Two
MORGAN
It's a busy morning at Honey Hive Cafe, owned by my cousin Honey. I've staked out a table to drink tea and work on song lyrics while I wait for the person I'm meeting. But I'm not going to think about him right now because I can't stand him.
Totally unrelated, the song I'm writing is about being desperately attracted to someone you can't stand. It is in no way related to my life or feelings I might have. Totally made up stuff.
"You spelled unrequited wrong."
Did I mention I'm sharing my table with a spirit? Most people refer to them as ghosts, but I've found they really prefer being called spirits. Less stigma about haunting that way.
Three years ago, two women came to see me, wanting to talk to their grandmother about what became of some heirloom jewelry. So I summoned grandma to ask. She told me where the jewelry was, I told the women, and that should've been that.
Except Maria decided she likes me. And wanted to stick around. So for the past three years, she'll pop up at random times to hang out. She was 57 when she died, in 1938. She had immigrated to the US from Italy as a child and grew up in Baltimore. I have no idea why she wants to spend her afterlife in Owl Cove, WI, with a grouchy necromancer, but she does.
I roll my eyes at her and change the K to a Q. Now, what rhymes with unrequited?
Blighted? Ew, no.
Sighted? Maybe. That could work.
"Knighted," she says.
"Knights have nothing to do with this song."
"OK, but it does rhyme with unrequited. You don't have much else to work with."
"Thanks," I snap as I cross out the line.
"Mom, why is that lady talking by herself?"
I look to the next table, where a girl of grade school age is eating a croissant while her mom drinks coffee.
"It's not nice to stare, Maddie." The mom gives me an apologetic smile.
"Do you have an imaginary friend?" Maddie asks, ignoring her mom.
I want to close my eyes and sigh. Most of the adults in town accept that Owl Cove's population is 10-15 percent witches. But kids this age are in that weird stage where the fantasies of early childhood have faded as reality sets in, but they're not quite old enough to grasp that magic is real. Just not the way little kids are taught it. I can't turn anyone into a frog (still angry about that from the other night), and not a single one of my brooms flies.
"Maddie," the mom says, her tone harsher than before.
I force my lips to curl up in an imitation of a smile. "It's fine." It's not fine. There are no other witches in town who can summon the dead, except my grandma, who is one of the most powerful witches in the world.
People have thought I was weird since I was Maddie's age. And I guess spending time talking to spirits does make me kind of weird. So I lean into it.
"That girl needs to learn some manners," Maria says, leaning her elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand.
I don't reply, because the girl is still watching me.
My concentration on writing is shot, so I take a moment to glance around the shop. It's bright and welcoming, with September sunshine pouring through the windows. At a table toward the back, I recognize Kelsey, with her toddler. We were in the same high school class, but she hung out with the sporty girls. Also, her older brother recently moved in with Sirona.
I may not know anything about love and relationships, but I am positive Kelsey will be my sister's sister-in-law very soon.
I reach for my coffee, only to find it empty. I debate getting another one to fortify me for this meeting I'm not looking forward to. But when I look toward the counter, Zach is staring at the register, handing cash to the barista.
He looks amazing. Of course. He always does. He's tall and lanky, but you can tell he's cut underneath his clothes. As I found out on Sunday. His long, nearly black hair is pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, like usual. And as usual, I have an annoying urge to unbind it and run my fingers through strands that look softer than silk.
My nipples get hard and my clit jumps to attention just looking at him. And I hate it.
Of all the men to be attracted to, it has to be my surly, kind of an asshole, future stepbrother who thinks I’m a habitual liar .
Not that we'll act like siblings, but technically, legally, he will be my stepbrother.
A minute later he takes his coffee from a different barista and heads toward my table. Just as he reaches me and is about to set his mug down, Kelsey's toddler—I think her name is Aileen. Or Eileen?—comes barreling past, and runs headfirst into Zach's thigh.
He stumbles, and coffee splashed over the side of the mug, onto his hand and the table.
And my lyrics. The coffee soaks quickly into the page of my Grimore, smearing away the words I worked so hard on.
"Shit," Zach says as he rights himself. Then he looks down at the girl now crying on the floor, cringes a little, and says, "I mean shoot. Darnit."
Kelsey is there, scooping up the sobbing Aileen/Eileen, cradling her head on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
"No worries," Zach and I say at the same time.
I feel my face form a scowl. I'm wasting a perfectly nice Saturday by spending it with fucking Zach, and now this.
"You'll be able to rewrite it," Maria assures me. "I remember some of what you had. We'll work on it this afternoon."
Or I could just spin my finger, clean up the spill, and revive my writing. Which I do.
Zach heads for the counter with a paper napkin dispenser. His legs are long and lean, like he is, and he eats up the space in half the time it would take me.
Soon he's back and mopping up the mess. Kelsey tries to take a few napkins from him but he waves her off.
"No need. Just go take care of your daughter," he says.
