Chapter 17
BLAIRE
Sneaking out of a glass house while hoping no one sees me is a joke.
My heels are in one hand, and my dress is crooked.
I tiptoe across cold marble while Jameson Cross sleeps like a man with no worries.
He’s sprawled across the middle of the bed we wrecked, one arm thrown over the spot where I’m supposed to be.
His face is relaxed, and he looks younger at this angle. I stare too long, admiring him.
That’s exactly the problem.
Things got too intense. I said yes to things I had no business agreeing to. Somewhere between the bar and the pool and the palm reading, the rules we’d made to keep this simple stopped working.
I put on my heels and walk out the front door, happy it doesn’t announce my departure. The cold goes straight through the dress I’m wearing. I walk down Douchebag Drive like it’s my runway. I pass a mule deer who pops her head up, watching me as I go.
“Let’s keep this between us,” I whisper.
The ski resort runs an early shuttle down the mountain for the morning shift. The expansion continues up Ridge Road, and I walk down to the bus stop. When I step on, the driver gives me a confused look.
I offer a “Good morning,” and share a bench seat with two lift mechanics wearing Carhartt jackets.
I replay last night, knowing Winter and Josie will ask questions. Thankfully, I can handle them.
Jamie and I agreed that the deal would end on Halloween. We had many rules, like nothing serious, no falling in love, and no one else. Staying the night with one another is too much, and my leaving only did us both a favor. Now there will be no awkward morning after.
When I close my eyes, I can still see the love line on his palm. It was solid, which tells me that when he finds the love of his life, it will be everlasting. I’m cheating him of finding that sooner, and the guilt is almost too much.
I’m dropped off in front of the resort bike shop that will transform into a ski rental business when the first snow sticks. Three blocks later, I’m walking through the side garden and up the back porch of the manor.
Charlie waits for me at the door with his tail curled around his feet. “Meow?”
I shake my head. “I’m alone.”
He follows me into the kitchen, and I stop when I see Winter standing at the counter, fully dressed, with a cup of coffee in her hands. It smells like pumpkin pie.
Her eyes slide over me, and she smiles. “Good morning, Cinderella,” she says. “You missed midnight by about seven hours.”
I kick off my heels by the door and head for the coffeepot. “Where’s Josie?”
“At the festival, setting up your wagon for the on-site tarot readings this weekend. Did you forget?” Her brows furrow.
“Of course not,” I say, lying through my teeth. I did forget, which tells me my mind has been somewhere else. I pour myself a cup of coffee and take it with me. “I need to shower. If it slows down, I’ll send Josie back to the shop to help you.”
“I will be fine,” Winter says. “Don’t stress. It’s not allowed.”
The elephant in the room has grown to the size of a diesel truck.
She watches me. “So, how’d last night go?”
“Successful,” I say with a waggle of my brows.
Her face lights up. “Does he have a name?”
“Nope.”
“Oh.” Winter takes another sip of coffee. “Maybe I need to take a page from your book. It’s been a very long time.”
I grin, replaying last night again and how Jamie carried me from the pool to his bed. “Maybe you should. Anyway, shower time.”
By ten, the square in the middle of town has thousands of people strolling around. Booths line the perimeter of the entire area, and in the center are different food trucks and carnival rides. At the opposite end of the festival grounds is a hayride and a gigantic pumpkin patch.
The Charmed Cauldron wagon is in the same spot it’s had since before I was born. It’s a town treasure, and it has its own local legends surrounding it. The reading wagon comes out of the carriage house once a year for this event only. I can’t believe it slipped my damn mind.
It’s dark purple, and on the front, Charmed Cauldron is displayed in shiny gold paint that reflects sunshine. The inside smells like vanilla and wood, and there’s enough room for an intimate reading.
I step behind the velvet curtain and move behind the fold-down table. I light the old brass lantern and click on the string of amber lights overhead.
A wooden, hand-lettered sign is propped against the steps.
THREE-CARD TAROT READING: $25
PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE
Customers line up one at a time because my readings are never this cheap.
The morning passes by faster than I expected, and I’m happy for the busyness. It helps keep my mind off everything else.
Tourists climb the steps, expecting a bit, and I give them the real deal. Many gasp. Some cry. Others whoop with happiness. I never know what cards will be pulled; I just read them.
Between readings, I hook the curtain back and stand at the top of the steps with the whole festival laid out below me.
