First Brittany, then the ring. Not me. Not how I am.
It’s fine. It’s totally fine. I’m used to it.
Even though I try giving myself the pep talk to end all pep talks, it must really suck, because a familiar ache bubbles inside me, pushing up my throat like I’ve swallowed a rock.
My fingers spark again. As I shake my hands to snuff out the magic, in the distance one of the ley lines turns red and pulses weakly.
My lack of control is not good. I’ve got to get this power under wraps before someone finds out and my life and job are ruined.
Or worse.
For the past few months, my fingers have put on a fireworks show when I’m angry or sad or frustrated—anything buthappy. The one emotion maybe theyshouldcelebrate, they ignore like it’s the last shirt on a sales table, the dingy SpongeBob SquarePants tee nobody wants.
As soon as my emotions pull back together, the humming power in my fingers dies and the red ley line returns to its normal state—a dim, yellowish-white strip of magic.
I take a deep breath and focus on why I’m here in the first place. “Okay, where is this site?”
The GPS dings for me to take a right at the next stop sign. As I slow to a halt, a John Deere tractor approaches on the opposite side of the road.
Clarice Sinclair bounces atop the seat. She’s older, easily in her seventies, though I’m not sure of the exact number. She has a curly mop of silvery hair that’s mostly hidden today by a Braves cap. She wears jeans and a jacket to shield herself from the bite in the early-spring morning.
“Hey, Clarice!”
She rumbles to a stop. “Morning, Coco. Where’re you headed?”
Finally. Someone I can humblebrag to! “I’m going to the Maddox resort on the hill.”
Her eyes brighten with intrigue. “That’s right! You’re in Zoning now. Didn’t you tell me that?”
“I sure did!”
See? Clarice remembers. Why is it easier for her to remember than my own mother?
The older woman rubs her chin, reminding me of a sinister villain strategizing her evil plan. “Speaking of the Maddoxes, now that Rowe married Pane Maddox, it looks like you’re the most eligible bachelorette in town. The Collins boys are still looking for girlfriends.” She pumps her brows excitedly. “The oldest got rid of his acne. Except for his back. He still has that problem, but I’d be happy to set you up with one of ’em. Maybe two. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Is eighteen too young?”
“Bye, Clarice.”
As I roll up the window, she shouts, “Just think about it!”
The last thing I’ll consider is a boyfriend who’s barely out of high school. No thank you.
But she did have a point about the Maddoxes. It was big news several months ago when Pane arrived in town. His mother wanted to name the next CEO of the Maddox Group, the family’s chain of luxury hotels. To win the company, Pane competed against his brother to see who could best save a dying business. He wound up rescuing a struggling piggycorn farm that belonged to his now wife, Rowe.
So Pane won, but from what I understand, he left the company and, alongside his brother, decided to open a resort in town.
Which is where I’m headed for the first assignment of my brand-spanking-new job.
Have I mentioned how excited I am?
As the sedan climbs the hills outside Mystic Meadows, the resort reveals itself from behind a curtain of trees—steel beams, loud construction equipment, men in hard hats.
And standing just off-center is a tall guy with good, strong shoulders, the kind that could hold a steel beam for hours.
With me sitting on top.
