Chapter Two
Chapter
Two
By the time I get back to my office, the chronic ache in my lower back is screaming at me for walking in heels, but I’ve managed to think through a dozen different options for saving the business.
And if that doesn’t work…I could find a way to cater to the requests I get for love spells that won’t violate anyone’s autonomy or consent.
I cringe at the thought. The people who typically come for love spells—the kind of make this person fall madly in love with me magic that I refuse to cast—rarely accept my counteroffers of customized self-confidence spells.
“Hey, Pip,” my office manager and friend, Deanna Hallowell, says when I push through the front door of my office, a small space wedged between a coffee shop and an indie bookstore.
Dea is a petite Black woman, barely more than five feet tall, with a shaved head and a penchant for the most exquisite shades of lipstick. Today she’s rocking a coral suit, the jacket draped over her desk chair, and a shimmery gold lipstick. “I assume Mr. Anders is all set?”
“The man is no longer green or oozing purple pus,” I confirm, sinking into the chair in front of her desk.
My feet ache, but I resist the urge to kick off my heels.
I only ever wear them for the corporate clients who expect formal attire from the witches they hire.
“Whether he hangs on to the tiger’s-eye long enough to stay that way is up for debate. ”
Dea snorts a laugh and adds a note to her computer. “I’ll follow up next week and make sure he’s keeping it close. I can tell him about our referral program then, too.” She leans around her computer to glare at me. “Please tell me you remembered to pitch him the cleansing package.”
I sink lower in my chair. The echo of his door slamming in my face rings through my head. “Coffee, Charms, and Crystals beat us to him.”
“Stop moping. No one trusts a whiny witch.” Dea gestures behind me. “Besides, I have a surprise.”
“A good surprise or a bad one?” Skeptical, I twist in my seat and look through the frosted glass of my personal office. “Uh…Deanna? Why is there a stranger in my office?”
Even with my back to her, I hear the smirk in her voice when she says, “Xander isn’t a stranger.”
The squeal that escapes my lips is far from dignified, but with only Deanna and my best friend around to hear it, I don’t care.
Especially since Xander is the whole reason Deanna works here.
They were friends before I moved to Windsfell, before Xander got his big-city job and left us both.
I scramble out of the chair and hurry for my office.
“Pippa!” Xander wears a broad grin when I step inside. He’s made himself at home, sitting in my chair with his feet propped up on my desk.
“Come on, man.” I anchor my hands on my hips and glare at Xander until he removes his expensive Italian loafers from the glossy wooden surface.
Xander is a white man with an impressive summer tan, stylishly ruffled blond hair that sparkles like gold, and blue eyes that have inspired several previous boyfriends to wax poetic.
“You know you love me.” Xander rises from the chair, all six feet two inches of him, and crushes me in a hug. He smells like summer—sun-kissed skin, bonfires, and salty sea air—and more than the musty books and burning incense of my actual childhood, Xander smells like home.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I ask when he finally releases me. He lives in Brooklyn, which is at minimum a three-hour drive from here.
Xander runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’s had since we met in college. “And ruin the surprise? Where’s the fun in that?”
He’s trying for nonchalance, but it rings false to my ears. “How have you been? How’s Barrett?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Xander sits against the edge of my desk and crosses one ankle over the other like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “He broke things off six weeks ago.”
Shock stalls my tongue. Xander isn’t the kind of friend you can keep up with through the osmosis of being chronically online—he’s never been on social media, not even in college—but I can’t believe he didn’t tell me sooner. “But he—”
“Only proposed a couple months before that? Yeah.” For that life update, I got a late-night phone call to celebrate. Now, Xander executes another graceful shrug that belies the hurt dulling his usually vibrant eyes.
I reach for Xander’s hand and trace my thumb over his knuckles. “What happened?”
“Apparently, he only proposed to get me to ‘stop nagging’ him about getting married.” Xander makes scare quotes with his free hand. “He said it was easier to go along with what I wanted than deal with the mess of breaking up.”
“What an asshole,” I say, earning me an affirmative head tilt. “But…something must have changed.”
“Oh, you know. Turns out that fucking a stranger helped him realize how much he missed being single.”
