Something Magical (Witches of Hawthorne Grove Book 1) (2 page)

Her words did not seem to trouble the woman at all. In fact, she seemed more concerned with carefully situating the glass object she had been carrying upon the front counter than she was with her customer at the moment, and Kaylee found herself growing inexplicably curious about the piece.

“As luck would have it, we do have the green, but there is only the one piece. I'm sure there will be more soon, but for now—” She held up the glass ball and shook it. Light sparkled through the cut glass, creating dozens of rainbow prisms which seemed to shoot out through the room in all directions. Then, she walked a few feet to the checkout counter and shifted a few bits and baubles to one side before removing something from her pocket, which she placed in the center of the counter. Next, she settled the glass carefully onto the thing—an intricately carved wooden stand, Kaylee realized—before finally stepping away with a look of happy satisfaction on her face.

“There!” she said, her expression positively radiating with glee. She squeezed her hands together in front of her chest and glanced up at Kaylee to ask, “Isn't it lovely?”

Kaylee wandered over as if she were being summoned, once more feeling inexplicably drawn to the thing, and when she looked inside the ball, she found it difficult to look away. A tiny blue house sat on a bed of snow, and the whole of the scene was surrounded by trees, a fence, and—there was even a tiny mailbox outside the gate at the edge of a snow-covered lane with no end and no beginning.

“Beautiful,” she agreed, running her fingers lightly over the sparkling clear glass. Despite the cold scene inside, Kaylee felt a rush of warmth filling her, spreading from her gloved fingertips to her toes. She did not even lift her head to ask, “How much is it?”

“$225, but if you're buying the depression glass, I'll give it to you for half,” the lady said, stepping quickly behind the counter. She bent down to rummage beneath, her hands emerging seconds later with one near mint condition piece of depression glass. “I think your aunt will love this one.”

Five minutes later, Kaylee exited the store with her purchases carefully wrapped and bagged and a happy smile on her lips. Excited, she reached back to fish her cellphone out of her pocket and quickly flicked through with her thumb across the two screens it took to contact her cousin before raising it to her ear.

Mindy answered after only two rings.

“I got it, Min!” Kaylee said in a rush. “A Hazel-Atlas Royal Lace dinner plate. Green, yes. No visible flaws and it isn't sick, either! Twenty-five dollars, and Min? I bought something for myself, too. It is so beautiful. I can hardly wait for you to see it!”

“
O
h
! My bad. My bad,” Jordan Parker said, swiftly reaching out to steady the young woman he'd almost sent sprawling before she lost her balance completely. “I was so busy trying to figure out why anyone would recommend a place that looks like it's so old it's about to crumble into the dirt, I forgot to look where I was going.”

“I know, right?” she said breathlessly once she was on surer footing, but he couldn't tell whether her breathlessness was from the biting chill of the frosty morning air or reaction to her near fall.

“But don't let the exterior fool you,” she continued. “They have everything you could possibly imagine inside.”

Jordan studied her, a bemused smile curling his lips. She was a short little bit of a thing. Petite, he guessed was more the correct term, and she was … well …
cute
. From the fuzzy little pink ball on the top of her soft knit pink cap to the glossy sheen of her black half-boots, everything about her said
peppy
. He caught himself wondering if spirited girls like her ever agreed to have coffee with sentimental idiots like himself. “Really? You'd never guess it from here.”

“Oh, yes!” she insisted excitedly, her wide brown eyes sparkling with a warm glow he found it hard to look away from. Her hair, or what he could see of it where it poured from beneath her cap, was also brown—a rich, warm chestnut, gilt throughout with tendrils of fire—and her lips... “It's like a magic store in there!”

“Hello
?”

The word was muted, as if it were coming from a great distance and he saw in the changing of her expression the moment the sound registered in her ears. Her eyes widened and she glanced away from him while hurriedly raising her cellphone to her ear. He listened in as she quickly began to apologize, “Sorry, Min! Sorry! I was—”

Her cheeks colored with what he supposed was embarrassment over having forgotten she'd been on a call, and again, he found himself bemused. Not by her, but at himself. His reaction to her. She was peppy and breathless and colored with a delightful blush and he was surprised to realize that he liked everything he saw.

