Chapter 20
JAMIE
I’ve planned exactly one date in the last ten years. I’ve spent two days and an obscene amount of money trying to make this absolutely perfect for Blaire. I don’t remember the last time I cared so much.
Friday, I met her at midnight, but she was so exhausted that she fell asleep. I didn’t care. I just wanted to see her.
This morning, I made four phone calls, sent an NDA, and made sure my plane was waiting for us. Blaire had said she wanted all of me. Tonight, I’ll give her a tiny taste of what it’s like to date Jameson Cross.
At four, I text her.
Jamie
I hope you’re ready for tonight.
Blaire
Can’t wait. Should I pack anything?
Jamie
Maybe a change of clothes for tomorrow, but just be yourself.
She reads tarot until eight. I spent the last hour parked behind Charmed Cauldron with my lights off, listening to the sounds of the festival two streets over.
When the passenger door finally opens, she drops a duffel into the back seat, then reclines the front flat.
She’s wearing a black dress under her green coat.
Her dark hair is down, and her lips are red.
It takes effort for me to start the car instead of staring at how fucking gorgeous she is.
“Wow.”
“Drive,” she says, giggling. “Unless you want to get caught?”
I drive to the edge of town.
“So, you’re still not going to tell me where we’re going?”
She narrows her eyes as I pass the turnoff for the valley highway and take the airport road instead. There’s nothing out here but runways and a windsock.
She sits up straight. “Uh …”
The private jet waits on the tarmac with its stairs down and lights on. It’s sleek and the size of a school bus. Engines already turning over. I park beside the hangar and come around to open her door. She doesn’t move. She looks at the plane, then at me.
“I thought we’d go on a mini adventure,” I tell her.
“I’m speechless.” She takes my hand and climbs out, eyes never leaving me. “I didn’t expect this.”
“You should expect the unexpected. I do anytime I’m with you.”
The crew greets us at the stairs with smiles and warm welcomes.
“Mr. Cross. Lovely to see you,” the captain says.
“Thanks, Miller. Good seeing you too.”
The seats are the color of mocha, and the lights are dimmed. I lead her to where we’re sitting, and there’s already a bottle of champagne on ice, waiting for us.
Blaire stops in the aisle and turns in a full circle, taking it in. “I’ve never seen a plane so pretty.”
I smile, patting the seat beside me. “I picked it out myself.”
Her eyes widen.
“What can I say? I like pretty things.”
During takeoff, she closes her eyes. The mountains fall away below us, and clusters of lights twinkle in the valleys. I take her hand, interlocking our fingers together. We only have twenty-eight days left.
“Tell me something about you I don’t know,” Blaire says, turning her body toward me and sipping her champagne.
“Only if you’re playing too,” I offer.
She nods. “I’ll play.”
I tap my finger on my lips. “I was engaged once.”
Her brows pop up. “Really? The Fling King was engaged?”
I sip my champagne. “Yeah. We dated for a few years.”
She gasps. “What happened?”
“Ah, well, I realized the only reason I was with her was because my brother wanted her. He was actually in love with her, but I didn’t realize it was that serious until later.”
“You’re an asshole!” Blaire says, playfully slapping my arm.
“I know. I thought maybe if I dated the woman he was too chickenshit to pursue, I’d …”
“Fall in love,” she says, but her face softens. “I was in love with a man who liked me but hated the witch part. He wanted me to give it up, and I almost did. That relationship broke me in ways that are still hard to explain.”
I shake my head. “Fuck that guy.”
She downs the rest of her champagne. “It was a blessing in disguise. Trust me.”
“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before,” I admit.
“I could say the same about you.”
For a minute, neither of us speaks. Blaire looks out at the dark, and I look at her. Somewhere out there is a man who had this woman as his and wanted to change her, shape her into something she wasn’t.
“Now tell me where we’re going,” she says.
“You’ll know the moment we arrive,” I say.
“Jamie.” She downs her wine.
“Blaire”—I refill it—“you’re such an impatient little thing.”
“Maybe I am. But you seem to like that,” she says, smiling.
“I fucking love it.”
Over the next hour, she tries to get me to crack but fails. We trade stories about growing up and life in general. Her first animal was a barn cat named Pretzel. I share how I broke my nose twice before I turned twenty. She inspects my face.
As we fly over Nebraska, she fights sleep and loses. I hold her in my arms, smelling her hair and skin. The attendant brings a blanket, and I cover her, but I don’t sleep. I want to enjoy every second I can.
