The Touch of Magic Series, page 40
She had done it in part because every woman she noticed Tristan flirting with had straight hair. They were all standard beauties with relatively large breasts and straight hair. There was nothing shy of surgery to be done for the American melting-pot looks or breast size he favored. Apparently the hair wasn't enough to get him to look her way.
If she was being honest with herself, the hair was a stupid move. If getting shot at and being considered the murder target of an L.A. gang didn't make the man step up, then a change in hairstyle wouldn't do the trick either.
The dream from last night came back to her and Yasmin pushed the details away lest she break out in a sweat or have to catch her breath at just the memory. Perhaps that dream about Luke had been a nudge from the back of her brain pointing out that it hadn't been Tristan who noticed what she'd done, but Luke. In fact, he'd looked at her like she was stupid—as though he wondered why any woman wouldn't want those amazing curls. The ones she hated with an almost daily passion.
Words from her college roommate, Eileen, came back as Yasmin decided to get out of bed and found that she was even more twisted in the covers than she'd first realized. Eileen had told her that it didn't matter what body type you had or what your physical issues were, there was a man out there who thought that thing was the best ever.
Yasmin had to admit Eileen had certainly never wanted for male attention and had reveled in the size of her backside. Yasmin's own curls and dark skin were something Eileen simply snorted at. Some man would love it, she said. The right man.
As her feet hit the carpet, her brain hit the off switch. That man was not Tristan Goodman. If he came back, proclaiming his love for her, she might consider his suit, but it was time to let go. Her dream guy needed a new face and for a moment Luke's too-blue eyes and surfer-gold hair swam through her thoughts but she pushed the idea away. Latching onto Luke Salzone would be the same mistake latching onto Tristan had been.
Her memory fought back.
Her heart rate stuttered as she remembered dream Luke softly tracing her dark eyebrows and down the bridge of her nose. He'd run his hand along the inside of her arm as though he'd never felt anything like it and she'd wondered if he was looking at the differences in their skin color like she was.
But those thoughts were as damaging as the ones she'd had about Tristan. They all belonged to men she'd made up. Just because she'd attached the ideas to the face and body of a real man didn't mean the man in her head existed.
Surely her version of Tristan never had. While she'd been waiting for him to notice her, he'd noticed—and probably slept with—half the pretty women who came into the store.
All the arguments she'd given herself in the past for his behavior—he didn't want to ruin their friendship; he didn't date employees; he didn't date his own kind—fell away like crumbling dust. Though any was reasonably valid, if he actually really wanted her he would have found a way around it. Just like she would have.
She had a personal policy about not dating at work, but her feelings for Tristan had led her around it. His had not. And any buildup of Luke Salzone as a Tristan replacement would be just as stupid. So what if Dream-Luke could play her like a piano?
Enough of this. She should get up and get dressed. Luke had to go into the station at his regular time, even if she wasn't due for work until three. He wanted her out of the house and though she didn't like it, she did like staying alive.
Luke had easily won her compliance yesterday with those pictures and the map of the Del Surs' activity. They had run hits north of here before. West of here. Though their territory, as Luke had defined it, was south of Hollywood there was no reason to think they wouldn't come over the hill to get her. She was well within their strike zone.
To her right, her alarm went off and she slapped at it, shaking away the last of her deep musings. She had errands to run today. A lot of them.
She was standing in front of her 1940s sized closet, picking out clothing, when she realized the buttons on her sleep cami were open. The top gaped, nearly allowing her to see right down her own shirt, and for a flash of a moment she could see Luke kissing her there, sucking, licking. Her whole body flashed hot at the thought and as she grabbed at the closet door to steady herself, glad that this happened now and not while Luke was standing in front of her wondering what the hell was wrong with her.
Before she could gather her far-flung memories back together from that searing image, a knock came at her door. She used her free hand to tug together the loose placket of her top and turned to where she faced the door. There was nothing she could do about the string bikini underwear she slept in and she stood there like a startled deer, watching the door handle, waiting for it to turn. But it didn't.
His voice came through the heavy wood, clear as day.
"I'm making English muffins with eggs. Do you want one?"
"Sure!" She nearly shouted it despite the fact that she didn't think she could eat anything. His voice had triggered another flash through her system even though he hadn't said anything in her dream. Fighting against her own reaction, Yasmin dialed up a tone that she thought was correct for being offered breakfast and tried to implement it. "I'm getting dressed. I'll be out in a minute."
He mumbled some kind of acquiescence and she heard him walk away from her down the hall. It took another minute before she could calm her thoughts enough to get to her day.
She checked out the window and found she was looking at another sunny L.A. day. For a few moments she contemplated whether she wanted to wear that relatively short skirt to show Luke her legs, then she decided that she was giving far too much credit to a dream and pulled on the skirt over clean underwear. She added a simple white top with raglan sleeves in blue then hit the restroom to wash up and add sunscreen, a necklace and her usual small amount of makeup.