Her shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug as she angled the coral pink iPhone away from her soft pink lips to whisper, “Excuse me. I forgot my cousin was still on!”

Without really knowing why, he grinned. Wow, he thought. Everything about this girl was …
warm
somehow. Her eyes, her hair, and now her cheeks. He took a step closer, not even realizing he hadn't let go of her until she shrugged away from him and offered a quick half-smile of apology. “Thanks for saving me! I have to run, but I hope you find what you're looking for in there.”

Jordan snatched his hands down to his sides, stepped sideways out of her path, and nodded. “Yep.”

He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her, and as she hurried away, he caught a few words of her phone conversation.

“...going in as I was coming out. What? Oh. Yeah, he is, I suppose...” She glanced back over her shoulder at him and he smiled. She smiled back and then promptly forgot he existed as she turned to work the keys in her gloved palm to unlock her car.

Sentimental idiot
for sure, Jordan admonished himself silently, shaking his head at the insane direction his thoughts had taken as he turned to enter the antique store. He'd just gotten out of a relationship. Now was definitely not the time to be thinking about asking someone he didn't even know to share a few hours of conversation over a cup of mocha crème latte with him at Sam's.

* * *

“
W
hy
did
you throw them into one another like that?” Serephina bit out, scolding her sister in a heated whisper while continuing to watch the couple outside from behind the counter in the shop. “You
know
we aren't supposed to interfere!”

“And what do you call giving them magic-infused items that will bring the two of them together if not interference, hmm?” Mortianna shot back. “Besides, it's a dull, dead bore to watch them come in here and then leave like two ships passing in the night, the one never seeing the other until they are well out of our sight.”

Her grumpy pout disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, the corner of her lips suddenly kicking up in a half-grin. “At least
this
way we get to see a little
action
! Did you two notice he never took his hands off her until she shrugged? No, wait. Did you notice
she
didn't realize he hadn't until her blasted cousin butted in? You
know
she was feeling it. Heck,
I
was feeling it—from all the way in here! Those smoldering gray eyes of his are sexy enough to make any woman's—”

“Mouth
shut
,” Serephina commanded with a swift flick of her wrist, silencing Mortianna before her runaway tongue could do any more damage to the situation, then she turned to greet their latest customer with what she hoped was a warm smile as the bells over the door jangled out a noisy warning. “Good morning, sir!”

Sliding off his dark sunglasses, he slowly folded them and slid them into the inside pocket of his heavy charcoal gray bomber jacket, his gaze roaming over the front interior of the store before he nodded to each of the sisters in turn. “Ladies.”

“Can we help you find something?” Serephina asked, surreptitiously motioning for Mortianna to bring the box around, but Esmerelda swept it out of her hands.

“I'll just put this in the back,” she said, making sure to pass by him on her way. His eyes flickered to it as she passed and his hand shot out, halting her.

“Hold on. Is that mahogany?”

“Mm hmm,” Esmerelda murmured. “It's a bit worn, but look at this. Metal string work, inlaid Mother Of Pearl...”

She turned the box, tilting it a bit so he could see it better, but he reached for it instead. “Do you mind if I have a closer look?”

Smiling, she handed it over to him. “Not at all. It really is a lovely box. English, I believe, but I'm not quite sure what these hooks on the sides are for … ”

“A pen, or quill, and a letter opener,” he offered without further encouragement.

“There's a bit of the spiral trim work missing up here, and the feet—see, you can tell where they once were—” he said, pointing out the rounded indentations on the box's bottom, “are missing.”

“Yes, I see. You are very astute. It does have a few flaws. The missing feet, a bit of string work, trim, and the inside is a bit picky though intact.”

“There are numbers here, too. Likely the mark of the creator. See? They've been carved into the wood on the bottom. Looks like 2-1-4.”

“Numbered? Well, then, that makes it even more rare and wonderful! Serephina, this one is marked, darling. Remember the Avrochelle set from last year? This box must be the second item in a single desk set made up of four pieces. Should I put it in the other room until we've located the others?” She peered over her shoulder at her sister, who bit at her lip to erase the growing smile that tried to appear at his words.

“Oh, my, yes! The set will bring much more. We can't—”

“I'll give you two fifty for it,” he said. “I know it's worth less—I'm a bit of a hobbyist collector myself—but I'm willing to lose a little to bring it home today.”

