Something Magical (Witches of Hawthorne Grove Book 1) (5 page)

J
ordan was actually nervous
, but he'd never admit it—especially not to Sam, who'd been as stunned as he to learn Kaylee had volunteered to meet him at the cafe for coffee.

“Kaylee Dean? You're sure?” Sam asked for the third time since Jordan had mentioned who he was there to meet. He let out a low whistle, then gave Jordan a “way-to-go” shoulder punch. “Never would have thought it'd be you, man.”

Jordan turned from his vigil of watching the road for Kaylee's arrival to pin his friend with a questioning stare. “What do you mean?”

“I've seen guys panting after her and a few who probably genuinely cared, but she shot every one of them down without a glance.” He held up his finger and thumb like a pistol and kicked it back. “Cold shoulder. Pkew!”

Jordan frowned. “I don't see what that has to do with me. I adopted a dog from the shelter where she works. She agreed to meet me here to do the swap since I was all the way over in Center when she called and wouldn't be able to make it in until tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh.” Sarcasm practically dripped from his comment. “Bringing the dog, I get. Staying for coffee? Not so much.”

He picked up another cup and wiped it dry with a towel, shaking his head in stunned disbelief the entire time. “Has nothing to do with you, man, but that's not Kaylee, dude.”

Jordan frowned. Not Kaylee? He didn't even pretend to understand what Sam was talking about. When she'd called from the shelter, she had seemed a little nervous, but weren't all girls nervous when talking to a guy for the first...second...third time? More confused now than he had been a minute ago, he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his feet. “Sam, if you don't start making sense in about three seconds, I'm about to toss you through this glass,
dude
.”

He said the words casually, nonchalant even, but inside he felt anything but. Was Sam trying to tell him Kaylee Dean had guy issues? If she did, so what? He thought. Practically every woman old enough to take seriously on the planet had some kind of broken heart story to tell. But he sensed that Sam was trying to tell him Kaylee's issues were different. “What's her story?”

Sam shook his head. “I don't know if I should be the one to tell you. Why don't you ask
her
when she gets here?”

Glaring a warning, Jordan said, “Because I'm asking
you
now. Hey, you started this whole, “
I-can't-believe-Kaylee-Dean-gave-you-the-time-of-day
” thing. It's time to finish it. Why are you so surprised she agreed to meet me?”

“It's her fiance, man. Tore her up real bad.” Sam shook his head, put another mug on the shelf and reached for the next one. “It's been four years and she hasn't had a single date that I know of in all that time. I think that Daniel dude really messed with her.”

“She's engaged?” Jordan felt cold—from his fingers to his toes—and it had nothing to do with the weather. No wonder she had turned down his invitation to coffee! He let his head fall back against his shoulders, closed his eyes, and huffed out a sigh of disgust. He felt like an idiot now for having asked! “Wait, you knew? Why didn't you
tell
me, Sam?”

Sam was shaking his head. “No, no, she's not engaged. Not now, anyway. But she was. Four years ago. Gonna marry her high-school sweetheart, but he dumped her a month before the wedding. And what do you mean, why didn't I tell you? How was I supposed to know you've been putting the moves on Jo Dean Leavy's little sister?”

The rattle of glass-wear said Sam was a little miffed at his groundless accusation. Jordan lifted his head and started to apologize, but was interrupted.

“Hey, that's her, man,” Sam said, motioning toward the parking lot with his towel, and Jordan's eyes snapped back toward the tall glass window, immediately seeking her out. “You gonna go out and meet her or wait for her to come inside?”

Side-eyeing his best buddy since the sixth grade, Jordan shook his head. He liked Sam. For the most part, Sam understood him. He'd been his best friend for half of forever. But just now, he was grating on Jordan's nerves in a bad way.

“Give us five minutes, will you?” he said, and pushed open the door.

Running across the parking lot, he reached to open her door the same time she switched off the engine. “You're early.”

“Looks like today's just not my day for getting the timing right.” Leaning across to the passenger seat to gather up a heavy black leash and her purse, she turned to look at him, explaining, “This morning, I overslept. Today marks the first time a customer ever had to wait for me to open the shop, and then, I was so busy I missed lunch and was still late getting to the shelter. But what about you? I've just arrived but I could swear you came out of the cafe. Have you been waiting long?”