Mess finally cleaned up, Zach throws away the napkins and pulls out a chair to sit. Fortunately he didn't pick the chair Maria is currently occupying. She wouldn't like him sitting on her.
Not that it hasn't happened before .
He frowns at my now-spotless paper, then shakes his head. Then he moves his coffee to the side and pulls out a navy blue leather portfolio and a fancy pen.
The pen snob in me immediately wants to know what kind, ask if I can test it out. But this is Zach. I can't stand him. So I don't ask.
"I did some research," he says as he pulls several sheets of paper out of the pocket in the portfolio.
He's so organized, and here I am with my battered journal and no preparation. My family throws parties all the time. Planning Mom's engagement party is no big deal. Which is why I didn't put up a stink when she told me it's the Maid of Honor's duty. And the deities told her I was the one of her daughters to be her Maid of Honor, so I can't really weasel out of that duty either.
Damn deities.
"That's, uh, a lot of research."
"It's mostly from Put a Ring On It dot com." He closes the portfolio and sets the neat sheaf of papers on top. "I've never planned an engagement party before. And my dad deserves—well, let's just say I want this to be great for my dad."
For some reason, this makes me feel defensive. Is he implying I don't want it to be great? That I care less about my mom than he does his dad? "I want a great party too," I say with gritted teeth. This is why I don't like him. He's uptight and condescending and closed minded and ignorant and sexy as hell.
It's infuriating.
He turns the top sheet around so I can read it. It's a checklist of things we need to do to plan the party.
I refrain from rolling my eyes. "I don't need a checklist. I know what goes into planning a party."
"Do you? Because the only party I've been to that your family put on is a huge corporate gig that I'm pretty sure you had no hand in planning. "
He's not wrong. My family owns a billion-dollar company, Goode Witches Inc, and every year for summer solstice, and Yule/Christmas, they put on a weekend-long festival to celebrate. Plus smaller parties for other holidays like Halloween/Samhain, and Beltane.
And he's also not wrong that there's an entire department at Goode Witches dedicated to the festivals. The proceeds from which, I might add, get donated to various charities and organizations in and around Owl Cove. None of the money goes back into the company. My grandma, my mom, and my aunts' philosophy is that we're an integral part of the Owl Cove community and we should be giving back as much as possible.
"No, I don't plan the festivals. But this is way smaller. I don't need a checklist."
He frowns, his dark, dark eyes not meeting mine. Instead he stares at the second sheet of paper. "So I suppose you know all the locations we could hold it and the cost of each venue?"
"No. Of course I don't. And I don't much care about cost since my family is rich as fuck." I don't normally talk about my family's wealth, but it seems appropriate in this moment. "I care about giving my mom a kickass party where she can enjoy herself with family and friends. She wouldn't care where it is, so I don't much either."
We won’t even get started about how she is insisting the deities have directed her to have me and Zach plan everything without using magic. I know they make strange demands, but that one is a bit much, even for them.
His frown deepens. "So you want it to be chaos?"
This time I do roll my eyes. "Not chaos. Just not planned down to each individual fork tine."
My irritation simmers under my skin, making me antsy. Then his piercing eyes meet mine, and I start throbbing between my legs. I could get lost in those eyes .
How can I be so desperately attracted to this man whom I cannot stand?
ZACH
Morgan Goode is truly the most infuriating woman—no, person—I've ever met.
As usual, my libido has perked up as we argue about my dad's upcoming engagement party and wedding to her mom. The two of them put me and Morgan in charge of not only planning the party, but doing the bulk of the wedding planning as well.
For a wedding that's in eight weeks.
And, oh yeah, they're leaning into their witch con pretty hard, holding the wedding the day after Halloween. Or Samhain, as they call it. At least they don't want everyone in costumes. And Angela's reasoning for why we have to be the ones to plan the wedding, not, you know, her and my dad? The deities told her this is how it's supposed to be.
Because of course she pretends she can talk to gods.
The only reason I agreed to do this is so I have more opportunities to find proof that they aren't who they pretend to be. Because magic just isn't real. It defies the laws of science. I should know. I am a scientist.
"I mean, we could just find some mice and a pumpkin and you could wave your wand and we'd have a party, like Cinderella did." I force myself to look away from her eyes, away from the momentary sensation that it would be so easy to get lost in them.
I fiddle with my pen, then put it down to drink my coffee.
"Yeah, magic doesn't work like that." She's scowling at me, and even her scowl is somehow sexy.
Bodies and sex drives are ridiculous .
"Besides, I talked to my mom about what she wants so we have a better idea. And she wants as much as possible done the mundane way." She shakes her head. "No magic. Or not much at least."
Maybe she wants that because magic isn't real?
Her gaze scans the checklist I gave her. "OK, it says we need a theme. So we can do that. What should the theme be?"
"Shouldn't the theme be engagement?" Why does it need a theme?
She shrugs. "This is my first engagement planning gig. And I sincerely hope it's my last." She waves the paper at me. "We need a theme."