She wakes on the descent with messy hair and squints out the window. “We’re here?”
“Yeah.”
“What time is it?”
“Just past one.”
A car waits for us at the bottom of the stairs. The driver, Daniel, has worked for me for years. He takes her duffel and holds the door. Once we’re settled, he pulls onto the dark street without a single question.
Blaire stares out the window, intrigued. Stone walls and shingled houses are close to the road. Each porch and yard has Halloween decorations. One has a giant skeleton surrounded by gravestones. There’s a witch silhouette wired to a lamppost, then three more, followed by a street of them.
“Jamie.” She sits up straighter.
The headlights beam across a sign. Bolted to the post beneath it is a witch on a broomstick, riding across a painted moon. Both of her hands come off her lap and press over her mouth.
“You brought me to Salem in October.” Her voice cracks.
“I’ve heard witches love this place.” I shrug.
She laughs, and her eyes tear up.
“I’ve only visited once,” she says, watching the decorated porches slide past us. “I was seven. My aunt brought me, just the two of us. We drove the entire way from Colorado. I cried when we left because I loved it so much.”
“Aw. It’s an honor to be here with you.”
She locks her fingers with mine and doesn’t let go for the rest of the ride.
It’s late, and the sidewalks are empty. The driver lets us out on a narrow street where the houses are built close together. We stop at a black iron gate in front of a small cottage with black shutters and a crooked chimney.
Blaire looks at the house, then at me. “This is where we’re staying?”
“It is. I secretly bought this place after my first visit.”
“Wait.” She stops walking on the cobblestone sidewalk and turns to me. “You. Own. This?”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “And several other properties around the world.”
“None of this seems real,” she says.
I place my hand on the small of her back, escorting her to the door. I type in the code and open the door for her.
Amazement is written on her face. She takes her time looking up at the low ceilings, then studies the hardwood floor. Her hand slides across the stone fireplace as I duck down and add wood inside. Blaire walks around the small one-bedroom home with a permanent smile.
“This is unbelievable.”
I yawn, the day finally catching up with me, but Blaire is wide awake.
“We should go to bed,” I tell her. “We have a big day planned.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Then I should confess,” she says, reaching for the zipper of her dress, “I’m not tired.”
The dress slides off her shoulders and lands at her feet. My exhaustion leaves my body. Firelight moves over her skin as she steps out of her heels. I slide my hands into my pockets, watching the show.
“Come here,” she says.
I cross the small room, and she undresses me in front of the fire. Her fingertips trace the ink across my chest like she’s memorizing it. I let her take as long as she wants, enjoying her touch.
There’s no morning curfew or roommates to overhear.
I lay her down on the couch in the firelight and kiss a path from her mouth to her hip.
She sighs my name, and I plan to remember that sound for the rest of my life.
I take my time; neither of us hurries. When I finally move over her, she catches my face in both hands and holds it.
“You’re unbelievable,” she whispers.
“I think I’ve met my match.”
I press my mouth against hers, and she moans as I push into her. The firelight casts shadows on the wall, and our eyes lock together. We move together, finding a rhythm. Blaire watches me, admires me even. Being seen like this undoes me.
The fire pops as I slam into her. She cries for me, then comes apart, squeezing me tight. She pulls me over the edge right behind her. We lie tangled until our heart rates return to normal.
“We should go to bed,” I whisper against her hair.
“I don’t think I can walk,” she mumbles.
So, I carry her naked through the house.
Blaire wraps her arms around my neck. “Best mini adventure ever,” she mumbles into my chest. “And we haven’t even seen the town yet.”
I set her on the bed, and she moves under the blankets. I settle beside her, opening my arms.
I count down the days instead of sheep. There are only twenty-seven days now that midnight’s gone.
Church bells and seagulls wake us. Sun blasts through the old glass, heating the room. Blaire stands at the little window in my shirt, looking down at the street, where two women in full witch regalia walk past, holding iced coffees at eight in the morning.
“I love it here,” she whispers.
I kiss her good morning. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”
The two of us go through our morning routine, sharing the small bathroom. I go to the closet and put on my costume pieces.
She puts on a long-sleeved dress that’s made from sweater material and laces up the leather boots that go to her calves. “Had I known where we were going, I’d have brought something more fun.”
Blaire turns around and smiles when she sees me.
“A costume?” She moves toward me, her hands trailing down the buttons of my shirt.
“There’s one problem with coming to New England,” I say and put on the rigid white mask. “I’m recognizable.”
