Chapter 11 DRESS TO BESPELL
DRESS TO BESPELL
‘But he didn’t, though,’ Lara was saying. In quite an affronted manner, it had to be said. ‘Finn doesn’t strike me as someone who wouldn’t.’
‘Maybe he’s a gentleman after all,’ I said, adding a dramatic squirt of whipped cream to Lara’s coffee.
She raised an eyebrow at me, and we both burst out laughing. No, Finn being a gentleman was definitely not it.
‘Perhaps it was the fact that Rosie was five feet away,’ Lara added over her shoulder as she carried her coffee over to the deep linen couch she liked to snuggle into.
It sported a few cushions I didn’t recognize – Rosie had been on a sewing spree.
‘Maybe he gets performance anxiety in front of his mom.’
‘Wow, that’s … a dynamic I don’t really want to consider,’ I said, following after her with my own mug and a plate of cookies. I set both down on the coffee table, using a giant book about modern art as a coaster.
Lara had ditched poor Jack to help talk me through my Tucker-brother woes, something I appreciated very much.
Hence the drinks I’d banged out using Rosie’s fancy espresso machine.
I was pretty sure I’d ground the beans on the wrong setting and had messed up the extraction, but if you added enough syrup and cream you probably couldn’t tell. I hoped.
‘It’s something you’re going to have to think about if you move on one of the boys,’ Lara warned me with a grin.
Devil that she was, she was loving every second of this.
‘Or both of them. You’re all here, under the one roof.
Which is convenient for making sneaky night-time visits.
But also, potentially really awkward. Even if Rosie is cool with it.
Which she might be. Or not. You never can tell where moms are concerned.
Trust me, I’ve climbed out of enough windows to have some insight into the matter. ’
‘Some of those windows were even my windows,’ I pointed out.
Lara grinned. ‘What can I say? I like a challenge. This coffee is awful, by the way. Even with all the cookie dunking I’ve been doing.’
‘Sorry. I should’ve just gone with tea.’
I sighed, thinking about last night.
‘So … as much as it pains me to say it, you’re right.’ I lowered my voice to barely a whisper. ‘There’s something going on. With both of them.’
‘Yes!’ hissed Lara in delight. She pumped her fists, cheerleader style. ‘Love triangle! Love triangle!’
I lobbed a cookie at her. ‘It’s going to be a love line, thank you very much. I just have to figure out which direction that line is pointing in.’
‘Ah, like a human dowsing rod.’
Another cookie went flying. Lara grabbed it easily, shoving it in her mouth whole. ‘Keep them coming. I’m loving this delivery mechanism.’
I threatened her with a third, and she dissolved into giggles.
‘This one’s for me,’ I said, devouring a salted pecan one. It practically dissolved in my mouth. ‘Mm, ninety-nine per cent butter content. Perfection.’
When I’d washed it down with a sip of my awful drink, I waved my Heart Tree ring at her.
‘Remember this thing?’ I asked as the moonstones caught the sunlight. I frowned – now two of the moonstones were dark.
‘How could I forget. You pulled it out of the ground with a fork like some sort of cheapskate King Arthur.’
‘Okay, well, I’m pretty sure it’s hexed.’
‘Hexed? As in cursed? You picked up a cursed ring and put it on?’
‘You put it on,’ I reminded her.
‘Well, then, you should be grateful for my forceful nature. You’re going to have the best stories to tell. Assuming you live to tell them.’
I’d run out of snacks to throw. ‘Remind me why we’re friends again?’
‘Because everyone needs a cute, high-achieving blonde in their lives. Keeps you striving.’
All right, so perhaps Lara had a point there.
‘It says know your heart underneath,’ I said, flashing my palm at her. ‘And every time the boys are around, it zaps me.’
Lara grinned diabolically. ‘Maybe it’s a chastity ring.’
‘Oh, shut up.’
If it were one of those, I definitely wouldn’t have had the dreams I’d had last night.
Lara caught my flush and gave me a look.
Leaning over, she grabbed my hand. She swiped a pair of reading glasses from atop Rosie’s Agatha Christie novel, holding the lenses up close to the ring.
‘Well, it’s definitely a ring,’ she said, prodding it with a pointed nail.
‘Wow, thank you, Poirot.’
With a laugh, Lara crooked her finger and held it under her nose like a moustache. ‘Oui, oui, je suis … whatever very smart French detectives say.’
‘Belgian,’ said Noah idly. He’d come in to top up the water bottle he always sipped from while he was painting – apparently the water from the sink in the studio tasted strange. Maybe the headaches were a dehydration thing. ‘Poirot’s a French-speaking Belgian.’
Lara waggled her finger moustache. ‘Just because I moustache you a question does not mean I need the answer to be mansplained to me.’