There was comfort in the ritual of her morning. As she tied on espadrilles she thought, Screw Tristan Goodman. If he didn't notice her, he didn't. His loss. And she would open her eyes and find someone who did appreciate her rather than pining for someone who still didn't see her after all the time they'd spent in each other's company.
She was coming down the hall, slipping in dangling earrings to match the necklace, when she realized that Luke was standing at the small dining table waiting for her.
Was he that much of a gentleman? Was he waiting for her to be seated? She hadn't noticed him doing that before and she spoke up. "Don't wait for me. I was going to pour myself some of that amazing coffee that I smell."
She smiled at him and hoped it wasn't overly reminiscent of last night. Just a friendly thank-you-for-making-me-breakfast grin, then she tried not to think too hard about context on that one either.
"It's on the table already, and . . . you look really nice." He sat before she did and dove into the food.
Poor man.
He couldn’t help but notice her unrequited attraction for Tristan. Yesterday she would have called it "love" but today her view was clearer. And Luke was trying to make up for the fact that he also noticed that Tristan did not feel the same way. She almost sighed at him.
But she didn't get a chance; he was eying her oddly. "Will your hair ever go back the way it was?"
She laughed, grateful that the tension was broken, even if she was the only one who felt it. "Tomorrow night."
His fork was still paused, halfway to his mouth, "What happens then?"
"I wash it."
This time he frowned. "And it curls right back up?" As though the mysteries of hair care were well beyond his scope.
Then she glanced at his short blond swirls again and wondered why she'd ever accused him of hair gel. It just went that way apparently. "Yes, this was done with a little hair balm, a dryer, and some time. It will go right back when it hits water."
"Good." The word popped out, followed by a sheepish look as he realized he'd just insulted the hair she'd paid good money for.
Yasmin laughed at him again.
Despite the fact that she spent her morning trying not to burst into flames at the memory of her hot sex dream from the night before, and despite the fact that she had let go of a fantasy man she'd held onto far too long, Yasmin had a good morning.
She'd learned when she first arrived in California to enjoy the sunshine. Though her parents had quit calling on a daily or even weekly schedule to tell her how silly it was to move here, she still felt as though she should enjoy each day for the weather if nothing else. That turned out to be what got her through the first nine months here. Luckily her parents had stopped their routine calls before she had learned that 'winter' in L.A. didn't just mean calling your out of state relations and mocking them for their cold climes.
In L.A., the Holiday season was beautiful and in January the rains came. They lasted days on end and not only doused everything but created floods in some of the valley streets two to four feet deep at times. The currents could bring to mind man-vs-river movies and kept Yasmin inside when she could avoid the weather.
The rains were necessary to get any water at all into the city for the rest of the year. So Yasmin enjoyed it just a little more.
Shori had called the night before to check up on her and for some reason, Yasmin had lied. She wasn't one much for holding back from her sister, but she'd done it this time.
This time she said she was fine. That the shooting had blown over and of course she had a few nightmares but mostly things were okay.
Luke had looked at her like she was out of her freakin' mind. Clearly things were not okay. And she hadn't once mentioned live-in security. But he was smart enough not to butt in while she was talking. That would not have gone well.
She'd had to explain that her mother would have showed up and shooed Luke out of the house. It was bad enough that Yasmin lived by herself—her parents considered themselves fully born into the new age that they came around to the thought that it was acceptable for Yasmin to live in a house with other single women. But live by herself? It was shameful. It reflected badly, that she didn't have friends or wasn't able to keep a roommate. Who would want her?
Her continued unmarried state only bore out their dire predictions.
That Luke was staying here? Well, her mother might have had a heart attack.
Yasmin's police protection would have been shoved out the door and his soul prayed for. Then she wouldn't have been able to cast any protection spells because her mother wouldn't let her go anywhere alone—including work. In fact, her mother wouldn't let her work. They would have been praying to Allah for the souls of the gang members and for Yasmin's safety.
Yasmin had no doubt that her mother would take a bullet for her. But that wasn't at all what she wanted. And having her mother here would only make things worse. So she told them all she was fine. Which meant lying to Shori because Shori was such a bad liar that even just telling her sister would mean that her mother would turn up, prayer mat and a spare rolled and ready, armed with a bedrock belief that Allah would save her daughter.
Luke nodded and responded that there was a lot of that in his mother, too. Though apparently his had grown to accept his decisions and his belief that bullets stopped gang members maybe a little better than prayer.
Yasmin was grateful for his acceptance and even ended up defending her mother. "I believe in prayer. But I don't want her ways forced on me. I know she believes that I'm a lost soul in need of pressure to rejoin the herd, but I'm not."
There was something in the way he looked at her, the way he absorbed what she said—that made her think he understood on some fundamental level.
It was a good start to a good day. Now she soaked up the sunshine, safe behind her SPF, and picked up her dry cleaning, visited the library for an audiobook—hoping she might get the chance to go running one day again. At each stop, she let people move in line in front of her. She was in no hurry, just filling up her morning.
She could go to the shop and get ready for her class, but there would be plenty of time for that even after lunch. Given the big breakfast Luke had made her, she wasn't anywhere near hungry yet.
