“How was school?” Marigold wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of Wyatt with Saffron, but it wasn’t going to be directly. She wanted to work up to it and find the right moment. Dinner conversation seemed like a good time to make it happen.
“Good,” Saffron said, taking a bite of her chicken fingers. “I changed the colors of a butterfly’s wings today.”
Marigold held her forkful of green beans aloft. “You did what?”
Saffron shrugged. “Mrs. Fipple said I could try. I don’t think she thought I could do it.”
“Mrs. Fipple isn’t one of your teachers. Who is she, actually? That name isn’t familiar.”
“She’s the magic lab monitor.”
“Does that mean you were in the magic lab?” It was Marigold’s understanding that Harmswood’s magic lab was for older students. Students whose powers were fully seated.
Saffron rolled her eyes. “Mom, it’s not like I can’t go in there. I am a witch, you know.”
“You’re not a witch yet, not fully. At best, you’re a fledgling. Were you in there alone?”
“No, I just told you. Mrs. Fipple was in there.”
Marigold didn’t like this at all. “But you went in alone?”
“No, Miss Boschman took me in there because I told her my powers were starting to come in, and she said we should go to the magic lab and see.”
Miss Boschman was Saffie’s pre-spells teacher. “Uh huh. Okay.” This was all happening too fast. “So you changed the colors on a butterfly’s wings? How did that go?”
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “It was easy.”
Easy was relative, and Marigold was sure Saffie wanted to show off a little in front of her mother. “How many tries?”
“One.”
Marigold swallowed. Sweet snapdragons. “One try.”
“Yep.”
“Did the butterfly live through it?”
“Mom.” Saffron sighed. “Yes.”
“Just asking.” Marigold shook her head. “That’s…impressive.”
“That’s what Mrs. Fipple and Miss Boschman said. My guidance counselor wants to have a meeting with you to discuss my placement in some new classes. I brought a note home.”
“I’ll read it right after dinner.” And so it began. Marigold wasn’t sure if she was ready to have a gifted fledgling witch in the house. On one hand, it was amazing. On the other, Saffie was growing up faster than Marigold could stand. She changed the subject. “Are you excited about Aunt Pandie’s wedding?”
“Yes!” Saffron grinned. “Of course I am. After all, Kaley and I are junior bridesmaids, and Charlie is the ring bearer, so it’s basically like Charlie and I are practicing for our wedding for real.”
“No, it’s not like that at all.” Marigold laughed. “You need to calm down or that poor child is going to run screaming for the hills. Or howling. Whatever werewolves do.”
“No way,” Saffie said. “Charlie loves me.”
“I have no doubt he does. You are very lovable. But you might still want to lay off the marriage talk just a little.” Marigold took a breath and dove in. “Speaking of the wedding, I have a date.”
Saffie looked up from her mac and cheese. “You do? With who?”
“A nice man you haven’t met yet. His name is Mr. West.”
“He sounds old.”
Marigold pursed her lips. “He’s not old. He’s about my age.”
Saffron made a face. “So he’s old.”
“Saffie, behave.”
She grinned. “Do you like him?”
“Yes, I like him.”
“Are you going to marry him?”
Marigold almost choked on a green bean. “Slow your roll, missy. I’m not about to marry him any more than I’m going to marry anyone else.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’re friends, sweetheart. That’s really all that’s going on between us right now.”
Saffron tipped her head. “Have you kissed him?”
Marigold was not answering that. “Eat your green beans.”
“Ew, you have kissed him.” She stuck her tongue out.
Marigold just smiled. If Saffie still thought kissing was gross, then maybe Charlie was safe for a little while longer.
Wyatt wasn’t going to be, however, because if he and Marigold were going to be a couple, kissing was going to be high up on the list of activities.
At long last, she was moving out of Singletown and looking at a lease in Datingville.
Wyatt stood at the back of the auction house, looking for a seat. And Marigold, although she’d texted him to say she wouldn’t be there for a few more minutes, so he didn’t expect to see her just yet.
He was very much aware that she’d given him no indication of her answer, either. But he wasn’t freaking out about that at all.
He went back to looking. His spot near the wall was gone. He was going to have to sit somewhere else. Maybe that third aisle would be—someone poked him in the back.
He turned. And smiled. Marigold. “Hey.”