Esmerelda frowned. “Oh, I don't know. We would actually prefer to find the other pieces. This one is clearly part of a set, you see. If it is like the Avrochelle set, there would be a blotter, an ink stand, and an—”

“Oh, of course we will give it to him, Merry,” Serephina called out. “Would you like it wrapped, sir?”

With barely a glance at Esmerelda, he walked over to the counter, placed the box carefully to one side and took out his wallet. “Thank you, ma'am, but it isn't a gift.”

“Ah, I see,” Serephina said. She picked up the box and placed it inside a paperboard box before sliding both into a thick, gray craft paper bag.

“I saw you with the lady outside and I thought—oh, well, it doesn't really matter what I think.” Waving away her words as if she were embarrassed to have made such a guess, she said, “We'll take one eighty.”

He nodded and placed a few bills on the counter along with a business card. He tapped it, and picked up the box. “If you happen to locate the other pieces, give me a call. Thank you, ladies.”

“No, thank
you
,” Esmerelda said as he made his way to the door. The minute he stepped outside the shop, she turned to her sisters with a wide-eyed look of awe. “Did you see those
eyes
? Oh my! Miss Dean isn't going to know what hit her!”

* * *

A
t home
, Jordan tossed the local paper onto one side of his kitchen table and set the package containing the letter box on the other. The overhead lighting in here was much better for allowing him to inspect it properly and as he lifted it out of the bag he looked at each side, his fingertips running along the edges of the inlaid mother-of-pearl while his brain made notes of the various repairs he'd need to do. New legs, a short length of mahogany for repairing the chip on the front. With just a bit of refinishing, the box would almost be like new.

Jordan was fully aware most collectors preferred to find pieces in pristine original condition, but he rather enjoyed restoring those he found that were in such poor condition nobody wanted them. There was a certain satisfaction in taking something worn and broken and making it whole again.

He himself had amassed a nice collection of letter boxes like this one over the years, but he wasn't in it for the money, so the fact that restoration tended to make a piece less valuable than an untouched original didn't bother him. Reclaiming antique boxes was a surprising past-time he'd stumbled upon and it was work he loved to lose himself in.

Cautiously, he opened the box. The hinges still worked, but the pale blue paper lining that had been glued to the interior over a hundred years ago was picked and beginning to peel in spots. One corner was worse than the rest, and … he squinted at the paper. It looked like something had been wedged between the paper and the side of the box.

Turning, he rummaged through a drawer until he found a pair of tweezers, which he used to pick gently at the item beneath the loosened paper, he pushed it slightly forward, hoping to move it along the edge until he could finally get a hold on it.

Whatever the thing was, it was thin. He didn't want to damage the box but his curiosity was piqued. Using the end of the tweezers, he painstakingly inched the mysterious item hidden inside the box toward a tear in the corner. The thing was a devil to move beneath the tightly glued paper—until it reached that last, crucial centimeter. He almost had it out without mishap, but then his hand slipped and the blasted thing popped free. Without warning, it jumped the edge of the box, and pinged off his marbled counter top before landing on the unread paper he'd tossed on the kitchen table earlier—right over a notice from the local animal rescue shelter.

Afraid he'd irreparably marred the interior of the box, Jordan ignored it to inspect the damage, but miraculously, the thing had sprung free without leaving a scratch … on the box.
He
was the one who had taken damage from that little battle. In his struggle to keep the box from sliding off the table while trying to catch whatever had sprung free at the same time, he'd sustained a nasty scratch on his inner forearm from the tweezers. He barely gave it a glance, though, because once he was satisfied the box hadn't been damaged, he'd sat it aside and reached for the thing lying on top of the paper to see what had been hidden inside.

It was some sort of metallic, oval tag—brass, he decided once he saw the murky green patina creeping around its edges. Picking it up, he held the thing closer to the light, and realized almost immediately what it was—a license tag from a dog's collar. An image of Royal—the golden retriever who had been with him since high school—sprang to mind. He rubbed the tag lightly between his finger and thumb, his thoughts drifting back to the last time he'd held a license like this: it was just after Royal had died two years ago while he was out of town on business.