Bewitching You(3)

The clincher had been when he’d met her parents. They’d immediately adored him. He had them under his spell...or it could have been because he was the first man she’d ever brought home who wasn’t an unemployed artist of some sort. Rachel couldn’t help it. She’d loved the passion that exuded from a man holding a paintbrush or a guitar or a camera...

Consequently, Gray was the first boyfriend her parents had liked, and it felt good to have their approval finally. So good, that when Grayson had proposed a couple months after Hayes’s funeral, Rachel had accepted. Time to move on.

No looking back.

The bell above the bakery door rang and she crooked her head to see Grayson walk in.

“Hi,” Rachel said, surprised. She wasn’t expecting to see him until dinner.

He wore dark jeans, a snug t-shirt that stretched against his muscular chest, and a smile that melted her heart. He really was a handsome man.

And he looked so much like Hayes.

~ * ~

Gray pulled Rachel into his arms and squeezed her tight. The morning’s events had left him frazzled, and he needed to be with his fiancée so he could forget about who he thought he’d seen.

“Wow,” she whispered into his ear as he lifted her off her feet. “This is a...nice surprise.”

He set her back down and met her bemused stare. He brushed a lock of her strawberry-blonde hair away from her porcelain cheek. She was beautiful. Everything he needed in a woman, he reminded himself, even as an empty feeling settled in his stomach. “I came to help.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He forced another smile.

“Grayson?” Nora came up behind Rachel, wearing the same confused expression on her face. “Whatever are you doing here?” She walked around and gave him an air kiss.

“I’m here to help with the wedding plans. It’s long overdue, don’t you think?” He grabbed Rachel’s tightly fisted hand and maneuvered his fingers in between hers. She always seemed tense around her mother.

“Of course not. You’re a busy man, and Rachel, well, Rachel’s just a student. She and I can take care of all the details. Your job is to worry about showing up to the church on time.”

Rachel bit into her lip, probably holding her tongue like she did so well. Gray wondered what it would take for her to defend herself. He longed for the day it would happen. Maybe at dinner he’d give her a pep talk. What she needed was a confidence boost. Being raised by a woman like Nora couldn’t have been easy.

“Isn’t that right, Rachel?” Nora cocked her head in that condescending way that grinded Gray’s nerves.

“Sure,” Rachel said softly, as she lifted some chocolate frosting off a piece of cake. “We can handle it."





Chapter Two



A car was parked in the driveway of the home Sofia and her mother shared, so Sofia pulled along the tree-lined city street and cut her engine. The old blue sedan probably belonged to one of her mother’s clients. It didn’t look familiar.

Sofia’s mom was one of many fortunetellers in Indianapolis, Indiana. She read palms and tarot cards with an accuracy that bewildered and sometimes frightened. Occasionally, when urged by an eager, generous client, she brought the crystal ball into play. To Laura, a ball of glass was just that—a ball of glass. Still, it was the one prop that delighted most of her patrons and had them coming back for more.

“Who am I to argue?” Sofia’s mother had once said with a devious grin and a handful of cash. “They only want to hear good things about their future anyway.”

Sofia couldn’t blame her mother. The few times a client had gotten a preview of an ill-fated future, they’d become irate and left without paying. Even though some might consider Laura Good a charlatan, what other choice did she have? This was her career, her lone source of income.

Sofia walked up the path to her home and noticed her middle-aged neighbor, Herbert Lawrence, from the corner of her eye. His thin six-foot frame cut across their adjoining lawns, coming toward her at a rapid pace.

“Ms. Good,” he shouted, before Sofia could run inside and hide. “Ms. Good,” he said again, as she turned to acknowledge him. He had moved into the neighboring house five years ago, yet she was pretty sure he didn’t know her first name or her mother’s. They’d both been branded Ms. Good, and of course, always in an exasperated tone.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” Sofia asked with an innocent smile. What has Mom done to piss him off this time?

He jerked to a halt four feet in front of her with the standard grimace on his face. “You have to make her stop.”

As usual, Sofia didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but no doubt her mother was guilty. The woman was like Dennis the Menace, and Herbert Lawrence was the unlikable, high-strung Mr. Wilson. Sometimes it was fun to watch their antics, but mostly Sofia wished her mother would grow up and leave the poor guy alone.

She inhaled a small breath and asked, “What should I ask her to stop doing?”

He shook his finger toward the side of the house. “Purple,” he said, his voice hitting a new high. “Out my kitchen window, all I see is purple with little tiny flowers. Why would she do that to me?”

“She planted purple lilacs again?” Was her mother running out of ideas? She’d planted lilacs last summer after she’d discovered he was extremely allergic to them, and that he hated the color purple.

Herbert’s elderly mother visited him every other weekend, and Sofia’s mother used the kind, somewhat senile woman to get all kinds of information.

“No, she painted the side of your house purple,” he gritted his teeth and continued, “with little tiny white lilacs. So every time I look outside my kitchen window, that’s what I see.”

Sofia bit her lips shut to keep from laughing. Her mother really needed a hobby. “I apologize, Herbert…or Mr. Lawrence. I’ll talk to her about it. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

“See that you do.” His silvery eyes matched the grey streaks running along each side of his head.

Had he been grey when he’d moved in five years ago? Sofia couldn’t remember. She nodded and turned, making long strides up the porch and into the house. Thankfully, Herbert let her leave without another word.

The door to her mother’s den was closed. The sign on the dark walnut-stained door read, “Reading in progress. Do not disturb.”

Her mother’s murmuring voice reverberated out into the sunlit hallway. The sound was familiar and comforting. One she connected with her childhood.

Sofia used to sit against the wall and listen in on her mother’s sessions, falling asleep at times. Of course that always angered her father, she remembered. He’d scoop her up into his arms and tell her to read a book or go outside and play. He hadn’t believed in the powers of the mind or any type of “nonsense that couldn’t be explained by science.”

Oh, the arguments her parents had battled through. He’d yell and her mother would yell louder. In the end, he decided to leave and never come back. His leaving was for the best, Sofia realized now. How would he have handled knowing his own daughter was full of nonsense as well? Ever since puberty had set in.

Yep, it was better this way.

Her sandals tapped as she took the curved hardwood stairs up to her room. It had already been a long day, and all she wanted to do was work on her latest painting.

She’d dreamed of a beach, late at night. Gray Phillips, of course, was there, not too far ahead of her. His pant legs were rolled up, as if he’d walked through the water along the shore. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his broad, muscled chest. He held a camp lantern. That, along with the light of the moon, allowed her to see him waiting for her. His smile was white compared to his dark features—brown hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. He seemed happy, or was he amused by her? Who knew? At any rate, the scene had begged to be painted, as had the rest of her paintings that lined her bedroom walls and filled her closet.

One day she’d display them and show the world her visions, if she ever got the courage. Right now, her only desire was to paint. It fed her soul and eased her mind.

She stepped out of her sundress and threw on an old t-shirt just as the phone rang.

Oh, crap. Sofia checked the caller ID to make sure it was who she thought it was. Restaurant De Mon Coeur popped up on the screen.

She’d forgotten all about work again. Again. When was she going to get her head together?

“Hello?” she answered, and braced herself to hear French curse words through the earpiece.

“Sofia,” her coworker and friend, Madeleine, said in a hushed tone. “André’s on a tirade. Get down here now. It’s super busy.”

“Shoot. I’m so sorry. I’ll be right there.”

~ * ~

“I can’t believe we’ve been waiting for twenty minutes,” Grayson whispered against Rachel’s ear. “We have a reservation.”