‘You’ve just forfeited any right to a portrait.’ Noah shook his head as he ran the faucet. ‘So, why are we role-playing Poirot?’
‘We’re trying to figure out the provenance of Molly’s ring,’ said Lara. ‘In case it’s worth pawning for pizza money.’
Noah screwed the lid back on his water bottle. ‘Any leads?’
The way his dark eyes met mine made me squirm.
When had he become so handsome? Both of the Tucker boys had always been gorgeous, as Lara had always been so happy to point out – she spent about half of our Summerweens discussing their looks at length – but Noah had a new gravitas to the way he carried himself that intrigued me.
Intrigued me so much it had kept me up last night, in fact.
But that gravitas is because his dad has just died, Molly, I reminded myself.
Ugh, I was awful. What next? Swooning over the new furrow between his brows that made him look particularly thoughtful and erudite?
Coming apart at the seams over the way his hair had grown out just a little too much and now had a slight curl over his ears and above his collar?
Ah yes, the sexy dishevelment of grief. Definitely not a sign that I was a terrible human being.
My ring crackled on my finger. I made a fist, trying to hide it.
‘Sorry?’ I said, realizing that Noah was looking at me. He probably expected an answer to something, but unless the question was, ‘Do I look hot right now?’ I was absolutely going to draw a blank.
‘I was asking whether you had any leads on the ring,’ he repeated, amused. ‘Maybe another coffee will help you prevail against whatever’s haunting you after last night.’
‘The spirit of too much tequila,’ supplied Lara.
‘We can’t all have your tolerance,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Not all of us work in PR.’
‘But you could.’ Lara pulled a vodka seltzer from the fridge and popped it open. Wow, my espresso had been bad enough to drive her to drink. ‘Scarletta’s looking for a managing copywriter for her team. You could even nudge her up to assistant creative director if you really put the screws to her.’
‘But I have a job,’ I said, confused.
‘Wow, do you?’ Lara widened her eyes in faux surprise. ‘Because you definitely never talk about your deadlines or spending your weekends at pickleball matches or how many doughnuts Eddie has fed you throughout the week.’
‘I thought you liked my doughnut tallies,’ I protested, pretending to be hurt.
‘I know you have a job, silly. I’m just saying you could have a better one if you want it. More money, more me. What’s not to love?’
I chuckled. ‘Well, when you put it like that …’
‘And you have to admit our building is pretty nice. Compared with your little cockroach digs and your alleyway views.’
‘But I hear her desk has a front-row view to the rat fights,’ put in Noah. Very sweetly, I thought. I had watched a few vermin match-ups in my time.
‘And I don’t have to wrestle with a fancy coffee machine or figure out weird toilet-door locks.’
Lara cackled. ‘You’ve always had that thing about toilet-door locks.’
‘They’re not something you want to get wrong!’ I protested.
‘Especially not if there are rats outside the door,’ said Noah.
Lara finished her drink and popped it in the recycling. ‘Anyway, I’m just saying that Scarletta would love to get on a call with you if you want to talk it over.’
‘Maybe.’ I shrugged, not sure how I felt about the idea of working at Lara’s agency. It would definitely be a promotion, but I liked working with Eddie.
There’s always a but, isn’t there? I chastised myself. No matter the situation, I was cursed to always see both sides.
I helped myself to one of the coconut-dusted chocolate truffles Rosie had made last night. Thankfully these had turned out better than her last batch of marshmallows, which we’d had to replace with the store-bought variety.
‘But first I have to solve the mystery of the ring,’ I said, changing the subject away from the job offer.
‘Molly dug it up from the beach,’ Lara explained to Noah. ‘It’s of mysterious provenance.’
‘It could’ve come from anywhere,’ I agreed. ‘A spurned lover. A seagull. A treasure chest.’
‘A treasure chest, huh?’ Noah looked amused.
‘More likely a seagull,’ I admitted.
‘I’d try the vintage shop first,’ he suggested.
‘If it’s an old piece, maybe Alberta has seen it before.
Or you could try the bookshop. It’s pretty good at surfacing whatever you’re looking for.
Plus, the new owner knows absolutely everything.
It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he had a loupe and a genealogy certificate under the counter. ’
‘Is he hot?’ asked Lara, intrigued.
‘Yes,’ said Tiff, who’d just come in, looking to change out her beach read for another. She immediately flushed. ‘Don’t tell Damien I said that.’
‘Hey, Damien,’ shouted Lara, out of habit. She grinned when Tiff looked over her shoulder. ‘What? I just assumed you had him on FaceTime somewhere.’
Tiff toyed with the hairband around her wrist. She’d let down her ponytail, which was something she rarely did. ‘Not for a couple of hours. He’s in transit, and the time differences are a pain.’