We need a full report at the next book club.
Laughing, I sink down onto my couch, and soon Trouble is curled in my lap.
The following week, since I'm happy with his work so far, I ask Soren to come upstairs to look at my altar room. When he steps inside, he lets out a low whistle.
"Wow. This place is amazing."
"Thanks. I use it for my spell-work and meditation. Anyway, I'm wondering if you could replace the windows with something that lets in more light? But, saying that, this place is really sacred to me. So if any of this bothers you, well, I don't want those vibes in here, so please be honest. It's okay to say no to the job."
Soren's dark eyes study my face, and my stomach flips, worried that he may tell me what I don't want to hear.
"No, it's fine. I've always found witchcraft legit and interesting and cool. Hell, I even dated a kitchen witch in my twenties."
His smile beneath his silver beard sends a thrill through my body. I leave him to assess the windows, my body buzzing from being so close to him.
Quit it, Celia. You hired him for a job, not to crush on.
Settling down at my desk in my office, I work on my latest editing project. A couple of hours tick by when the main characters take a romantic walk with hot cocoa in their hands. Isit back, looking out at the blustery October day, and decide that sounds amazing.
In the kitchen, I heat some hot chocolate on the stove and pour a mug for Soren, who sounds like he's in my upstairs guest bathroom working on the broken tile I told him about. Heading up, I knock on the ajar door.
"Come in, just be careful where you step," he calls out.
"I had a craving for hot cocoa, so I made it and brought you some as well," I say, handing him the mug.
When he takes it, his long fingers brush against the back of my hand, and my entire body is doused in what feels like an electric flame. We stare at each other for a long beat until I force myself to give him a small smile and slip out of the bathroom.
My hands are actually shaking as I walk back downstairs. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm acting like a teenager with her first crush. But there's something about the way he looked at me in that moment, like he also felt that electricity.
The following weekend, after several days of working in my altar room, the handsome mountain man asks me to check out his work. When I step into the room, I'm immediately struck by how much light is pouring in compared to before and involuntarily burst into tears.
"Shit, you hate it," he says, worry clearly in his voice.
"No, no, I love it. It's better than I ever hoped," I say, wiping my tears away, feeling silly. "Thank you so much, Soren. This is seriously better than I could have imagined."
He stares down at me, looking as if he wants to tell me something or possibly ask me something when suddenly we are interrupted by my doorbell.
Soren peers out the window and says, "There's a Cadillac parked in your driveway."
"What?" I say, icy chills running through my body. "Is it a dusty rose?"
"Yes, exactly. So you know who this is?"
"Fuck," I say, slapping my hand to my forehead. "That's my aunt."
Shit. I pace the room as pools of anxious goo form in my gut.
The gorgeous handyman stares at me with confusion.
"She thinks I'm engaged," I say. When he furrows his brow, I add, "I've never been engaged. I lied to her. It's an inheritance thing. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," I yell, the words echoing in the room.
The doorbell rings again and, resigned, I head down the stairs, aware that Soren is following close behind me. Opening the door, I find Aunt Griselda standing on the front step with her wrinkled face stretched in a wide, cheerful smile.
"My darling niece," she says, grabbing me by the shoulders and kissing both cheeks, then looking over my shoulder and saying, "This must be the fiancé."
Every cell in my body turns to dust as I shrivel up inside. But before I can think of a response, I hear Soren's baritone voice say, "Yes, ma'am. I'm Soren Felsenberg, Celia's future husband."
4
