Chapter 4
Soren
Stepping into Celia's altar room, I see that the tarps I put up over the openings in the wall remained in place during the night. I carry each brand new window up from my truck and gently set it down to the side.
While taking down the tarp on the right, my eyes catch sight of the curvy witch below in the wooded area next to her driveway, beams of sunlight cutting through the trees, and she is dancing in the circle of light with her face lifted toward the sky.
I cannot help but smile watching her. She is clearly in her element and looks to be peaceful and happy while she dances.
Suddenly, she stops, catching me watching her, and I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I give her a small wave and continue working, but my heart is racing a mile a minute.
I hope I wasn't prying, and I definitely wasn't trying to spy on her or anything. I just can't help but soak her in anytime I get the chance. The woman is incredibly stunning, and I find her interesting every time I learn a little more about her.
The windows take several hours to install, and I take extra care so that her altar room looks perfect before I show her the results.
When I go downstairs, I find Celia sitting in her office on her laptop. She told me she was a developmental editor, and throughout her house, I can see her love of books. They are everywhere, along with tarot decks, crystals, and scrying balls.
"Whenever you're ready, I can show you the windows," I say after softly knocking on her door.
She looks up at me with her dark brown eyes and grins. "You're already done?"
Laughing, I say, "Yes. I even took extra care. It could have been done a few hours ago, but I wanted to make sure it was absolutely perfect for such a special room."
I watch her pale cheeks redden as she smiles at me, giving me a look I cannot quite read.
Following her up the stairs, I try not to stare at her curves, but fail miserably. This woman is an absolute beauty, and my body is on constant heightened alert whenever I am near her.
When she steps into the altar room and bursts into tears, horror fills my gut. Fuck.
"Shit, you hate it."
The curvy witch whips around, shaking her dark blue locks. "No, no, I love it. It's better than I ever hoped," she says, wiping away her tears. "Thank you so much, Soren. This is seriously better than I could have imagined."
My stomach flips, and I have the sudden urge to ask her out on a date. But before I gather enough courage to do so, the doorbell rings downstairs.
Looking out at the driveway, I see a dusty rose car.
"There's a Cadillac parked in your driveway."
"What?" Celia says, shock coloring her tone. "Is it a dusty rose?"
"Yes, exactly. So you know who this is?" I ask, turning to her.
"Fuck," she says, slapping her hand to her forehead.
A couple of minutes later, I am following the curvy witch downstairs as she continues to swear under her breath. Celia is clearly horrified about this visitor, and I wish I could help her.
Watching her walk to the front door, I realize that I would do anything for this woman.
I stand in the back, watching her Aunt Griselda greet her, but when the elderly woman's light blue eyes meet mine and she says, "This must be the fiancé," every cell in my body jumps to attention. I feel emboldened to step in as Celia's savior.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm Soren Felsenberg, Celia's future husband," I say, holding out my hand to shake hers.
"Oh, he is absolutely gorgeous, Celia. Well done, well done," the woman says, pushing past her niece.
Looking over at my employer, I cannot hide my smile, and her expression is worth everything. Her cheeks are rosy red, and her eyes are lit up studying my face.
"Celia, I would like some tea," Aunt Griselda calls from the living room. "And Soren, come keep me company."
While Celia brews the tea, I sit with her aunt. Trouble pops up to give me company, or maybe he's trying to comfort me while this woman peppers me with questions.
"So you're a handyman?" She says, eyeing me up and down.
"Yes, ma'am. I own my own business."
"Okay. So, is it successful?"
"I have no complaints."
Celia walks in, handing her aunt a steaming mug. "Here's your tea just like you like it, Auntie," she says, sitting in the chair next to her.
"You don't have to sit next to me, Celia. Go be with your fiancé," her aunt says, waving her away.
When the curvy witch sits next to me, I feel an electric warmth pool down to my toes, reminding me of what her touch felt like when she gave me that hot cocoa the other day.
"So I see Celia hasn't let you add your masculine touch to the house yet," Aunt Griselda says, looking around.
"Excuse me?" I say, confused.
"I'm not daft. I know that we're in the twenty-first century.
It's not how we did things when I was younger, but I accept that young people like to live together before they get married.
But honestly, Celia, you really need to let this man make this home a little more to his style as well," she says, lightly scolding her niece.
"Of course, Auntie," Celia says, squirming beside me.
Aunt Griselda's visit lasts about an hour, and luckily, most of the time she spends complaining about her neighbor down in Branwen Beach.
"She's dating a gargoyle," she says, sniffing with disapproval.
"Aunt Griselda," Celia says with a warning tone.
"What?"
"We're witches. People are bigoted against us, so why are you being bigoted against someone else who is also different?"
"Oh, pish posh," Aunt Griselda says, waving her niece's words away as she stands. "Well, you two, I'm looking forward to spending Thanksgiving here."
These words cause the voluptuous woman beside me to stiffen.
"Oh, you're coming here for Thanksgiving?"
"Yes. Of course. Now that you're engaged, you're going to host. Walk me to the front door."
Obeying, the two of us stand and guide Aunt Griselda to the exit.
Stepping out onto the patio, she turns to us. "And listen, you two, I'm not anti-PDA. You don't have to be so polite in front of me. Let's see some of the love you two share."
"What?" Celia asks.
"Give your fiancé a kiss, Celia, and stop being such a prude," Griselda says with a sniff.
The curvy witch looks up into my eyes with a slightly horrified expression. She rises on her tiptoes, and I lean down to meet her halfway, cupping her chin and bringing her full lips to mine.
When we kiss, my entire body sizzles with electric flames. And even when we part, saying goodbye to her aunt, my lips continue to sizzle.
"Wonderful," Aunt Griselda says. "See you in three weeks."