Nothing comes to mind. I'm too distracted by her nearness to focus. Her subtle scent is just strong enough to mess with my head.
I take another long drink of my coffee, nearly draining the mug.
"I have no idea. Let's come back to that. Invitations?"
"If we're doing invitations, we need a guest list. Which is really something our parents should come up with."
She picks up her phone, which of course is in a dark blue case with moons and stars on it. Her fingers fly over the tiny keyboard for a few moments, then she sets it back down. "Told Mom we need a list by tomorrow."
That's not how I would've asked for it, but whatever. As long as we get a list.
"What about the budget?" I say. "I should talk to my dad about how much they want to spend."
She actually laughs. It's a sound I've never heard before, despite having known her for over three months now. It's a delightful sound, gentle and sparkling, again incongruent with the rest of her. I suddenly want to tell the world's wittiest joke, just to make her laugh so I can hear it again.
"Zach, we just went over this. My mom is CEO of a billion-dollar company. She herself is a multi-millionaire. Do you really think budget is an issue?"
I grind my back teeth together so as not to snap at her. Of course I know her family is very wealthy from convincing the world they can perform magic. "I just thought it would be a good idea so we don't go overboard."
"I'm not going to spend her retirement fund on balloons and fireworks, if that's your worry." Sarcasm drips from her words.
How can I be so pissed off and yet so horny at the same time? "Fine. What would you like us to plan. Since we decided that's what we were going to do this morning."
"How about the winery? Make it a wine and cheese theme," she says. "My cousin Chessie can cater it."
"You want it catered by a diner?" Her cousin owns the Grilled Cheese Diner. That doesn't seem very classy.
"Chessie is the best cook you'll ever meet," she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. "And she'll make sure it's classy as fuck. Classier than fuck."
"Is that even a thing?"
She shrugs. "It is now. This party, and the wedding, will be classier than fuck."
The corners of my lips twitch, almost like I want to smile. But I don't.
"Also, not to rush ahead of things, but Sirona pointed out to me that we really are supposed to send out wedding invitations eight weeks in advance. Which has already passed."
"How are we going to send invitations without a guest list? Or a venue? This is why we need the checklist." I point at it with my pen, which I'm again fiddling. Spinning it over and over my knuckles.
She takes a strand of her white hair and starts winding it round and round her index finger. It's mesmerizing and I get lost watching the movement for a few moments.
She gaze climbs up to meet mine, and I go from mesmerized by her fingers to mesmerized by her eyes. My pulse picks up and I can't look away. I barely blink, not wanting to miss a moment of falling into those pools of amber.
Then she blinks and turns to look at the empty chair next to her. She shakes her head and looks back at me.
"I'll get that list from my mom, and then I can throw together a quick save-the-date card to send out."
How's she going to do that so fast? Then again, why do I care?
"Since you're Mr. Science Guy, can you set up a website for them? I'm sure you can get a freebie on Put a Ring On It or somewhere else like it."
I resist the urge to scrub my hands over my face in frustration. I work in biotech, which has nothing to do with making a website. But I can still do it. "And what exactly do I put on this website?"
She shrugs. "I don't know. I've never made one. Shit about my mom and your dad and how they met. The date. And then say more info to come."
"Fine," I snap. I don't want to make some cheesy website, but if she's doing cards, I suppose it's only fair.
Her gaze scans the checklist. "Oh, hell no , I'm not planning my mom's honeymoon. Angela and Gary are doing that themselves."
"Agreed." Yuck.
"Officiant," she reads. "Obviously my grandma will perform the hand fasting ceremony. Hell, the whole ceremony, since I’m sure your dad wants some mundane stuff in there too."
"What on earth is a hand fasting?"
"It's part of the wedding ceremony for witches," she says. "There's no way my mom is getting married without a hand fasting."
They really do go all in with their witch con. I don't actually want to know more about hand fasting, but I know myself. I'm going to look it up when I get home.
"Fine. Your grandmother can do whatever that part is. We still need a legal officiant for the ceremony and to sign the license."
"Nana can do that too. She's ordained."
"Of course she is." Her grandmother is a force of nature. She's somewhere around 80, and when I'm around her, I get this feeling like she sees and knows everything. Even when it's impossible.
I write down Hazel: Officiant . At least we have one thing.
"If we're doing the party at the winery, don't we need to talk to them?" Or is she just going to cast a spell to make it all happen?
Ugh, I want to roll my eyes at my own sarcasm.
"You talk to Maggie at the winery. Tell her it's for my mom and she'll make sure it happens. I'll work with Chessie about a menu."
I ignore the small clench in my gut at the idea of working on this alone, instead of as a team. Which is ridiculous. I don't want to be a team with her. I don't want to be anything with her.
Except maybe having sex.
But no. I don't want to want to have sex with her and with a little more discipline, I can get rid of this annoying attraction. Make it fade away.
I will keep my distance from Morgan as much as possible, and soon enough, I'll stop fantasizing about kissing her everywhere.
It's got to work.