Rage burns through my veins, and even the blue quartz on the desk behind Xander can’t calm me. “He’s such a fucking coward. I’m sorry, Xan. You deserve so much better than that.”
Xander waves me off, like he’s not entirely sure he agrees with my assessment, but then a mischievous grin reignites the usual spark in his eyes. “I don’t suppose you know any curses that could make him impotent or cause all his hair to fall out?”
A sinking sensation pulls at my heart. “You know I don’t do that kind of magic.”
“I know. I was kidding. Mostly.” He stands and gestures for me to take my place at my desk. “I’m actually here for something far more exciting than that garbage excuse of a man.”
Following his lead, I loop around the desk, slip into my chair, and give him a nod. “I’m listening.”
“I bought a bed-and-breakfast!”
“You—”
“Bought a B&B! In Oak Spires!” He flops into the wide chair across from me, the one for clients that’s been empty for an embarrassingly long time, and continues.
“I’m tired of being so far from my family.
I want to see my nieces grow up, not just pop in for holidays.
” He shoots me a cheeky grin. “Plus, it’ll be nice to be near all our old college haunts. ”
I want to be on board with his enthusiasm, I really do, but I can’t stop the worry niggling at my heart. Leaning forward, I rest my arms against the desk and fiddle with the piece of blue quartz. “But what about your job?”
Xander’s features pinch with disgust. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to leave ever since the bigwigs decided to embrace AI. I didn’t become a software engineer to put artists out of work and destroy the environment.”
“And you landed on starting a bed-and-breakfast?” I try to keep the skepticism out of my voice, but while Xander was never particularly passionate about his work, he’s never shown any interest in the hospitality industry. “When did all this happen?”
“A month and a half ago. Ish.” Xander barrels on before I can point out that a rebound business venture is not the healthiest way to get over a broken engagement.
“We’ve already moved in and everything. It’s this absolutely stunning Tudor-style manor, just wait till you see the stonework.
You’re going to love it. We’re finishing up some final renovations right now, landscaping mostly.
It’s on the outskirts of town, so there’s a ton of land. ”
“Wow, Xan. That’s—”
“The grand opening is set for next month, assuming the liquor license goes through next week. We’ve hired the best for all the prep work, which is what brought me to you.”
The continual use of we makes me nervous, but I don’t press. I just hope he didn’t pair his rebound business with a rebound boyfriend. “And what can I do for Xander Owens, owner of…what are you calling this place?”
“Louie and I are debating the name, but I’m pulling for Midnight Manor. It’s got a ring to it, right? But before we can open, we also need your special skill set.”
“Louie?” That nervous feeling is growing again, and the blue quartz tumbles from my hands onto the desk.
Xander raises one eyebrow at me, an impressive feat I’ve never been able to duplicate. “My childhood best friend? The one who lived next door?”
Old memories—long college nights spent talking about our families and friends, our theories on life and magic and romance—surface to the forefront of my mind.
“Of course. Tree-climbing, movie-marathoning, alcohol-sneaking Louie.” I guess there are worse rebound relationships than a longtime friend.
And hell, maybe they aren’t dating at all.
This could be a thoughtfully considered business decision between two capable adults.
Hopefully.
To distract from my forced smile, I draw the celebration sigil I created for Xander when he got his first internship.
A series of miniature fireworks erupt above my palm.
It’s showy magic, the kind my family hates, but the smile it brings Xander is worth it.
“Professional witch, at your service. What do you need?”
“I’d like you to check the manor for ghosts.”
“Easy peasy.”
Xander reaches for his phone. “What’re you charging these days?”
“For you? Nothing.” I shake my head vehemently against the idea of charging him.
Yes, I need the money. Yes, things are starting to feel desperate, but I’m not going to balance my books by charging my best friend for a service I could do in my sleep.
Xander is the whole reason I have this business.
He took me in when my parents disowned me five years ago, then let me crash on his couch and encouraged me to turn the magic that my parents despised—a long list, since they consider anything other than healing to be “beneath” our family’s status—into a viable business.
“I’m not looking for a handout, Pip.”
“It’s not a handout,” I insist. “I owe you for everything you’ve done for me. Let me return the favor.”