Chapter Twenty-Six
Sunday arrived, and my stomach twisted in knots.
Owen said he’d pick me up at noon, which gave me ample time to go to the flower shop and make an arrangement for his mother.
I’d closed the shop for the weekend—a much needed break for me and Rylyn.
While there, I paused outside the cooler and peered at the Moonpetal flower in the unmarked bucket.
The open flower was exactly like the one in the seed catalogue.
“What was the plan for that, Alice?” I asked.
Silence answered me back.
Busying myself with making the arrangement helped keep my mind off everything I’d found in the basement.
I’d chosen a tall, clear vase for a vibrant arrangement with orange roses, hot pink carnations, yellow snapdragons, Asiatic lilies and filled it in with assorted greenery and purple statice.
It looked happy and cheerful and I was rather proud of it.
I gave one last glance at the Moonpetal—stopping to snap a picture with my phone—before I closed the shop.
Back at the house, I stared at the clock that said 11:53 like it was a dare.
Sunday dinner—which is what good Southern folk called the midday meal—at his parents’ house was a big deal.
I chose an airy sundress in pale blue, sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline and my favorite strappy sandals with a kitten heel.
I’d even shaved my legs which meant I was taking this more seriously than I should.
I reminded myself this was not a big deal. I knew the McAllisters. Had known them most of my life. But never had I been invited to Sunday dinner after church.
I was also bursting at the seams to tell Owen what Tani and I discovered last night in the basement. I was still wired about that because, despite my fatigue, I didn’t get much sleep.
I used my best concealer to fake rested human, swiped on my favorite pale pink lip gloss and hoped that was enough to keep me from looking like I’d been up all night.
The crunch of tires on the driveway caught my attention. Somehow, I managed to keep my composure calm as he rang the doorbell. The perfect gentleman. Impulse wanted me to bolt for the door, but I forced my feet to take normal steps.
He stood on the other side of the door looking far too handsome and far too cool for a hot summer afternoon—clean dark jeans, a blue button-down (funny how we seemed to match without trying), sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, and his favorite scuffed, well-loved boots.
The collar was open at his throat, giving me a hint of what I knew was underneath.
He’d even shaved.
Which was frankly unfair to my raging hormones.
“Hi,” I said, which was a ridiculous opening line.
“Hi, yourself.” His appreciative gaze swept over me, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Maybe you should come to Sunday dinner more often. It’ll make the dinner table a whole lot prettier.”
I flushed at that.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
I waved him inside. “Yes. I need to grab my purse.”
I closed the door after him. He waited with his hands in his pockets as I slung the crossbody bag over my shoulder that contained everything I’d found last night plus the grimoire and the scrap of paper in Alice’s handwriting. I intended to talk to him about that on the way.
Then I picked up the vase of flowers.
“Flowers?” His brows lifted.
“Yes. I do own a flower shop, you know.” As he eyed them, I thought maybe they weren’t a good idea or it was too forward or too… something. “They’re for your mother. Is that okay?”
He stared at them for the longest time, then his gaze traveled back to mine. His throat worked once. “She’ll love them. Did Rylyn do the arrangement?”
“No, I did.”
He stilled as he looked at me. “Beautiful and talented.”
Such a simple compliment but it made me blush.
Then he was turning toward the door and opened it for me. But I was fumbling with my keys trying to lock the door.
“Let me.”
He took the keys from me, locked the door, then put his hand on my elbow and guided me down the steps.
And for some reason that gesture made my heart skip. Ridiculous.
He opened the truck door for me but it was going to be awkward to climb inside in a dress holding a vase of flowers. Without asking, he took the vase from me. We stood there in the open truck door for a long minute, the midday breeze ruffling his hair and something inside me nearly cracked.
For the briefest of seconds the thought that Owen McAllister was too good for me pounded through my head.
He held out his other hand to help me climb inside and I did all sorts of ridiculous adjustments to my skirt, fluffing it over my knees. He watched with an intense amusement that made me regret my choice of outfit.
Once I was settled, I held out my hands for the vase. He handed it over, our hands brushing and my heart flipped. Then he leaned in and kissed me.
“Oh,” I breathed. “What was that for?”
“For being you.”
Then he closed the door, rounded the hood, and climbed in the driver’s side. My heart was pounding hard now, my nerves on edge.
He started the truck and pulled out of the driveway and then we were off down the road.
The truck smelled like him—faint traces of his cologne and country road dust and something that reminded me of being tangled up with him in his arms. That didn’t help my nerves.
The radio played low—a country song I half-recognized.
“Voss paid me a visit yesterday afternoon,” I blurted.
His gaze cut toward me. He didn’t look happy. “What did he want? Why didn’t you call me?”
I ignored his last question and forged onward. “He told me if I didn’t get the Crossroads closed in seventy-two hours, the Council was replacing me as Guardian.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“Also,” I added before he could say anything, “I have to return Tani and Red to their realms.”
“You should have called me,” he said.
“So you could do what? Glare at him appropriately?”
“Piper—”
“You couldn’t have done anything,” I said. “He was there with a ticking clock and an ultimatum. I have to find a way.”
“Piper,” he said again, more slowly. “I thought we were a team.”
He never looked away from the road as he said it and something in his voice told me his pride was wounded.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing as trees flashed by.
We were a team? All this time I’d been operating from the fact that I was figuring this all out on my own. Even though I knew he was there to help me, I didn’t want to depend on him like a safety net.
“I did want to call you,” I admitted. “But I… I don’t know. I thought I could find something in Alice’s files. And I did. Tani helped.”
This time he did glance my way. “What did you find?”
