided to at least unpack and getsomethingdone. I spent the next little while hanging up my shirts and pants and putting my shoes and belts and things away in the closet. There was a box by the window labeled “Bedroom” in black magic marker, so I found a knife to cut it open and began to unload it too. It was full of fall clothing, including jackets. If we stayed the whole six months, it would be October when I went back to Atlanta—always assuming I could stick this out for that long. Those odds were definitely improving. I put them all at the back of the closet.
I went back in my closet and picked out an outfit to wear later that evening, still unable to believe this was happening.
By six, I was freshly showered and shaved and dressed in gray slacks and a navy-blue pullover. I’d turned on a lamp by the sofa for when I came home later and I kept checking the time on my phone, half afraid I’d dreamed the whole thing. But at 6:02, Ben’s big truck pulled in the driveway, and he got out and came to the front door.
I stepped out on the porch to greet him. It was twilight, the first stars appearing in the sky, and the spruce trees in the front yard throwing shadows across the grass. It seemed like a perfect night.
Chapter Nine
That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold:
What hath quenched them hath given me fire.
~Lady Macbeth,Macbeth, Act 2 Scene 2
I hadn’t realized his cabin was farther up the mountain. For some reason, I’d though it might be close to town. It was only a short drive up the steep and winding road, however, and soon he was pulling into a driveway off the main road.
It was larger than I’d imagined, with a big front porch that stretched across the length of it. Inside I could see he’d put a lot of work into the décor to modernize it. There was a great room as you came in the door, with the living area in front and the modern kitchen behind it, separated by a big kitchen island.
The furniture was leather, one of those wrap-around couch things in front of the fireplace. It had a huge stone fireplace, and there were paintings of waterfalls and forest scenes on the wall, and they looked to be originals. When I asked about the artist, he smiled. “My mother did them. After she ran out on my dad, he put them away in the attic, but I brought them back out.”
“Oh. Well, she had some real talent. These are beautiful.”
He smiled and went over to the fireplace to turn on the gas logs.
“Not real wood?”
“The gas is more convenient and warmer too. Nights around here can get chilly.”
I kept looking around at the new oak floors gleaming under the recessed lighting. And the kitchen, with its black granite countertops and new looking appliances.
The sitting area was sort of stark, with just that black leather sofa, and a big round coffee table. Not really my style, because left to my own devices, I’d have probably added throw pillows and rugs and curtains at the windows. All the shit that would have no doubt totally ruined the masculine effect.
“Everything looks amazing.”
“Thanks. I’ve been working on it for a while now. I remodeled a few years ago, after I inherited the house from my dad. Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”
“Sure. I will, if you will.”
“Do you like beer? Or wine?” He got down a bottle of white wine from a kitchen cabinet and waggled it at me. “Would you like a glass?”
“Sure, I’d love one.”
He got down some stemware but before I could exclaim over it, he said, “Don’t get excited. Rosalyn was clearing out some of her stuff and gave them to me. It would have been rude to turn them down.”
“I love it.”
“I bet you have a full set of this stuff.”
“Who, me? My grandma calls me a Philistine because I tell her she should sell her china and crystal on eBay.”
He smiled and brought me my glass of wine. “You two are close, aren’t you?”