“I love Phantom of the Opera,” she admits. “Sexy.”
“Now we can blend in and have fun.”
By nine, I’m grabbing her hand and leading her outside. Witch hats bob everywhere. We walk together, nearly invisible to thousands, not letting go of one another.
We stroll into several apothecaries that are like the Charmed Cauldron. The last one is a cramped old place off the main drag, where the woman behind the counter looks up from her book, takes one long stare at Blaire, and sets her book down.
“Interesting,” she says to Blaire, tilting her head.
Blaire gives her a sweet smile.
“I know you,” the older woman says.
“I don’t think so,” Blaire tells her politely.
“Then I know your bloodline.”
Gray eyes meet mine. “Very, very interesting.”
Blaire waits patiently. I read the sign above the counter with the woman’s name. Sophia Sanderson, the original Sanderson sister. She also claims the title Generational Witch.
“Your auras.” She points her finger between us. “They’re braided in the center. Red and blue, combining to make a gorgeous purple. The same color as your ring.”
Blaire’s breath hitches as she glances down at the mood ring on her finger. A bottle falls from a shelf behind us and shatters across the floor.
“Rosemary,” Sophia whispers. “Interesting.”
Blaire rubs her arms like a chill has run over her body.
The woman cleans up the mess and walks past us with a smile.
“We should get a reading from her,” I whisper.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Blaire tells me.
“She’s too scared of the truth,” Sophia says, moving behind the register. “But you aren’t. Maybe a reading for yourself?”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug.
Blaire’s head whips toward me. “You’re a skeptic.”
“When in Salem …”
Sophia tips her chin toward the back of the shop. “Come when you’re ready.”
Blaire looks between the two of us, and whatever she reads in the old woman’s face doesn’t fully comfort her. Sophia disappears in the back.
“I’m going to get some fresh air,” Blaire tells me.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, just a lot of energy in here, and I think I might’ve overdosed on it.”
I laugh. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Blaire walks through the shop, the bell ringing overhead, and I move to the back.
There’s a small table behind a velvet curtain in the corner. Lanterns light the space. I sit.
Sophia doesn’t bring cards or the ball from the window. She takes both my hands and turns them palm up, pressing her thumbs into the center. She doesn’t look at them, just at me.
“You don’t believe,” she says.
“I’m coming around.”
She presses her thumbs a little deeper. “You realize you’re dating a witch. That bloodline is older than this town.”
“I know,” I say with a smile. “She told me.”
Her gray eyes sparkle in this light. She taps the center of my palm once, the same spot Blaire traced the night of the pool. “That woman is the love of your life. The one you’ve been searching for.”
My throat goes dry, and I try to speak, but nothing comes out.
“You already know she’s not the love of your season.” She keeps going. “Your future. Your forever.”
I smile; the thought almost comforts me.
“What do I do with this information?” I ask.
She releases my hands. “Panic quietly.”
“Why?”
“Because she doesn’t believe in love.”
A laugh comes out of me. “I’m the one who doesn’t believe in love.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not true. Not anymore. Not since you met her.”
I lean forward. “How did you know about that?”
She smiles and looks directly at me. “The woman who cursed your bloodline is from hers.”
A chill runs up my spine. “What?”
“The two of you are fated.”
Hearing that gives me a shot of adrenaline. Everything inside me tells me it’s true.
“Now, will that be cash or card?”
“Uh”—I pull my wallet from my pocket—“how much?”
“Five hundred dollars.”
I pay her with crisp bills. “Any advice?”
She closes her eyes and lays her palms flat on the table. The woman goes into a trance.
“The spirits say to leave her in November. No matter what.”
I stand up and walk out of the room. I’m told Blaire is the love of my life, my fated mate, but I need to leave her in November? It doesn’t make any sense.
Blaire waits outside on the cobblestones, watching a parade of tiny trick-or-treating toddlers wobble past in pumpkin suits. The October sun catches her hair. The love of my life is watching baby pumpkins barely walk, and I don’t know what to do with that information.
I adjust my mask.
“Well?” She bumps my shoulder with hers as we fall into step. “What did she tell you?”
“I never get readings and tell.” I wink at her through the mask.
She narrows her eyes, and then she lets it go because I don’t know how I’d even tell her what was said.
The rest of the day changes shape after that shop.
I catch her admiring me as we drink pumpkin lattes, and I can’t help but do the same.
Neither of us looks away fast enough. But we don’t talk about it.
We just walk closer and hold each other’s hand a little tighter than we did this morning.