Oh my God, she thought, and began to gingerly pull her fingers away from where they’d nestled…in hislap. Like, down around a thigh…
How did that happen?
Ben’s eyes opened just as she fully extricated herself from him, and for a moment she was trapped by his gaze.
He looked like he was about to say something, but she didn’t give him the chance—oh, boy, was she embarrassed. She’d practicallythrownherself at him last night—and if pickingWhen Harry Met Sally...to watch wasn’t enough of a hint for that big lug, then she wasn’t even going to give him another thought.
Or…even worse…maybe hehadgot the hint, and just didn’t want to take it.
Because she figured she had been pretty obvious.
And since he didn’t walk through that wide-open door, it was clear he wasnotinterested in her in that way.
Period. End of story.
“Oh, wow,” she said, feeling very awkward. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.” God, she needed a toothbrush. Even in her wildest fantasies, she hadn’t imagined staying the night at Ben’s last night.
“Me neither,” he said, shifting around then pulling to his feet. “But that’s okay. It’s nearly five-thirty. Uh…I can make some coffee. Do you want to—uh—freshen up? There’s an extra toothbrush in the right hand drawer in the bathroom.”
Of course there was.
He was, after all, Ben Tremaine.
Seven
“There’s really only one solution,”said Iva Bergstrom, looking around the table at her friends, with her attention finally landing on Callie.
Iva was in her late sixties, and she was petite and neat and so darling that Callie had privately described her as a delicious apple puff of a woman. Her cheeks were always flushed perfectly pink—quite likely due to a skillful application of blusher—and her hair was a pure white cotton poof. She dressed the same way she probably had during her career as a librarian: in twinset cardigans and nice slacks, usually in bright colors that matched her jewelry.
The Tuesday Ladies, as they were known—and not necessarily because that was the day they gathered on; they met up nearly every day, and usually here at Orbra’s Tea House—were ensconced at their regular table in the front window of the place. It was large and round, with plenty of room for all five of them plus one or two others who might join their clique—in this case, Callie and another Wicks Hollow local, Fiona Murphy.
It was after eight p.m. on the 21stof December, and since the tea house closed at five every day, all the other customers were gone. As usual, a team of bakers worked in the back, preparing fresh quiches, tarts, scones, gingerbread houses, and more for tomorrow’s menu, but the rest of the place was empty and quiet.
“You tell’er, sister.” Maxine Took, the self-appointed leader of the Tuesday Ladies, thumped her ever-present cane and nodded vehemently. Her shiny, impossibly thick dark hair didn’t move at all, either because it was a wig or because she used an entire can of hairspray every time she did her hair. No one was certain which, and no one was about to ask the acerbic octogenarian.
“Let the poor womantalk,” said Juanita Acerita, Maxine’s best frenemy. After her husband died, she’d sold the small chain of high-end Mexican restaurants she’d started thirty years ago, and now played Scrabble with Maxine when she wasn’t trying to maneuver the town veterinarian into becoming the second Mr. Acerita.
Tonight she held a large tote on her lap, and from inside two large, furry, butterfly-shaped ears poked up. Between them was a pair of sharp, beady black eyes and, below, the cutest canine button nose Callie had ever seen. The little dog, whose name was Bruce Banner, was eyeing the piece of gingerbread house that Juanita was munching. “Honestly, Maxine, if you’d just keep your mouth closed for more than a minute—”
“Well, we all know what the solution is,” Maxine groused. “Why does she have to create so much drama when she’s introducing it? Orbry, are you bringing some more of those cinnamon scones?” she called as Orbra came into sight with a laden tea cart. “Juanita’s been feeding them to her dog—”
“I have not,” said her friend, looking around guiltily, because, of course, she had been. Callie had seen her do it when she thought no one was watching. She smothered a smile.
“I mean, it is quite obvious,” said the fourth Tuesday Lady, a slender, youthful sixty-something woman. She had short, platinum blond hair and a compact, muscular body. Cherry Wilder was the owner of the yoga studio in Wicks Hollow and had arrived just after one of her classes and so was dressed the part. “What to do about Iva’s wedding.”
“Of course. There’s really only one solution to the problem,” Juanita said agreeably.
Callie sat next to Iva, nervously waiting for what the actual solutionwas.
Callie had called her client on the way back from Ben’s house to Grand Rapids last week, and told Hollis Nath that she was going to cancel the wedding—at least as currently planned. To make up for it, she promised she would do all of the planning and cover all of the services herself (yikes! that would mean the cost oftwoweddings for the Bergstrom/Nath couple when all was said and done because there were no refunds at this late date) for the reschedule.
But it was the only thing she could think of to do. No amount of publicity or marketing was worth anyone’s safety—and, as she’d been reminded more than once, itwasWicks Hollow.
You couldn’t ignore the supernatural or the otherworldly here. And that was where Callie had made her first mistake: thinking she could.
But although Mr. Nath had been very gracious and understanding about the situation, Callie hadn’t spoken to Iva herself about it…until now, when Iva had requested her to meet up at the tea house tonight. Even though she’d been super busy, Callie had juggled her schedule to be here, and she’d conscripted Fiona into coming with her because she knew Fiona and Iva were very close…and honestly, because she was a little nervous about what Iva was going to say.
I mean, whatdoyou say to the wedding planner who cancels on you ten days before your wedding?she’d said to Fiona.I’ll be lucky if I ever work in event planning again.
