Any Witch Way But Goode, page 14
Polly grinned. “Think nothing of it, sugar bee. I’ll whip up a twelve-course meal! I’m thinking dumplings, nachos, foot-long hot dogs, strawberry pie, spaghetti, corn on the cob, tacos, clam chowder—”
“Sounds like it’ll go together perfectly,” Lily lied. “Don’t forget the pepperoni pizza.”
Polly wrinkled her nose and patted Lily’s arm. “You leave the meals to me. Proper meal plans are more art than craft.”
“We are leaving,” Sabrina announced, carrying her own bags. Brett was with her.
Lily retrieved the stolen necklace from her pocket and smashed it into the mud before tossing it beside Sabrina’s jeep door.
“Let me help.” Lily pulled open the back of the jeep.
Nolan took the bags from the woman and tossed them inside before moving to pull a tree branch away from the vehicle.
Lily reached down to pick up the necklace. “Does this belong to you?”
Sabrina eyed it before pinching it between two fingers. “My necklace.”
She tossed it into the back of the jeep with her suitcase.
It didn’t take long before Sabrina was heading down the road. Minutes later, they had Brett pushed out of the ditch and on his way.
“Not even a thank you,” Nolan said. “Though considering the circumstances, I can’t say I blame him.”
“I bet you five bucks they leave us a couple of one-star reviews.” Lily threaded her arm through Nolan’s.
“That’s okay. Apparently, we have more people on the way. There has to be a couple of five-stars in the next batch.” Nolan pulled her close. The mud stuck their clothing together.
“I hope you don’t take offense to this, but you’re taking way too long on those back cottages. I think we need to take Polly up on her offer to use magic to finish them. I want to put Dante in one. Mara in the other. Also, when we rebuild the barn, I want to figure out a way to turn it into an apartment. I know we have to keep the old structure plans, but I want to modernize it. We are not staying in that house any longer than we have to. Polly likes people. She can sleep in the house.”
“Privacy.” Nolan grinned. “I like this plan.”
“And, if Jesse decides to move, we’ll give her a cottage,” Lily said. “Or they can share the house and we’ll rent the cottages. I don’t care.”
Nolan pressed his mouth to hers, stopping her flow of ideas. “Whatever you want, Lily.”
Lily pulled back and gazed into his eyes. “I’m always dictating, aren’t I? What do you want?”
“You.” He kissed her again, holding her close. In the distance, she heard Polly and Mara bickering about garden gnomes. Lily glanced to the side, not taking her mouth from Nolan’s. Seeing the front door open, she lifted her fingers and magically forced it to shut. It slammed a little too hard.
Nolan turned at the noise.
“Oops.” Lily laughed. “I guess I still need to work on my magic.”
* * *
The End
Don’t Stop Now!
Want more of the lovable Polly?
She appeared in these Happily Everlasting Series Books:
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Fooled Around and Spelled in Love
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by Michelle M. Pillow
* * *
Curses and Cupcakes
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by Michelle M. Pillow
* * *
Once Hunted, Twice Shy
by Mandy M. Roth
* * *
Total Eclipse of The Hunt
by Mandy M. Roth
Magick, Mischief, & Kilts!
* * *
If you enjoyed this book by Michelle M. Pillow, check out the magically mischievous, sexier, modern-day Scottish, paranormal romance series:
* * *
Don’t Wait, Keep Reading!
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Love Potions - CLICK HERE to get the book!
Fooled Around and Spelled in Love
Witch’s Brew Coffee Shop and Bakery, Everlasting, Maine
Keep Reading!
Welcome to Everlasting, Maine, where there’s no such thing as normal.
Anna Crawford is well aware her town is filled with supernaturals, but she isn’t exactly willing to embrace her paranormal gifts. Her aunt says she’s a witch-in-denial. All Anna wants is to live a quiet “normal” life and run her business, Witch’s Brew Coffee Shop and Bakery. But everything is about to be turned upside down the moment Jackson Argent walks into her life.