Traffic was as non-existent as it could be in L.A. and she had three hours to kill. She hit Target for supplies and before she knew it she was sitting outside the Humane Society building wondering if she was actually going to do this.
When she considered it, Yasmin had to admit that—though she could still back out and no one would be the wiser—she'd just spent too much money on a litter box, a collar, food, treats and too much paraphernalia. The decision was really already made.
She walked out an hour and a half later with her wallet lighter and her arms full of two small, black kittens, mewing at her and squirming.
"Babies! You have to go in the box."
The unnamed kittens did not agree. No wonder. They'd previously been neutered and gone home with someone only to be returned. As small as they were, Yasmin had to wonder at the center's policy that no animal went out the door without first being fixed. She understood it, but these guys were far too young.
It turned out that stuffing kittens into a box—even a box designed to hold much larger cats—was as hard as everyone said it was.
The woman at the shelter had expressed concern that these two wouldn't get adopted and Yasmin's heart had cracked. She not only now had a kitten, she had two of them. Somehow, in the process she'd become borderline late for work.
Driving through a burger place turned out to be harder when you had kittens caterwauling in the seat beside you. But she made it into her parking space and hauled her stuff inside ten minutes before she was due.
Libby looked up from a sale she was ringing and her mouth dropped into a perfect "Awwwww" at the sound and the sight of the house-shaped box with regular holes punched in the side.
Grinning, Yasmin set down both the bag with her lunch and the box and waited for the customers to leave before she released her new little sidekicks. But the customers waited for her, and Yasmin opened the box to much oooooh-ing and ahhhhh-ing over her new pets.
Even Tristan wandered out and checked out the scene. Kittens were climbing all over the customers in his store. Where Yasmin had been sure even fifteen minutes ago that he wouldn't mind—many L.A. stores had resident animals—she wasn't so certain now.
It turned out as long as the customers were happy, Tristan was fine with it and he went back into his office only coming out just before they got busy.
By the time six p.m. rolled around, Yasmin was wondering whether the kittens would even know to come home with her. They were handled by so many people that day how would they even know she was their "forever home"? She still had to teach her class and she was beginning to wonder if she'd need to hire a kitten-sitter or—God forbid—try to keep them in the box during class. Focus was the primary concern of new witches and focus would not be possible with her two adorable little distractors around.
She wasn't surprised by the nearly constant chime of the door as her students showed up. Many came relatively early and shopped a bit. While traffic and parking were always a concern, she taught them tricks early on and valued promptness. It became almost a weekly challenge to get the good parking spots in front of the shop.
Yasmin smelled him first. He was standing behind her and she was surprised that he was in her store. She turned, trying to find something to say and cataloging that it wasn't a cologne or anything specific, just a blend of all things Luke—a smell her brain had filed away some time before and pulled out last night in her dream. Forcing a smile, she tried to find words.
Her expression alone must have worked because he said, "I'm here to take the beginner's class."
Startled, she blurted, "Really?" Had he signed up? She vaguely remembered him commenting on it. Hadn’t she told him no? But when she looked at the clipboard in her hand and the list that Libby had printed up from in-store and website sign-ins there was the name Luke Salzone at number seven. She couldn't very well turn him down so she said, "Yes you are" and marked him present.
Then she had her hands full with students checking in and trying to play with her kittens. It was seven-thirty before she gave up trying to wrangle people and animals. She wasn't sure which was making more noise: the mewing kittens, the cooing students, or the few who were grumbling that they wanted to get started.
It was Luke who stepped up and said he'd take care of them. It took only seconds for him to leave his spot in the class and scoop a tiny kitten into each big hand and head out the door. While they had been crawling all over everyone and everything and begging for attention, they were disturbingly docile in Luke's grip. She wasn't sure if they were feeling safe or resigned, but they went quietly with him and she taught the class until fifteen minutes after time to make up for the late start.
It took another fifteen minutes to say goodnight and answer all the questions. Libby stayed, even though they officially closed at nine, ringing up sales. Yasmin knew that the extra sales showing after nine p.m. would make Tristan happy and she waited for her heart to twist at the thought.
It didn't—which only further solidified her theory that she was an idiot. She'd been in love with an idea with Tristan's face. The real Tristan was someone she wouldn't know what to do with.
Searching the store for Luke, she finally heard a tiny mew and followed the noise around behind the counter. She'd expected to find a wayward kitten having escaped from its box, instead she found Luke, sitting on the floor, nice work slacks covered in black hair. One kitten slept on his shoulder, head burrowed into his neck. The other rested on its back in his hand, Luke's other hand was giving the tiny kitten a belly rub.
Yasmin clamped down on her heart where it wanted to roll over in her chest. No, she was not falling for another guy that she didn't really know. A few nice facts and she stitched together a make-believe perfect man. Not again.
"Luke, thank you. It's time to go though."
"Okay." He looked up at her and smiled, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like he'd been on a three-day bender until he scrambled suddenly.
