“Wow,” she said. “A real fire—not one of those gas ones.”
“Yeah. I could have put in a gas insert, but I decided I didn’t mind the extra work of cleaning out the ashes and chopping and hauling in the wood. It’s good exercise, you know?”
“So you chop all your own wood?” She lifted one brow and eyed him thoughtfully. “I bet thatisgood exercise. A really good workout for the biceps too, huh?”
Ben nearly swallowed his tongue. Was sheflirtingwith him?
Of course not.
She was getting married in two weeks.
“Um, I hung up your coat—did you want to put your hat with it?”
“Oh, no, that’s all right.” She reached up to touch the pom-pom hanging down the back of it, but didn’t remove the hat.
He shrugged, but didn’t press. “So, what would you like to drink? And do you want something to eat? It’s about dinner time. For me at least.”
“A glass of wine would be nice. Whatever you have open is fine. I could definitely eat, but please don’t go to any trouble—do you maybe have a frozen pizza or something?”
She was wandering around looking at the books on his shelf in the living room, pausing at the photographs of his family—which included those from the fly fishing trips he took every year with his dad, grandfather, brothers, and nephews—as well as a few wedding pictures from his siblings.
Ben realized he felt a little tense about what she might think of him having all sorts of boring family pictures everywhere, but no artwork or anything interesting on the walls or table…except old copies ofAmerican AnglerandSport Fishing.
“I have some frozen beef stew,” he said. “And fresh sourdough bread from my buddy Jake DeRiccio. I can put the stew in the oven to warm, which will take a while, and then I think you’d better tell me about Brenda Tremaine.”
“Ugh.” Callie heaved a great sigh and plumped down on the sofa in front of the fireplace. “This is really nice. Do we have to ruin it?” She gave him a wistful smile, then shook her head. “Of course we do. I’m really grateful you’re willing to listen.”
He’d be happy to do a lot more than listen, but that ship had sailed. Dammit. When he brought her a glass of Cabernet (he’d opened a new bottle because the one he’d had a few nights ago was just about to turn and he didn’t want to ruin the evening with bad wine), she took it with pleasure.
He hesitated for a minute, then ended up sitting at the other end of the sofa instead of the armchair. He told himself it was because that seat was closer to the kitchen and the fireplace, but he was lying. It was closer to Callie, and that was all that mattered.
“So I’m in deep trouble, Ben,” she said right away.
“All right,” he replied cautiously.
She looked down into her glass, swirling the dark red wine into such an enthusiastic vortex that he half expected it to slosh out all over her and the sofa. He smiled deep inside—that was Callie. She rarely did anything halfway.
“Brenda Tremaine has made it abundantly clear she isnotgoing to allow a wedding,” Callie said. “I tried to talk to her today and she just freaked out. You saw me—I don’t know what that red stuff was all over me, but it wasn’t confetti. She’s mad and she’s not going to back down.” She grimaced and took another sip of wine, then tilted her head onto the back of the couch.
This left her throat bare—a gentle, arc of pale skin above the modest vee-neck of the fuzzy sweater she was wearing. Perfect—just perfect—to drop a soft kiss on, right there in the hollow of her throat…and follow along that warm, sensitive line up to her chin and below her ear…
Ben swallowed hard and looked away. “Well, can’t you just move your wedding to a different place?”
Or cancel it all together?
She huffed a sigh as she lifted her head back up. “I mean, of course I can. But I chose that venuebecauseof the Clock Tower Curse—it’s a publicity-slash-marketing sort of thing, you know?” She shifted in her seat, moving back into the corner of the couch and bringing up one foot to tuck under her as she turned to face him. “And, dammit, it’s not right that Brenda Tremaine—who died ninety-some years ago—is holding your family’s tower hostage! I mean, I know she died, I know it was a tragedy, but she needs to get over it and let life for us mortals go on!”
“Well, yes, I suppose you’re right. But Brenda wasn’t the only person to die there—how do you know it’s her that’s—uh—holding the place hostage, as you say? And I can’t even believe I’msayingthis.” He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “It’s wild.”
“It’s Wicks Hollow,” Callie told him.
“I guess.”
“And anyway, I know it’s her because I was talking to her portrait and I addressed her. I figured—well, I don’t know, I thought if I just acknowledged her as a ghost, she might…” She exhaled violently. “This is crazy talk. I know. And yet…”
“It’s Wicks Hollow.” He lifted his glass in a mock toast and they both laughed.
When his eyes lit up with humor and his mouth tipped up behind his beard and mustache, Calliereallywanted to lunge down the sofa toward him and smack a kiss on his cheek. But she hadn’t gotten any sort of vibe from him that he would appreciate or reciprocate such a move, and so she kept her butt planted right there on the couch.
