Karaoke Chemistry: A Witchy Small Town Romcom (Sacred River Book 2)

8. Magnolia

“START TALKING.”

My classroom door slams shut, and I whimper at both the loss of air circulation and the unbridled ire of my best friend.

I really, really should have tried harder to explain things to her.

You know, lie.

Make things up.

Do anything, say anything, that would have kept me off her naughty list, because when Ava Green puts you on there, it can take years to get off.

Not that I’d actually be able to do it, but still. A girl can dream.

“And don’t even think about lying to me,” Ava continues. “Your lip twitches, and we both know a mole starts to appear on your nose when you get going.”

She’s not wrong. That delightful little curse was brought on by Aspen, the eldest sister and inheritor of Mom’s goddess-like intolerance of lying.

Personally, I’m a believer in the “white lies never hurt anyone” camp, but thanks to the mushroom tea that Aspen wished on when we were seven and four respectively, I don’t lie. Moles happen. And not the tiny gray rodent kind, either.

I turn around from color-coordinating my class rosters and face the music that is Ava Green. “Hi?” I squeak.

“Hi? Hi? Three weeks ago, I saw you pull a damn Celine Dion on ‘Sweet Caroline’ and all you have to say is hi?”

“I texted?—”

“No. Shut up.” She holds her hand up as her light brown eyes flash, and I realize this must be exactly how she terrifies her students at the beginning of every year.

I close my mouth. I’ve texted multiple times, and she’s deigned to answer, but Ava’s clearly been way more upset than I realized.

“We have been best friends for how long?” she asks.

I blink.

“Answer me!”

“You said not to?—”

“I swear on my big mama’s grave, Magnolia?—”

“Okay, okay!” I hurry to answer. “Thirty years.”

“Thirty damn years, Magnolia. We’ve gone through puberty together. Practiced kissing pillows together. Kissed the Smith twins together. I know your weird witchy-ass family, and I’m still friends with you. So please explain to me how. The fuck. I didn’t know that you sang?” Her chest heaves with righteous anger, and I’m momentarily distracted by the writing on her T-shirt: Surely not everyone was kung-fu fighting.

I snort a laugh, then swallow it back when she glares. I blow out a breath and gesture to the desks. “Let’s sit.”

She makes a satisfied noise and angles herself into the seat. “Hate these damn chairs. You better make this good, Magnolia Rowan. I know your sisters.”

I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to decide if I’m really going to tell her, but suddenly the Universe is screaming at me to spill, and you don’t live life as a Rowan and not follow the Universe’s nudges. Or shoves, as this is beginning to feel like. I’ve been tempted to ask why the Universe waited until now to allow me to tell the secret, but honestly? I’m scared of what the answer might be.

I take my place across from her and decide to dive right in. Why beat around the bush and all that. “I hurt the people I love when I sing.”

Instantly, it feels like I’m thirty pounds lighter. The feeling is so real that I have to look down to see if I’ve changed in some way. No, I’m still here. Still in my Birkenstocks and skirt. Still sporting the silver bangles that never come off.

In front of me, Ava stares. “You—what?” She is the picture of confusion, her brows knitted and eyes traveling up and down my body, cataloging my unpainted toes, standard braided hair, and no makeup. “I don’t understand.”

I splay my hands. “There’s nothing to understand. If I sing around the people I love, they get hurt. I’m not sure they even have to hear me for it to happen.” I hold her gaze and tick off the history. “Aspen broke her arm falling out of the magnolia tree. Willow lost her hearing for a week. And Clementine—” My voice catches and I take a moment to collect myself. “Clementine’s burn is from my singing, too.”

Her entire body softens. “Mags, that’s not possible. There’s no way?—”

“Did anything happen to you after you heard me? And don’t lie.”

“Not a thing.”

I stare at her, willing her to tell me the truth. “Honestly?”

She nods. “Honestly. Nothing happened. Not even a hangnail.”

I should feel better after hearing that. I don’t. “How much did you hear?”

“Almost the whole song,” she says, a gentle smile on her face. “You’re really good, Mags.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She chuckles. “Humble, too.”

