Page 49 of Shift of Morals
“Later.” My gaze went to the double doors leading to the back.
“Ah,” Moira lowered her voice. “Scared of mom’s disapproval.”
I snorted. “We’ve gotta get this box out of here before Hazel senses it.”
Tess drifted over. “Want me to take it to your house?”
I sagged with relief. “Please. And take a longer lunch break since you’re doing this for me.”
Tess smiled and snatched the box before hurrying out, her purse and keys in her hand.
“She was already going somewhere, wasn’t she?” I muttered.
Moira snorted. “Ash already snuck out about ten minutes ago.”
I glanced at her, realization dawning. “Ack. Gross.”
“Let’s just hope she drops the dress off first.”
“Moira! Eww.” I loved both of them, but thinking about them making the beast with two backs was enough to make me want to stab my eyes out with spoons.
The vampire laughed and went behind the register. “Business is still slow. Think we should do some paid marketing?”
“No. I haven’t announced our involvement in the Lord’s wedding yet. Once we do, we won’t be able to keep our heads above water for a while.”
Moira’s glance was curious. “And why haven’t we announced it?”
“Because we might all get fired,” I muttered. “If Caelan keeps sending me dresses, I’m afraid Gianna is going to booby-trap my car.”
“True, but I’d guess she values her pretty hide, too.”
“Depends on how badly she wants to murder me. She seems to have a strong sense of self-preservation, so let’s hope she keeps to the occasional verbal riposte and away from explosive material.”
“Hope is a fickle thing,” Moira said with a twinkle in her eye.
“You’re not going to laugh at my funeral when all that’s left of me gets put into a tiny box.”
“As long as the box is pretty,” Moira said, laughing when I flipped her off.
Later that evening, when Hazel was out communing with the land or whatever weird Scottish witches did, I flipped open Caelan’s box. My breath caught in my throat. A vivid amethyst-colored satin dress lay nestled in creamy tissue paper.
“Dammit,” I muttered. How did he have such great taste?
Raised golden vines decorated the skirt, mid-length this time, magic humming against my fingers as I brushed over them. The bodice was etched with the same vine motif.
But to make it worse, a small box lay to the side, the same size jewelry came in. My hand trembled as I reached for it, hesitating over the top.
An envelope lay above it, so I reached for the parchment note first.
In case the first didn’t suit the florist’s taste.
A smile tugged at my lips. I reached for the small box, carefully tugging the lid off.
A pair of rose-cut, flawless amethysts in the shape of flowers winked up at me. “Caelan,” I breathed.
I dug my cell phone out of my pocket.
I can’t accept these.