“Three minutes.” Taking the leash from her outstretched hand, he stepped back and waited, holding the door open so she could exit the SUV. “I'll get Sarge. You go on inside. It's freezing out here.”

When she hesitated, he arched a brow. “Did I do something wrong?”

After another second's pause during which she bit her lip in hesitation, she shook her head. “He's not used to the cold, since the accident. There's a throw in the back. You'll want to wrap it over him, at least, if you're planning to make him wait in the car.”

She turned to reach back inside the vehicle for her coat, and Jordan barely bit back a scoff at her gentle but obvious disapproval of the thought of him leaving Sarge outside, even if he would be inside a vehicle. “I would never leave him to wait in the cold, Miss Dean. Sam said I could bring him into the back room while you and I have coffee—if you haven't changed your mind?”

He cast her a quick, surreptitious glance to measure her reaction to his careful regard for Sarge's needs and to his hopeful assumption that she had definitely agreed to stay for a drink, and noticed her chin was quivering. He grinned.

Ducking back to hide his smile behind the act of closing the car door, he said, “Your teeth are starting to chatter, woman. Get inside where it's warm. Sarge and I will be along in a minute.”

It took three, but he'd wrapped the thick, plaid throw from the back of her vehicle over Sarge and carried him inside rather than make the still convalescing dog march across the cold asphalt.

“I'll put him in the back, Sammy,” he called out when he stepped inside the cafe with his canine bundle. He joined Kaylee in the dining room a few minutes later. “Got him all settled near the furnace with a bowl of water at his disposal, so he'll be fine. Mind if I sit here?”

Without waiting for her to answer, he pulled out the chair opposite her, and sat, watching while she shrugged off her coat and tried to warm her frozen fingers by putting one hand in the other and then switching them out every few seconds. Pushing his chair back, he stood again. “Coffee will help with that. Do you have a preference, or...?”

“The mocha crème latte is especially good.” He grunted in agreement and hurried to the counter to place an order. In less than two minutes, he was back at their table, sliding a cup in her direction before once again taking a seat. “It's steaming, Miss Dean, so watch your fingers.”

She thanked him and wrapped both hands immediately around the tall earthenware mug. “I don't know why they're so cold. I usually wear gloves, but I don't think even those would help right now!”

Watching her warm her hands, he leaned back in his seat, quietly sipping at his drink while he studied her more closely, now that they were out of the cold. “You mentioned both a shop and the shelter earlier so I'm guessing you don't actually work full-time at the animal rescue place in town?”

“I volunteer three days a week at the shelter, but my business is pet grooming. I have a little place out on Third Street.” She blew across the top of her mug and lifted it to her lips for a quick sip, then asked, “What do
you
do, Mr. Parker? Banking? Real estate?”

“So, I come off as that sort of guy, do I?” Jordan teased, arching a brow in question, but shook his head. “I'm retired. Sold my IT business six months ago and left the
big city
for Hawthorne Grove. Sold my Porsche, bought a house, adopted a dog.”

“Really?” Her nose crinkled and her eyes went narrow in a gesture of disbelief. “Forgive me for saying it, but you don't seem like the IT type.”

“Not nerdy enough for you?” he asked. “Hold on. I'll run out to the truck and grab my black, horn-rimmed glasses, my super-fast laptop, a handful of micro-ballpoint pens, and a thick plastic pocket protector. Think that'd help?”

“A truck? Now I know you're not into IT, Mr. Parker. Those guys strike me as being much too sportsy-minded to go for the genuine practicality of a truck. The Porsche? That I could believe. But a pick-up?” She paused to sip at her latte, then waved her fingers in his direction. “With that bomber jacket you wear and the dark, flashy sunglasses you had on last week, I'd have thought you were in the spy business.”

“Hey, it's not just a
truck
. It's a
Dodge
, and that thing's loaded! It's got a boss V12 engine, and—” It took him a minute to realize she was attempting to tease him back. When he did, Jordan broke off, suddenly feeling as if he'd scored points in a race he hadn't known he'd been running. Leaning forward, he cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Do you find spies attractive, Miss Dean?”

