Page 41 of Chasing the Flame
Jettson’s voice cuts through the fog, and I take a shaky breath. “It’s just…this doesn’t feel real,” I say, averting my gaze.
“Would it help if I show you what magic can be like?”
The question takes me by surprise. I’m still trying to grasp that I have magic in my veins. I’ve always believed in things most don’t…but this? It feels like something out of a movie.
Jettson’s patient with me, giving me as long as I need to process. After a few minutes, I realized I needed him to show me. As it stands, I’m on my way to earning a one-way ticket to the loony bin. “Okay,” I whisper.
“That’s a good girl,” Jettson praises, and backs up a few feet. I’m unsure what I expected, but it’s not like the movies. At first, it looks like nothing is happening. There’s no grand display, no burst of power that I can see.
Then, Jettson closes his eyes and brings his hands together in front of himself. He cups his palms together, holding them out like he’s protecting something in the palm of his hands.
It’s what happens next that grabs my attention. Golden light pours from his hands, and it becomes so intense after several moments that I need to shield my eyes. When it stops, I blink to clear my vision. What’s left in its wake shocks me to my core.
There, in the center of his palm, rests a beautiful rose. “How…” I whisper, my eyes widening at the scene before me.
“Earth magic,” he says, shrugging his shoulders like it’s no big deal.
“You say that so casually, like it’s an everyday occurrence to grow a rose from nothing,” I chuff, snorting at Jettson’s expression.
He laughs, shaking his head and says, “Well, I suppose that’s fair.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip, worrying it between my teeth. What the hell is Luke going to think? What if I can’t learn how to control it? I groan, irritated for even giving that bastard space in my head. Before I lose my nerve, I ask, “Can you teach me?”
Jettson smiles, his dimples peaking out above his beard. “I thought you’d never ask, babe.”
Butterflies swarm in my belly, heat flushing up my neck. I love it when he does that. It’s silly how happy the pet name makes me. I shouldn’t feel anything, but I do. I feel so fucking much that it punches me in the chest like a tidal wave. I shake my head, chasing away the wayward thoughts.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Luke won’t be home til Friday…”
Jettson frowns at the mention of Luke, “I think I remember you mentioning that.”
“Any chance I can sweet-talk you into starting lessons as soon as possible?” I bat my eyelashes at him and give him my best pretty-please face. Jettson laughs again, shaking his head and sucks in a breath.
“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” He gives me a heated look. It’s full of unspoken promise, the words we’ve left unsaid, and the feelings that neither of us are ready to face.
Tension crackles between us, electric and all-consuming. I suck in a breath, and paint a smirk on my face. “Probably, but it’ll be a fun way to go.”
Jettson’s wicked grin sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. I can see the wheels turning in his mind, like he’s thinking this will be more trouble than it's worth. Then, a deep chuckle spills from him, and he shakes his head again, walking toward the path leading to his cabin. “Come on, flamebearer, let’s get you home.”
The next two days pass in a blur, and I fall into a comfortable routine. My mornings are spent walking, meditating, and falling in love with magic all over again. I’ve even set up an altar in my office, dedicating a few minutes daily to light candles to the Morrighan before I do my normal chores. I write, edit, and handle all my correspondence in the afternoon, and I’ve gotten to the halfway point in my novel. However, evening is by far my favorite part of the day.
Jettson stops by even though the crew takes off Saturday and Sunday. It’s a welcome distraction, and we’ve had dinner together two nights in a row. Our nights have been filled with conversation and quiet but peaceful moments, and have given me a deeper understanding of the magic running through my veins.
I’ve not managed to summon the flames again, but I’m better able to feel the magic in the air around and within me. Surprisingly, I’ve not heard much from Luke.
I’ve only received a few condescending texts about the house, and a photo of the view from his hotel in New York. Not that I care. I’m still seething over the image my mysterious friend was kind enough to send me.
So much so that I buried myself in cleaning the entire lower level of the house from top to bottom, the fresh scent of essential oils permeates the kitchen, and I smile at my hard work.
Our new dining table looks fantastic, and I’m impressed with Jettson’s talent. It’s a long rectangular table stained in dark walnut, paired with a matching bench upholstered in hunter green. The bench is my favorite part.
My phone chimes, pulling me out of my thoughts. I absentmindedly reach for it, glancing at the screen. Shit! It’s two-thirty. Lucy’s text came through, and I’m supposed to meet her in the next thirty minutes.
Rushing out of the kitchen, I head back down the hall toward our bedroom. I pass my office, Luke’s study, and several empty rooms still filled with some of our boxes. A pang of sadness stings my eyes, wetness trailing down my cheeks. I swipe the tears away angrily, frustrated with myself for the hurt that seems to sink its teeth into me.
I’ve always wanted a big family. Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of a house full of children. You know, the American dream? A perfect husband, a cute dog, two point five kids, and a dream career. I wanted to be a super mom, convinced I could do everything. Now, it’s just another notion of the past.
Luke never wanted kids; as fate would have it, a baby just wasn’t in the cards for me—unexplainedinfertility. I remember the doctor telling me the news, what I wore, and how I felt.