Shrugging, I say, “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m trying to make a career of it or anything. I just…” I trail off. Then it hits me. “Oh god. Oh no.” I surge up and begin to pace.

“What now?” She makes a show of looking around. “Are you going to tell me you ride brooms when no one else is around?”

I purse my lips. “You’re funny. Hilarious, even.”

“Because we still haven’t talked about all of it. Who’s Seven, for one thing, and what was with the clothes?”

“So no one knows who I am. We haven’t talked about the biggest piece.”

“Seriously? There’s more? And stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy.”

“Riggs—”

There’s a knock, and the man himself pokes his head in the door.

My breath catches as his bright blue eyes sweep over me, heating almost imperceptibly before he blinks and clears the expression away. “Hi.”

Ava’s gaze swings to mine, and I can tell she’s figured it out. She may not be a Rowan sister, but she’s my best friend, and she’s no fool.

“Hi,” I croak back. Pull it together. “Hello. Come on in.” I stand awkwardly, completely stupid in front of him as Principal Finlay.

Because whoa. He’s in a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to show off forearms that flex as he opens the door and steps into the room. His chest strains under the shirt, leaving no question as to the defined muscles that lay coiled beneath, and immediately, I picture those strong arms wrapped around me. To make matters worse, he’s wearing impeccably tailored linen pants that hug his thighs, and I swear I have never noticed what a man is wearing before Riggs Finlay. Maybe it’s because I’ve been surrounded by men who simply don’t care, but Riggs? It’s clear he cares. Even the way his thick, dark silver hair has just a hint of product in it to keep the style in place tells me he puts thought into it.

My core aches at the thought of the care he’d put into me. His hands, his mouth, his tongue…

“Hi, Principal Finlay,” Ava says from beside me, wrenching me back to reality.

“Riggs, please,” he answers, his gaze flicking to her before landing back on me.

“Can I help you?” I want to shove the words back into my mouth the instant they’re out. Who says that? Me, apparently.

“I brought lunch.” He lifts a plastic bag. “Sorry, Ava, I didn’t realize anyone else?—”

“Totally fine.” She cuts him off, squeezing out of the desk and raising a knowing brow at me. “Call me,” she warns with a whisper, “or you’re dead to me.” She turns back to Riggs. “Good seeing you. I need to get back, though. Those bulletin boards won’t decorate themselves!”

She’s out the door and shutting it behind her before anything else can be said, and then I’m staring at Riggs, and he’s staring at me, and we’re in a room, alone. Instantly, the air thickens.

“Seven,” he says, his voice low. Sexy.

The way my body lights up at hearing that name from his mouth…holy cow. I pull myself together. “You brought lunch? Let’s go eat in the cafeteria.”

He growls. Tosses the bag on one of the student desks and closes the distance, a panther homing in on its prey.

I swallow. Brace myself.

Then his hands are cupping my face and tilting it to his. Lips, firm and sure, are on mine a second later, and I hang suspended as that damn spark flares between us. A groan—or is it a whimper?—escapes me as I wrap my arms around him and give in. Just for a minute, I promise myself. What’s the worst that can happen?

I open for him, and he pulls me tight in response, his tongue slipping into my mouth with hot, practiced strokes.

The entire world sighs with me, eager now, because my god, this man can kiss. There’s a promise in each slide of his lips, and as his body surrounds mine and pushes me against the desk, I go willingly. My hands explore every inch of his chest, thick and solid and compact, and muscles twitch and flex beneath my touch. Then my butt is on my desk, colored folders flopping to the floor in a messy rainbow, and he’s between my legs, his teeth nipping at my lips, his hands stroking down my arms. The air around us buzzes with energy as he cradles the back of my head and increases the pressure of the kiss, absolutely destroying the past year’s worth of fantasies I’d built up about him. Heated desire flows through me, centering in my core and crying out for relief.

“Fuck, Seven,” he whispers, finally breaking the kiss and leaning his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. But fuck me, I just…” he huffs a laugh. “I literally couldn’t not do it.”

