Death and Relaxation (Ordinary Magic #1)(12)

His eyebrows went up and he took a step back, one hand twitching upward. “She didn’t tell me directly.”

“Then how do you know she likes him?”

“I, uh, ran into her at the grocery store. We chatted, one thing led to another, Hogan walked by with a fifty-pound bag of flour on his shoulder and her gaze glued to his ass until he was out of sight.”

“She was that obvious?”

“I have amazing observation skills when it comes to women.”

“Oh?”

“It’s true. Family curse.”

“You have a family curse.”

“Doesn’t everyone in town?”

He was joking, fighting back a grin. He didn’t have a curse. He didn’t even know about the creatures and deities in town. Rule #5 of my job: no spilling the beans to the mortals about the supernatural contingency.

“Sure,” I said. “Everyone in town is cursed or worse.”

He tipped his head for a second, the smile still not lifting, but the laughter in his eyes turning to that sharp curiosity again. “All right,” he said, “go out with me. Take an evening off. I’ll buy you one of Chris’s rhubarb beers.”

“If you promise to not buy me one of Chris’s rhubarb beers, I’ll think about it.”

“Can I upgrade that to a yes if I throw in burgers and fries?”

“I don’t know. How’s the new cook he hired?”

“She’s amazing. If Chris gets tired of brewing, her cooking would keep him afloat for years.”

Yes, it would. Chris’s cook happened to be a goddess—Nortia, the Etruscan goddess who nailed down fate for people once a year. And like most deities on vacation in this town, she had settled into a mundane job that had nothing to do with her actual power.

She cooked.

At least she was good at what she’d chosen. Unlike most of the other deities, who disastrously overestimated their mundane skill set.

“I can’t. Tonight’s not good. With all the prep for the Rhubarb Rally, and no extra hands, I’m pulling some crazy hours.”

His shoulders relaxed, even if his eyes didn’t. “Right. Bad time of year.”

“Maybe later?” I suggested. “After?”

“Sure,” he said. “After. When things aren’t so busy.” He gave me a small smile. “Or if you hire someone.”

I chuckled quietly. “Between now and the Rhubarb Rally? That would be a miracle.”

“Miracles happen.”

“Not to me.”

“Then it’s long overdue, don’t you think?”

“Optimist.”

“Oh, so not. Realist on my best days.”

“This must be a great day.”

“It started out pretty good so far. Naked. With a beautiful woman.”

“Only one of us was naked.”

“Statement stands.” The intense look he gave me was going to make me blush, so I reached down and patted Spud’s head one more time. He nosed at my hand and opened his mouth in a big doggy smile.

“I should head out now.” I glanced back up. Ryder was still smiling, like he knew what that smile did to me. “Bye, Ryder.”

“Bye, Laney. Don’t forget the donuts.”

“I’m not going to forget the donuts.” I already had, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.





Chapter 4


I STOPPED by the Puffin Muffin Bakery on the south end of town. Hogan wasn’t manning the counter, which meant he was somewhere in the back working the ovens in a cloud of flour and heat and rock and roll.

The girl handling the breakfast rush was young, chipper, and the daughter of the high school principal.

I ordered a dozen donuts, a couple popovers, and a loaf of rosemary sourdough. My mouth watered as I inhaled the sweet, buttery smells of the shop, and my stomach grumbled.

When had I last eaten? Dinner? Lunch? Vending machine?

I made a mental note to catch at least one solid meal a day. The rally would keep me running, but that was no excuse not to eat.

I devoured an apple fritter and a cinnamon cruller on the way to the station and was in a much better mood. If I could land a hot cup of coffee, I’d count this day as a win.

Dawn crept over the Coastal Range, the heavy wing shadow of the hills pulling slowly away from the ocean and shoreline like a curtain revealing the stage.

The station was still in shadow, a one-story building on the south side of Easy River, tucked back off the main road and surrounded on two sides by an empty lot that had gone to forest.

Three cars were in the parking lot, one of them Jean’s truck, but Myra’s cruiser wasn’t among them. I wondered if she was getting photos of the crime scene, or more likely, still trying to get Dan Perkin to cool down.

I strolled through the front door and dropped the two boxes of pastries on Jean’s desk, right between her Snape bobblehead doll and Dr. Orpheus figurine.

“Donuts,” I announced. “Stop telling everyone in town I don’t feed you.”

Jean was the youngest of the Reed girls, and arguably the most cheerful.

While my hair was brown, and Myra kept her hair black, Jean’s hair was whatever color she wanted that morning. Current preference? Purple and blue with a streak of red in the front, all of it braided down behind both ears. She’d somehow inherited our grandmother’s blonde hair naturally—which, according to her, made it perfect for dying—and her blue eyes were deep and dark, like Mom’s.