Jackson isn’t sure why he agreed to come back to his boyhood home of Everlasting. It’s like a spell was cast and he couldn’t say no. Covering the Cranberry Festival isn’t exactly the hard-hitting news this reporter is used to. But when a local death is ruled an accident, and the police aren’t interested in investigating, he takes it upon himself to get to the bottom of the mystery. To do that, he’ll need to enlist the help of the beautiful coffee shop owner.
It soon becomes apparent things are not what they seem and more than coffee is brewing in Everlasting.
* * *
Fooled Around and Spelled in Love
CLICK HERE to buy!
First Chapter Excerpt
“I don’t care if the Massachusetts supplier didn’t send Ginger’s shipment for the banquet tonight. They’re not the only cranberry state in the US. She’s just going to have to find new ones or make her super-secret punch from a can.” Behind the coffee shop counter, a tall woman of slender build pleaded passionately into her phone. The white apron with the logo of a magical coffee bean covered her distressed denim jeans and fitted V-neck t-shirt. It was still clean, as if she had yet to actually bake anything that day. “The festival is starting tomorrow and I need my cranberries, or these orders won’t be filled.”
She lifted a giant stack of papers and shook them as if the person she talked to on the phone could hear how many there were. Something about the way she spoke said she knew the person on the other end of the line well. Her wavy dark hair was wound into a messy bun at the nape of her neck that threatened to uncoil.
Her expression was both desperate and frustrated, giving the impression she had a whole host of things hanging by a thin thread. “Now, I need you to get back in your truck, and then drive straight to my shop with my cranberries. You know how busy this month is, and I’m already behind schedule.”
Jackson Argent watched the agitated woman carefully, glad that she had no clue he was there. He’d projected his consciousness into the coffee shop to peek inside before it opened for business. To her he’d be as see-through as air. People revealed so much when they thought no one was looking.
Surely this couldn’t be the same Anna Crawford that he’d been told to hire as a photographer. She looked beyond busy running the Witch’s Brew Coffee Shop and Bakery. There was a chaotic grace to the way she moved as if her thoughts pulled in fifty different directions, but she never let one of those metaphorical balls drop. She didn’t try to hide the frustration in her lovely dark eyes. His breath caught a little as he watched her. Man-oh-man, she was beautiful.
The small business had the familiar, homey feel of most locally owned coffee shops. Specialty mugs with the magical bean logo perched in the corners of the room, a constant reminder of where you were. It was smart advertising. The mismatched chairs, and heirloom tables instantly put you at ease and welcomed customers to hang out awhile. Painted concrete floors added an industrial appeal while being easy to keep clean. In the center of the cozy place were large comfortable couches that faced each other for meaningful conversation. Overlooking them were exposed wooden beams with beautiful patterns in the grains. Photographs of the town and its people hung on the coarse brick walls.
The pictures were unusual, taken from interesting angles—wrinkled faces and old buildings with ancient facades, a woman riding an adult tricycle with a cat, torn pieces of paper that curled perfectly. There was one of two men, young and rough, caught deep in animated conversation on a wharf near the old lighthouse.
Seeing her work, Jackson knew he was in the right place. These were not the moments most people snapped pictures of. The photographs on the wall proved that Anna Crawford saw what most people missed.
Jackson approached the counter slowly and glanced at the woman’s name tag. “Anna.” Yep, it was her.
“Don’t Anna-sweetheart me, George,” Anna warned. “If you’re not here in ten minutes, you can explain to the fifty-billion PTO members why their kids don’t have their good luck cranberry cookies in their lunch boxes next Wednesday. Then you can explain to the hospital why they don’t have cranberry muffins. Then you can tell Sheriff Bull and her calendar boys why they don’t have cranberry scones. And you can be sure that I’ll let everyone know at the banquet tonight—including your mother—why the Sacred Order of Hairy Old Men’s cranberry kickoff is—” She set the stack of orders down in irritation. “I know there are not literally fifty-billion people in the PTO.”