“I know,” I answer, my voice rough. I can’t stop touching him. My hands practically move on their own, feeling the corded muscles of his arms and wrapping around his forearms, the hair on them coarse against my palms. “It’s harder here.”

“Is that a euphemism?” he chuckles. “Because I am definitely hard.”

My gaze drops to his dark pants, and sure enough, they are impressively tented. “No.” I can’t help the smile that emerges. I tighten my hands against his hips and pencils roll off the desk. “The town. Sacred River.”

He nuzzles my cheek, then drops his nose to the sensitive spot right beneath my ear and inhales. The sound that comes out of him as he straightens is half contentment, half frustration. His bright eyes lock onto mine, and I blink away, scooting further onto the desk. He reads me instantly and takes a step back, giving me space.

“The town?” he prompts.

“The magic is stronger here,” I explain.

The look on his face is almost comical. “The…magic? Is that a euphemism?”

I take a deep breath in, then exhale, bracing my hands on the wood that has seen me through decades of teaching. “How do you not know?”

“Know what?”

“Riggs,” I say, exasperated. I should have touched his hair. My hands itch with regret. “If anything, Mrs. Hayes must have said something.”

“About what?”

I throw my hands up. “About me! About my family and Sacred River. You’ve been here for I don’t know how long?—”

“Little more than a month,” he supplies.

“Over a month, and you don’t know? What the hell is wrong with this town?”

Confusion rolls off him in waves, and his voice is tight as he says, “Will you please stop talking in circles and tell me what the hell is going on?”

“People call us—” I sigh. I almost wish school was already in session. A well-placed teenager would be perfect right about now. “We’re witches. Some would say we’re not, even one of my sisters swears we aren’t, but for all intents and purposes, we are.”

He laughs. Laughs. As though I have told him the funniest story ever. I watch him, my lips curled in a smile, absolutely entranced at this man, sunshine incarnate. The restraint it takes not to pull him back to me and kiss him is so freaking intense that it nearly takes my breath away. Then I realize he’s slowly closing the distance to do just that, so I force the desire to kiss him out of my head. Sure enough, he stops.

Oh god.

This is bad.

I hiss a silent Stop it! to the Universe and focus on the oblivious man in front of me. I need to get control of this situation. Of my intentions. Which have not, for the record, actually worked. Not for a very long time. And yet now…

Only months ago, I had a tidy life. Well, lives. Two separate lives that didn’t overlap, and it was good. I wasn’t totally happy, but I was fine. I had my sisters, and I had Ava, and I was fine. Then all this…this magic has to start happening.

I don’t know which is worse. Either way, it’s suddenly here, in my chemistry classroom, that I get to watch both lives smash together like positive and negative particles. Should be explosive.

Sorry. Bad chemistry joke.

I shake my arms out and stand up. Behind me, another pencil rolls onto the floor. “Riggs.”

He eases out of the laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Next, you’re going to tell me that Mr. Dander is a werewolf, and I gotta say, the man’s canines are a little long, so I might believe you.”

I bite back a smile. “Mr. Dander is most definitely not a werewolf.” Ask me a specific question, I urge.

Still grinning, he asks, “Why do you say you and your family are witches?”

Thank you. “Because we can make things happen. Not always directly, but we can…nudge things along. With intentions and spells. Sometimes it’s more, um, obvious than other times. But…” I stall, not really knowing how to explain it to someone and not have it sound like I’m a complete lunatic. “Honestly, you didn’t hear about us?” I’m still having a hard time believing that literally no one bothered to tell this man he’d moved to the town with the witches.

He tilts his head and studies me, the shallow frown lines bracketing his mouth deepening in thought. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “Honestly, I’m surprised. Everyone knows. It’s a small town, after all.”

“So the apothecary?—”

“Yep.”

“And the random comment Mrs. Hayes made about magical teas from there?—”

“Well,” I hedge, “I wouldn’t call them magical.”

His eyebrow arches. “Then what would you call them?”

I sigh. “Magical,” I mutter. “They’re magical. Not all of them, though. Not even most of them. And it’s not like Harry Potter or anything, we’re not stocking Eye of Newt and things aren’t flying around. No brooms.”