“Someone with the initials MM was helping Alice,” I said. “I found a note. Something about the old ways and stellar convergence. It was tucked into a seed catalogue on a page with a particular flower. One that’s in an unlabeled bucket in the flower shop cooler. I think they’re all connected, Owen.”
He was silent as he stared straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He turned down a tree-lined road that gave way to houses dotting the rolling grasses.
“MM,” he finally said, calm and careful.
There was something about the way he said it that gave me pause. Something that suggested he might know something.
“Do you know who that is?”
“Maybe.” He still wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t want to get your hopes up if I’m wrong.”
“Oh,” I said. And then pressed my lips together.
I peered out the windshield as he turned into a drive and went through an iron gate that was already open with a big initial M in the center of it.
The sprawling single-story ranch house fit against the landscape like it had always belonged there.
The gabled roof stretched wide and low and the deep front porch ran nearly the entire length of the front of the house.
A swing was on one end, drifting lazily in the faint breeze.
Large windows on the front invited natural light into the home.
Flower beds lined the front of the house with a riot of antique rosebushes—Mrs. McAllister’s pride and joy.
Mr. McAllister’s old pickup coated in red dirt was parked out front in the gravel drive. A four-door sedan next to it.
I knew where his parents lived, of course. But I had never been to the house. Most of my interaction with his parents had been at school functions like open house and PTA meetings.
But now that I was seeing it and he was parking, my mouth turned dry.
He put it in park and cut the engine and we sat there, neither of us moving.
“Piper, about my mother…” he started, turning to face me. His voice had that grave edge that made my stomach tighten. “She’s still fighting the cancer.”
My chest went tight. “Owen…”
“She’s in chemo,” he said. “So—she’s tired a lot. Some days are better than others.” His jaw flexed once. “And she lost her hair.”
“Oh.” I swallowed hard. “I didn’t know.”
“We haven’t exactly been… doing normal updates,” he said quietly. Then he looked at me, eyes steady. “Here’s what you need to know.”
I nodded, heart thudding.
“She hates pity,” he said. “If you ask how she’s doing, she’ll tell you. If she doesn’t bring it up, don’t make her talk about it.” A faint, humorless smile tugged at his mouth. “And don’t say ‘you look great’ like it’s a consolation prize. She’ll eat you alive.”
Despite myself, a tiny breath of laughter escaped.
“Follow her lead. Let her set the tone.”
I nodded again. “Okay.”
“And one more thing,” he said, softer. “If she offers you a hug, take it. If she doesn’t—don’t force one. She’s careful right now.”
“Got it,” I said. “I can do that.”
His shoulders loosened a fraction, like he’d been holding his breath.
“She’s going to love you,” he added. Then he glanced away, back toward the house. “She already does. She’s been asking about you.”
“She has?” That surprised me. I could count the times I’d met her in person on one hand.
He nodded. “Since you came back to town.”
Well, that wasn’t disconcerting at all.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded.
We climbed out, and Owen took the vase from my hands so I could manage my dress and dignity.
At the porch steps, he handed the flowers back with a grin. “I don’t want her to think those are from me.”
Together, we walked toward the house.
Before we even reached the porch, the door opened. A tall, slender woman stood framed in the doorway. She had the same gray eyes as Owen, the same smile, and my chest tightened.
Her head was wrapped in a colorful scarf, and a simple cotton dress hung too loosely on her frame.
But her eyes were bright. Her smile was warm. She looked genuinely happy to see us.
“Owen, it’s about time you brought her here,” she said, voice strong. She waited while we climbed the steps. “Look at you, Piper. All grown up.”
“Hi, Mrs. McAllister.”
“Oh, call me Madeline, please. Mrs. McAllister is my mother-in-law.”
My hands tightened on the vase. Everything inside me froze.
Madeline McAllister.
MM.
I looked at Owen, but his face was impassive.
Owen’s mother had to be the one helping Alice. The one who knew the old ways.
“Are you two going to stand there all day in the heat or come inside?” Madeline asked.
“These are for you,” I managed, handing her the vase.
She took it, eyes lighting with delight. “Oh, Piper. They’re lovely. From your shop?”
I nodded.
Owen said, “She did the arrangement.”
“Of course she did.” Madeline grinned. “You have a talent for it, like Alice. Now come inside. It’s hot enough to scald a lizard out here.”
Inside, the house was cool and smelled like Sunday dinner—pot roast, fresh bread, and something sweet baking in the oven.
The living room had a lived-in, comfortable home look with furniture that had been well-worn and well-loved.
Family photos were everywhere, which was such a contrast to the house I grew up in.
The living room had built-in bookshelves on one end that were filled top to bottom with books. Old ones. And as we entered, Madeline put the vase of flowers on the coffee table and motioned for us to sit.
But my eyes were still on the bookshelves because I thought I saw something familiar. Something with the same lettering as the grimoire stamped on the spine, the gold glittering in the lamplight. I couldn’t stop staring at it.
Madeline followed my gaze, then she looked back to me.
“Owen,” she said, “why don’t you help your father in the kitchen. I want to get to know this young lady.”
He hesitated, glancing between the two of us but I was frozen in place. The last thing I wanted was to be left alone with his mother.
Finally, he nodded, pressed a kiss to my temple, and then was gone.
When he was out of the room, she looked me over with a critical eye.
“He likes you,” she said.
I nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
“Good. That will make things easier.” She held a hand out to me. “Come sit with me.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I took her hand, anyway—it felt frail in mine—and we crossed the room to the sofa and sat together.
“What do you know?” she asked, point blank.
I blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“About the Crossroads,” she said, as if that cleared everything up.
I stared at her, my mind blank.
“What did Alice tell you?”
“Very little,” I said.
She was silent, her mind working, then she nodded once. “Then we have a lot to discuss.”