Anna leaned on the counter, propping her head as George presumably responded. Her eyes moved over a display near the register as if silently studying the tea boxes, candles, local pottery, and bottles of coffee flavoring that were for sale. There was something about this woman that reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, Nicole Phillips. Nicole had been a work-a-holic, to the point everything else was more important than their relationship, until she decided she wanted attention. Even though it had been five years, the breakup left him a little jaded when it came to balancing work and life. Sadly, he couldn’t blame her as he also worked all the time. Some people weren’t meant to be in relationships, so he had thrown himself into his job. It was easy to be bitter about romance.
For a moment Jackson thought of leaving the coffee shop and taking the photos himself. Anna looked like the type of woman that might complicate his simple life. He had a month after all. It wasn’t exactly a hard-hitting assignment covering the so-called mysterious events that seemed to pop up every year during the Everlasting Cranberry Festival. Half of those mysteries would only be printable in a tabloid. The general public wouldn’t believe that a troll redecorated and caused earthquakes, or whatever else nonsense happened in the magical village of secret supernaturals. How his editor even found out about this seaside New England town was beyond him.
Great, I have my first story. ‘The Mystery of the Missing Cranberries,’ he thought sarcastically. The thing practically writes itself.
Jackson remembered the town vaguely from when he was a young child, and the feeling of relief he’d felt when his father moved him away from it after his mother’s death. Jackson recalled very little about his mother, except the warning she’d whispered to him each night before bed, “Don’t give in to the magic or the hunters will find us. They’ll find the town and kill us all.” His mother had not been mentally well. Still, the words had been imprinted on the walls of his mind as a child, and he’d been terrified of Everlasting. As an adult, he wasn’t afraid, but he wasn’t that eager to be back here either.
Covering a celebration of fruit wasn’t exactly the best use of his investigative skills as a journalist. His editor could have sent him to cover the German Brat and Beer Fest. At least it would feel a little manlier in his portfolio.
Anna took an audible breath and lifted her head. Her dark eyes moved briefly in Jackson’s direction, but she didn’t see him. “Do better than your best, George. I’m not joking around this time. Get my cranberries back from Ginger.”
“Leave poor George alone. I can materialize cranberries with a bimp and a bamp and a little bit of that,” a voice offered from the back kitchen.
When he saw the stressed expression on Anna’s face, he felt a little sorry for her. However, when she spoke, she managed to keep her tone even. “Aunt Polly, for the last time, no. I don’t need your assistance. You know what happened when I let you in the kitchen to help with the cranberry cookies. They weren’t edible.”
“I disagree. Those cookies were only a little tainted by the magic of my touch,” Polly said. “I do not harm, only help.”
“And create chaos,” Anna muttered.
“In fact, I was gazing into the crystal ball last night, and I don’t want to forget to tell you that you should wear orange on December 20th.”
“I’m not doing that,” Anna answered.
“Then don’t come crying to me when you stub your toe,” Polly warned.
Anna grumbled, but he watched her pick up a pocket calendar and write, “Wear Orange,” in large print on the aforementioned date.
“How long are you going to hold that one mistake over my head?” Polly asked. “I taught you how to make cookies. You should be glad to have my help in here. They are my recipes you are using after all.”
“I took the crazy out of the list of ingredients and replaced it with nutmeg,” Anna mumbled, before pleading louder, “Please. Just leave it. George will come through.”
“Seriously, when are you going to let me help cook? You need help. You can’t do it all, Anna. You take on too much responsibility. Well, you could do it all if you used your natural gifts.”
“When your garden gnomes come to life and ask me to pick up my witchcraft, I’ll listen,” Anna whispered sarcastically, before raising her voice so her aunt could again hear her. “How about we ask Hugh Lupine what he thinks? That cake you gave him had him howling at the moon for a week.”
