Page 14 of Free-Spirit

I’ve got nothing against OTC shit.

It’s just not my first go-to and after traveling the world with me, it isn’t June Bug’s either.

“But I already havethisberry,” Lo mischievously leads the conversation prompting me to smirk at his charm. “And so, I shall make it disappear!”

Unable to resist his infectious joy, I gesture a hand his direction to continue.

“Now you see it,” he dangles the dark object out in front of him like bait, “and now…you…don’t!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the tiny object soar through the air yet keep my main focus on my overly excited son. “Wow, you’re getting really good with your hands.”

It’s best to leave out the part regarding himthrowingthe item, but ancient muses have mercy. I’m running out of ways to circumvent telling him Idon’tsee something that I clearly do.

“Excuse me,” a soft, feminine voice suddenly summons my attention the direction the fruit flew. The instant my stare shifts to the woman, she teasingly asks, “Is there a reason you keep letting your son throw food at me?”

“I not throw,” Lo swiftly insists. “I made it…” he makes the theatric hand motions once more, “disappear.”

Amusement doesn’t hesitate to appear on her light latte colored complexion. “I see.”

“Please forgive The Great Loudini.” My head tips the direction of my boy. “He’s…still learning to channel…the great and mystical magic of his ancestors.”

Lo wiggles his fingers at her and then at the bucket of fruit to demonstrate something.

I don’t know what.

But he sure the fuck does.

“Gotcha,” she lightly chortles prior to making further introductions. “Well, it’s anhonorto have a real-life magician visiting our town,” the female sweetly states to him. “Let me know if you need an assistant while you’re here. I can’t volunteer to be sawed in half; however, if you need a bunny to pull out of a top hat, I’m your girl.”

“Dad!” Lo excitedly shouts at the same time he tugs on my dark, loose fitting linen pants. “We need to get me a top hat!”

Batting away a crooked grin can’t be done. “We’ll see what we can find on the way back to the cabin, okay?”

He throws his hands victoriously in the air and finally resumes searching for ripe berries on the nearby vine.

“Fun in the Sun is a local thrift shop,” the woman informs at a lower volume, “just in case you actuallywantto swing by. My brother Wick – despite what his business license says no one in this town has ever called Warrick – owns it. They’ve got all sorts of quirky stuff in there.”

“You on his guerilla marketing campaign?” I playfully poke.

“Not officially,” she snickers in return, “but I know how to spot the difference between a tourist looking to dojusttypical touristy shit and one looking for more actuallocalfun. A chance to get to see and be aroundreallocals.”

“That’s definitely me.” After I cut a glimpse at my son who is examining his latest pick, I add, “And the Great Loudini.” My open palm extends itself in her direction for proper introductions. “Tucker Frost.”

“Whitney Whitbeck,” once her hand is in mine, a polite kiss to the back of it is provided, “but outside of the courtroom everyone calls me Dubs.”

Our grips separate as I ask, “Lawyer?”

“County clerk.” Her bare, slender shoulders fall to the ground in slight exasperation. “Plus, my mother’s the oldest and longest sitting judge in town.”

I keep my tone light and good natured, “So, is just talking to you a crime?”

“Growing up it practically was,especiallysince my father was a bailiff up until about a year ago when he retired.”

“Wow,” additional mirth floods my tone, “talk about keepin’ it all in the family.”

“You have no idea.” Dubs offers me a small giggle. “Wick only made it out – he used to be a court reporter – because my uncle who owned the shop before him died and left it to him, insisting we keep it in the family. And because we’re one ofthosesmall-town families, we had to. But you know what?” She slides her hands into her back pockets. “Wick is a million times happier than he ever was in a courtroom.”

“Aren’t most people?”

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