Page 82 of Love, Magic and Misfortune
“I like long stories.” Violet beamed. “When is the date?”
“Next weekend,” Simone said, walking toward the front door. “When will my paintings be ready? I’m launching the account this week with the pictures I took from the party.”
“Ah, well, I’m working on the second one starting today. I have this whole week off so I’ll keep you posted?”
“I’m so excited,” Simone sang. “Can you come to the bakery when the paintings are done? We can decide on the perfect place to hang them, rehash the date and you can help test a new spiced tea mix I’m making. Maybe before New Year’s?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Simone called out over her shoulder as she stood in the doorway. “And about Jasper—try masturbating?”
Violet pouted, folding her arms as she looked away. “I already did.”
“Well, do it again! It’s not like there’s a limit.” And then she closed the door behind her.
35
Now
Aweek later, the door to Laurent House swung open before Violet had even made it up the walkway. Jasper was already in the doorway, backlit by warm yellow light as the heavy snow fell all around. When she got closer to the door, he was beaming.
“Hi.”
“Hello and happy birthday!”
“Thank you—come in, come in.”
Violet stepped inside and fluffed the damp from her hair with one hand. In the other, she held a small gift bag.
“I’ll take your coat,” he said, brimming with energy.
“You’re awfully excited.” Violet shrugged out of her coat. When she was free, she smoothed her sweater and lifted her chin. “It smells nice in here—fruity and cinnamony.”
“It’s the mulled wine. I’m making a test batch for tomorrow and it’s almost ready. Can you taste it? I hope Rose and Jillian like it…”
“I’m sure they’ll love it, and I’d be honored to have a taste.” Violet had invited Jasper over to Gram’s cottage for Christmas Day celebrations. He’d happily accepted. “Why are you making something you can’t have?” she asked.
“I can have a little, just not a full mug. My parents used to have this at Christmas when I was growing up—before the whole curse thing. It always made the house smell great and I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to have a glass with them… That never happened, so I figured making it for you, Rose and Jillian presented a nice opportunity? It reminds me of happier times.”
Violet sighed, nodding. Why shut down Christmas traditions over this curse? Why lay yet another heavy burden onto your son’s shoulders? Wasn’t being cursed enough?
“Happy times are here, Jas. Things are getting better. Are we sitting in the study?”
“We are.”
Walking forward, Violet realized it’d been a while since she was here. Jasper had been visiting and staying at her house more and more, shrewdly opting for a good night of sleep and lively conversation. When she turned the corner to the study, she drew a breath in surprise. Tiny white lights and paper snowflakes were strung across the low ceiling, the latter slowly spinning in the stagnant air. The fireplace burned brightly, casting a soft glow and warm shadows everywhere she looked. Jasper had even set up a tree and decorated it with multicolor lights and silver baubles. The coffee table, usually piled high with books, magazines and used coffee cups, was clean and offered an array of beautiful charcuterie: crackers, meats, cheeses, nuts and dried fruit. Near the edge, a large bowl of perfectly plump red grapes glistened with drops of water.
“Oh my gosh…”
“Do you like it?” Jasper asked, standing at her side.
“This is amazing—it’s beautiful. And soclean.” Even Jasper’s desk only held his computer, green banker’s lamp and files. The thick goldenrod curtains were pulled back so that the cloudy afternoon sky and heavy snow drifts were visible.
Jasper grinned. “I can’t take all the credit. René helped me—but it was my idea.”
“It’s so cozy and breathtaking, what a lovely surprise.”
“Thank you for spending my birthday with me.” He reached over, grasping her hand and entwining their fingers. “Are you hungry? These things are rat friendly but I thought you’d like them, too?” He stepped forward, pulling her to the couch. Violet chuckled.