“A tiny side effect and I gave him something to treat the fleas afterward.” Polly poked her head out of the kitchen. The artificial red of her hair coiled on the top of her head in a bun. It clashed with the lime green of her flour-dusted apron. She wore a navy blue retro dress with a fitted bodice and A-line skirt underneath. Her plastic jewelry was bulky and bright. The plastic frames of her glasses matched the dress. She had a hint of age to her, but the years had obviously been kind. “George hasn’t come through for anyone since the second World War.”
“That doesn’t make sense. He wasn’t alive during the World War,” Anna argued.
“Reincarnation,” Polly said, keeping a straight face. “I was once a princess who was adored by many. I outlived six husbands and two zebras.”
“Why is it every person claims to be something special in a past life?” Anna countered.
“Not you,” Polly teased, “you were a one-armed peasant with a bad case of the pox and often forgot to bathe.”
“Thanks.” Anna tried to hide her laugh. “Sweet of you to say. What are you doing in that apron? You promised me that you would behave this year.”
“When have I ever promised to behave?” Laughter followed the statement. “I said I wouldn’t bake for the Cranberry Festival. I’m making cookies for Principal Bails. You know he’s allergic to cranberries, and I always feel bad for him during this month. The man is taunted with all the delicious foods he can’t have.”
“I’m sure Sigmund Bails will be fine feeding himself.” Anna stepped toward Polly, forcing her aunt backward into the kitchen. “Better than turning into a were-octopus or stuck in wolf form because you decided to sprinkle a little something extra on his cinnamon rolls.”
“Don’t be silly. Sigmund’s bloodline is were-Kraken.”
“Polly, where did all these cranberries come from?” Anna demanded from the back. He leaned to the side to try to get a better look, but the small window in the metal door showed him nothing.
“Magic. I grew them out of my ears,” Polly teased. Though, in this town, who knew what was possible. “I have many mystical powers.”
“Polly?” Anna insisted.
“George dropped them off about twenty minutes ago,” Polly admitted with a laugh. “He was on the phone with you.”
“For the life of me, I don’t know why all of you want to give me a heart attack. You know how important this month is. The town explodes with visitors, and it keeps us in business for the rest of the year. It pays our rent and the employees. George should focus on finding his next tourist romance and leave the practical jokes to clowns.”
Jackson heard movement in the kitchen. It sounded like crates being pushed around.
‘The Mystery of who George will Date,’ Jackson mused. He’d give anything for a good political scandal.
“You’re not jealous, are you?” Polly asked.
He liked Polly. She seemed like a real character. Maybe he’d find her later and get her talking.
“Of George? Why would I be jealous of who George dates?” Anna scoffed. “Will you stop eating the inventory and help me stock the display case, please?”
“Because everyone in town thinks the two of you should be married.” Polly’s words were muffled as if she talked with her mouth full.
“Not that again.” A crate dropped on the floor, the crash punctuating her words. “You, his mother, and the lady at the bridal shop does not constitute the whole town. You know our relationship was completely misguided.”
“So, who’s the lurker in the front?” Polly inquired. “He’s cute. I like a man who can wear a cashmere sweater.”
“What lurker?” Anna asked. “The doors are still locked.”
“Mr. Lookie Lou out there watching you in the murump-enumph…” Polly’s words were lost.
Jackson gasped in shock. Had Polly seen him? How was that even possible? He felt his consciousness pull out of the closed coffee shop, back to where he sat on the bench across the street. He’d arrived early and merely thought he’d take a peek inside Anna’s place of work. Secretly screening places before he went inside was an old habit. As a journalist, he needed to use any tools at his disposal to uncover a story. His ability to project part of his soul to other locations came in handy. His father had called it spirit walking. He was able to move through walls and locked doors like a ghost. It was one of the few useful skills his father had given him.