He blinks. “You’re not joking.”

I shake my head. “You need to know. It’s…” I pause, trying to figure out how to say this. “Relevant.”

“Relevant,” he repeats. Motioning between us, he says, “This isn’t—Jesus Christ, is this some spell?” His eyes go wide as he backs up.

“No!” I nearly bark the word. “No. Not at all.” It’s worse than a spell. So much worse. How exactly do I explain that?

“I need to sit down.” His skin pale, he grabs onto a desk and sinks into it, wincing at the way it pinches his waist.

A pencil rolls his way, and I glare at it. It stops.

I blink, my own breath nearly stopping along with the pencil. This is new. I look at Riggs, whose face is buried in his hands.

No harm in trying, right? It’s what my sisters have always done. What I used to be able to do before the Gathering. I picture a lavender blanket of acceptance and calm appearing above Riggs, then lowering to settle around his shoulders. Be okay with this, I think. Relax.

Riggs breathes deeply, and after a few moments, seems to pull himself together. As he raises his eyes to me, he mumbles, “These desks are terrible.”

A relieved laugh bubbles out of me. “Yes, they are. Put it on your list, will you, Principal Finlay?”

His eyes darken at the name, and even though I have no idea how this is going to go, it doesn’t stop the butterflies in my belly. “So you’re a witch.”

“I’m a witch.” A witch whose power is…finally coming out?

I squash the thought. Nothing is worse than hope.

“And a chemistry teacher,” he chuckles, looking up to the ceiling. “God, the irony. And your sisters…?”

“All witches.”

“Explains why my visit to the apothecary was a little weird,” he mutters to himself. Then he looks back at me, a grin on his face. “Any other random mythical creatures I need to be worried about? Vampires? Are you sure we’re not in a television show geared for teenagers?”

“Hey, Vampire Diaries slaps, as the kids say,” I joke.

“Oh god, don’t ever use that phrase again,” he groans, rubbing his hands over his face.

“It’s a lot to take in. Does it help if I tell you that I am the least magical of my sisters?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he says. “Your voice is fucking mesmerizing. Speaking of which, can we go back to the part where you’re two different people?”

And just like that, the winged beauties turn into scorpions, jamming their poisoned tails into me. “Can—can we not?” I plead.

He exhales. “Magnolia, come on.”

I don’t miss the way my name has changed. I know I have to give him something, and part of me wishes I could have had him and Ava here together, so that I could have just spilled my secrets in one fell swoop. But the chances of him believing me are slim to none, for one thing, and for another, the spark.

Fuck me, that spark.

I can fight it. The spark only means something if I want it to mean something, and I don’t. I absolutely do not. Do you hear that? I ask the Universe. Your sparks can pound sand. They don’t mean anything and they need to go away.

“Look,” I finally say. “I have my reasons for keeping my lives separate, and I need you to trust me on that. And I need you to keep your promise about not telling anyone about my singing.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Ava,” I admit. “She just found out. She…caught me. She was there, one of the weeks you weren’t, and she came in when I was singing.”

He considers this. “Does she know why it’s a secret?”

Ugh. I really, really hate being asked direct questions. “She does.” I don’t miss the hurt that flashes across his face, and an ugly guilt blooms in my chest.

He stands and brushes imaginary dust off his pants, and I watch with hungry eyes, the strength in him evident even through such a mundane movement. I’m still not used to seeing him as Principal Finlay, a man who wears dress pants and button-down shirts rolled up to display sexy-as-hell forearms. His hair is the same, of course, shaved close on the back and sides before fading into strands of silver and dark gray that manage to look good under the harsh florescent lighting. And his eyes. Universe help me, his eyes. The brightest of aqua blues, except when they darken like they are right now.

“Okay, Magnolia,” he concedes. “Have it your way, my little witch.”

My breath catches as he closes the distance and kisses me again, pulling me against him and digging his hand into my waist. It’s possessive and sexy and filled with dark promises. When he finally pulls away, I’m breathless.

Then our eyes meet. And even though it’s not possible, he seems to see everything, all my secrets and fears, and accept them. Accept me.

And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.