The beginnings of a smile he'd seen flirting at the corners of her lips wilted. “Do you fish for compliments often, Mr. Parker?”

Jordan shifted awkwardly in his chair. Had it been a mistake, he wondered, asking her to join him for coffee? Then, suddenly straightening in his seat, he lifted his head, snapped his fingers, and said, “Wait, I remember now! You're into old stuff, right? Collecting? How could I have forgotten? It's definitely antiques you prefer.”

His subtle nudging of her memory back to their first meeting did not go unnoticed. She smiled but shook her head. “Not me. My aunt does. I was shopping for a gift for her last week when you and I ran into each other.”

“You mean when
I
ran into
you
. Allow me to apologize—again—for my clumsiness.”

“No need,” she said, waving away his apology. “I was too busy blabbering into my phone to cousin Mindy about the great find I'd picked up to notice we were on a collision course myself. If you hadn't bumped into me when you did, I'm sure it would have been
me
who bowled
you
over.”

She looked directly at him then, and he felt something tighten, low and heavy, in his gut. “I think maybe you have anyway, Miss Kaylee Dean.”

The change in his voice would have been hard for anyone to miss. Kaylee heard it, and he knew she even recognized it for what it was: he was attracted to her. Worse for her though, he suspected, was that she felt drawn to him also. Glancing down at her hands where they wrapped tightly around her mug, she said, “Jordan, I appreciate the coffee and I didn't mind bringing Sarge out at all, but—”

“Don't.”

Recognizing the direction her sudden speech was heading, Jordan reached across the table and covered her hands, holding them in place around the mug beneath his. He paused, waiting until she looked up at him again to release them, and then said, “It's just coffee, Kaylee. Nothing serious, nothing to be afraid of, and definitely nothing to run away from.”

“See?” Holding his hands in the air, he twisted them back and forth. “No strings.”

After a moment, she offered a hesitant nod and relaxed back in her chair. “Alright. Just coffee. I think I can do that.”

Not daring to let her see how relieved he felt at her acceptance of him in her life, for the moment at least, Jordan smiled. “Now that we have that out of the way, how do you feel about movies?”

Tilting her head slightly, she paused with her latte half-way to her mouth. “Are you asking me to see a movie with you, or my thoughts on them, in general?”

Feeling a little sheepish for pushing forward so quickly after having assured her she had no reason to worry that he was trying to make a move on her, he shrugged and admitted, “To see one with me.”

Her brow rose, and he held up his hands, halting her refusal before she could give it. “But it's not what you think.”

“Oh?” He heard her quiet little snort, but there was still a mixture of surprise, disbelief, curious interest, and even a bit of humor in her expression when she finished with, “Please, feel free to take a moment to explicate how it is not.”

“I don't know anybody.” Leaning forward, he entreated, “I'm new here, remember? I don't know any of the people—well, except for Sam, but he always wants to talk through the best scenes. Then, there are the whispers showing up at the movies with him would start that I just don't want to deal with. Forgive me for being sensitive about it, but no way am I asking him.”

Kaylee swirled her drink in the mug. “You left out the part about how this is not you asking me out for a movie date.”

She had him there. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, hoping she couldn't see through the calm facade he hoped he was projecting to the man who was still allergic to rejection underneath. “That's because I
am
, but if you'll say yes, I promise not to expect you to drive me home after, or to kiss me goodnight at the door before you leave. Fair enough?”

Her laughter floated into the almost awkward silence, surprising them both. Her cheeks flushed with color and she lowered her gaze. “I think I might actually enjoy a night at the movies, Mr. Parker, but—”

Quickly, before she could finish, he held up his hands again, reminding her there would be no strings, and she smiled. “No strings. Right.”

“I promise,” he said. “Just a guy and a girl enjoying a silly old chick flick and some popcorn together.”

“You want to watch a silly old chick flick?” She asked, side-eyeing him with a hint of rebellion in her gaze.

“Not my fault, or even my preference. Just happens to be the only things playing at the theater right now, okay? How's Saturday night? We can meet here at seven.” When she hesitated, he arched a brow. “Come on, Kaylee Dean. It's just a movie. What do you say? Will you help a new guy out?”