Chapter 23 #3
"Saturday at eight, then!" She sounds triumphant as I slide into the driver's seat.
I nod curtly and pull away, my tires squealing slightly against the pavement. Twenty minutes later, I'm pushing open the door to Mystic Tides, the scent of sandalwood incense hitting me immediately.
Jack glances up from behind the counter where he's wrapping crystals in tissue paper for a customer. "Well, hello there, Mr. Gorgeous," he calls out with a wink.
My leg bounces nervously as I drop into one of Lilith's worn leather chairs—one of the few pieces that made it through the flood. Jack finishes with his customers before practically skipping over to join me.
"So," he says, leaning forward conspiratorially, "Lilith's thinking about bringing Gracie in as our shop cat. Thoughts? I told her I'd consult the Roman oracle before she makes any decisions. Cat allergies and all that."
A smile tugs at my lips despite my mood.
There's something disarming about how Jack treats my opinion like gospel.
I'm accustomed to deference—it comes with the territory—but this feels different.
Genuine. Even Lilith seems to value my input, though she rarely asks directly. Maybe she doesn't need to.
"Cameron was just telling me about this," I say, leaning back. "Cat allergies can trigger serious asthma attacks in some people. Not life-threatening usually, but definitely lawsuit material. She might want to reconsider, much as she loves that furball."
Jack sighs. "That's exactly what I said to her.
But she's been moping around about leaving Gracie by herself all day.
I suggested getting another cat to keep her company, and I think she's warming up to the idea.
" His manicured fingers squeeze my forearm.
"What's your vote for Gracie's new playmate?
You've seen Gracie—mostly white with those black patches.
I'm leaning toward a calico or maybe one of those all-black ones.
Black cats get passed over at shelters, you know.
Could be Lilith's good deed for the month. "
I exhale slowly, fighting back a smirk. Cat color coordination—what a luxury to have such trivial concerns. "I'm sure Lilith will be happy with whatever she chooses."
"Obviously," Jack's eyes roll dramatically. "But what would you pick?"
"Calicos have always caught my eye," I admit, glancing at my watch.
I'm dying to know how much longer Lilith's reading will take, but barging in and demanding her attention would be tactless.
That brand of rudeness I reserve for my brothers.
Lilith deserves better—she gets the version of me that remembers his manners.
Jack gives a knowing nod. "Calicos. I'll let her know you're a fan.
So you're into the lady cats too, huh? That's Lilith's preference.
I keep telling her it's all the same—I mean, who can even tell without looking under the hood?
" He waves his hand dismissively. "But she swears the males get aggressive and spray everywhere.
Between us, I think it's just her imagination. What's your take?"
I shrug in agreement. Biology dictates that calicos are almost always female, same with tortoiseshells, while orange tabbies skew male.
Not that I've ever paid attention. If Lilith has her preferences, that's her business.
But Jack's right—I couldn't spot the difference between a male cat and a female one if my life depended on it.
Cats have never been my thing, but for Lilith?
I'll learn to appreciate the furry little creatures. Small price to pay.
My fingers tap a staccato rhythm against the leather armrest as I check my Rolex for the third time in five minutes.
"Just a few more minutes," Jack says, nodding toward the vintage wall clock. "Though fair warning—you might want to brace yourself when you see who's in there with her."
"Let me guess. Walsh?" The name tastes bitter on my tongue.
I get my answer with the unmistakable lilt of an Irish accent as Blake emerges from behind the beaded curtain.
He wraps Lilith in a lingering embrace, his lips brushing her cheek.
My knuckles go white. The muscles in my jaw twitch.
After that ambush from my brothers this morning, my self-control hangs by a thread.
Blake spots me first while Lilith turns away to straighten her reading room. His eyes widen in recognition before he quickly adopts an innocent expression, gliding past as if we're strangers. The look I return could freeze hell itself.
I push through the beaded curtain into Lilith's reading room. The scent of sage hits me first, then I see her—back turned, arranging crystals and shuffling cards on the velvet-draped table. When she spins around, her face brightens. "Roman! What a nice surprise!"
My jaw tightens. The image of Blake's arms around her, his lips pressed to her cheek, flashes through my mind. Add that to the ambush my brother just pulled, and I'm a powder keg with a lit fuse.
I came here thinking she'd calm me down. Big mistake. Now jealousy's crawling under my skin like fire ants.
She moves in for a hug. I stand there, arms dead at my sides. Something flickers in her eyes—hurt, confusion—before she retreats to her side of the table. "So," she says, matching my frost with her own. "How are you?"
I drop into the red velvet chair across from hers, forearms on the table. "I wanted your take on something, but now..." I exhale. "Hell if I know why I'm even here."
She nods. “Take?”