Josie sells out of the pumpkin bread loaves she made for this by noon and takes orders for the next batch on the back of a carnival map. Doris Jean is chatting with some of her friends two booths down and waves at me every time I make an appearance.
Trouble finds me around two.
Maren Billings plants herself at the bottom of my wagon steps like she’s been rehearsing this confrontation all morning.
“You are a circus act,” she says. “You Wardwell women have been bewitching this town’s men since the turn of the century.
You ruin every man’s life you touch. And now, here you are, selling this crap to tourists and townsfolk. ” Her nose goes up in the air.
My heart pounds hard in my chest. I don’t like confrontation.
“Hey!” Josie steps forward. “Shut your mouth, you rude old woman.”
Maren gasps. “Who are you?”
“That’s my cousin you’re being mean to. Get out of here right now,” Josie warns, pointing her finger. “Now.”
Every booth around us goes quiet. Josie isn’t taking Maren’s shit. Two tables down, Doris Jean rises halfway off her chair, then stands. She glares at Maren, and so do the jam lady and the couple at the cider stand.
Maren pulls her coat tight and looks up the steps at me.
“I hope you have a better day,” I say instead, knowing her frustration really has nothing to do with me.
Her jaw works like she’s chewing on glass. I think she might say something back to me, but instead, she walks away and disappears in the crowd. I let out a breath, wishing my heart would stop racing.
“The nerve of that old biddy.” Josie is fuming. “Who does that?”
“She’s still upset that her husband fell in love with Flora,” Doris Jean says, settling back into her chair. “Don’t let her steal your shine, sugar.”
I smile and give Josie a hug, and then it’s back to business. My hands shake under the table as I think about what Maren said. It’s something I’ve heard people say since I was a kid.
“You ruin every man’s life you touch.”
Jamie has his curse, but I’m starting to believe I’ve got my own.
Around four, the line at my wagon dies down. I go inside and clean up, knowing I’ll get another rush right before dark.
“Incoming,” Josie says, letting me know someone is making their way inside.
The wagon shakes as heavy footsteps move up the stairs. The curtain moves to the side, and I forget to breathe when I see him.
Jamie. He ducks through the doorway with messy, windblown hair. The room fills with the scent of cedar and cinnamon. The curtain closes behind him, and then it’s just the two of us. The sounds of the carnival and tourists fade away.
He sits in the chair directly in front of me, not saying a single word.
“Welcome to Charmed Cauldron,” I say, keeping the script I’d give anyone else. “We’re going to do a three-card personal reading today.”
His eyes leave mine and trail lower with no apology. He studies my mouth, my bottom lip bitten raw all day, down my body, like he’s peeling off my clothes. There’s no rush as he memorizes me. By the time his eyes return to my face, my skin is burning from my toes to the top of my head.
He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly how my body responds to him from a single glance.
“Shall we get started?” I ask.
His eyes narrow as he reads me. I shuffle the deck.
“Why did you leave?” he asks, and I can tell he’s pissed.
I deal three cards face down, and he reaches under the table and puts his hand on my thigh.
His fingers slide up, taking the hem of my skirt with them. He stops high on my thigh. My breath goes ragged because a single touch from him undoes me. I grab his wrist, and he raises one eyebrow. I don’t move his hand away, and he notices.
I flip the first card. A man with a little pack stands at the edge of a cliff, face tipped to the sun, one foot already over nothing.
“The Fool,” I whisper, having seen this card a hundred times.
“New beginnings. The Fool has left everything familiar behind him, and he’s traveling into the unknown. ”
His thumb strokes once along the inside of my thigh, and I swallow hard.
“The cliff means …”
He nods.
“The cliff means risk. But look at his face. The Fool isn’t afraid of the fall. But he should be because change is coming.” I get through it. Barely.
“Mmm.” His thumb moves, and he waits.
Next, I flip the Nine of Cups, and it shows a satisfied man sitting with his arms crossed in front of cups arranged like trophies.
“This is one of the best cards in the deck. The wish card.” My adrenaline rushes. “The thing you want most is already on its way. This is a wishes granted card.” I swallow. “Complete satisfaction.”
His fingers slide higher, and one knuckle grazes between my legs. The lace is soaked through.
“Always wet for me.” That sentence is filthier than any paragraph he could’ve said because it’s true.
Outside the wagon, Josie is talking to those waiting for their reading. I’ve already taken too much time with Jamie, and I still have another card to deal. I rock into his hand, and he allows me to.
“Finish my reading,” he tells me, slightly pulling away.