She answered by leaning up and kissing him on the lips. It was half a second of contact, but it almost knocked him over. She smiled as the kiss ended. “Hey.”
It took him a moment to reorganize his thoughts. “I, uh…hi.”
She laughed. “Did you get us seats?”
“Whoa. Hold up. You just kissed me. I can’t ignore that. Does that mean—”
“Yes. I’m willing to try.”
He almost yelled. He wasn’t the kind of guy who yelled, but this was something that felt worth yelling about. He didn’t. Well, maybe a little internal yelling. Externally, he grinned. Hard. “That is good news. Really good news.”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
He nodded. “You look beautiful, by the way.” She did. She was wearing a little sundress with yellow flowers and a jean jacket and sandals. Her toes were painted pink. Like bubblegum. He was nuts about how perfect she was.
“Thanks. You look nice too.”
He’d shaved, but otherwise he was wearing pretty much the same thing he always wore. Jeans and a T-shirt with a jacket and boots. He might need to work on that. “You’re just being kind. We should find some seats.”
“Wherever you want to sit is fine with me. I’m only staying as long as it takes for the items to come up, then I’m taking them home and going to the shop to work on wedding flowers.”
She seemed pretty confident she was going to win the bookends. Poor thing. “How about those two on the end of the third aisle?”
“Perfect.” She started forward.
He put his hand on the small of her back to follow her, and a sudden, possessive thrill ran through him. This beautiful woman had agreed to go out with him. And he wanted other men to know it. Apparently, being around Marigold made him a caveman.
The urge to grunt and pound his chest must not be far behind. Was that what love did to a man?
Not that he loved her. Not yet. It was way too soon for that. But he liked her very much. Too much, maybe. He’d better dial it back or she’d think he was a stage-five clinger.
They settled into their seats, and he put his arm around her, mostly on the back of her chair, but still touching her.
She glanced at it, smirking with blatant amusement. “You sure stake your claim fast.”
He shrugged. “You greeted me with a kiss there, speedy.”
She giggled. “Okay, good point.”
He settled back, unable to remove the smile from his face and not wanting to. This was going to be fun. Scary. But he could do this, because he wanted to do this. Marigold was a beautiful woman, a solid citizen, a savvy business owner, and no doubt, a fabulous mom. All of that made him positive she was going to be an excellent girlfriend, too.
He was not going to screw this up. If this went south, it would be her doing. Her decision.
She leaned over. “You know I’m going to win these bookends.”
He shook his head slowly. “Sorry, sweetheart, can’t let you do that.”
Her expression turned sly. “Oh, really? And how much do you have to spend?”
Suzanne had bumped him up to ten grand, but he didn’t want to give that away and end the little game going on here. “I’m afraid that’s confidential detective-client information.”
“Is that actually a thing?”
He answered with another question. “How much do you have?”
She crossed her arms and shot him a smug look. “More than you.”
He snorted. “You do not.”
“I might.”
“True. But you don’t.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m going to win.”
He straightened up a little. “Let’s make this interesting. Winner makes the loser breakfast.”
An odd light filled her eyes, and she whispered, “Is this a sex thing? Because I’m not ready for that.”
He almost choked on his own breath, somehow managing not to fall out of his chair. “No. I meant as in going out for breakfast. Like for those pancakes at that diner.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened, and she laughed. “Okay, let’s do that.”
The auctioneer banged the gavel and got things underway. The bookends didn’t come up until forty-five minutes in, but Wyatt had his paddle at the ready.
Marigold put hers on her lap, then shot him a flip look. “Winning,” she whispered.
“Nope,” he whispered back.
One of the auction house employees walked back and forth with the bookends in his hands, and the auctioneer got the bidding started. “Next up is an interesting pair of antique bookends. These bookends were said to have been in Ben Franklin’s home at one time, although we have no provenance on that.”
“What are they supposed to be?” someone from the audience shouted.
“Ugly,” another person answered.
Laughter filled the room, and the auctioneer brought things back to order with his gavel. “My description says they’re winged frogs.”
Wyatt and Marigold responded in unison, “Oh.”
“Do I hear fifty dollars? Fifty to get us started.”
Wyatt stuck his paddle up.
“There we go, fifty in the third row. Do I hear fifty-five? Anyone with fifty-”
Marigold’s paddle went into the air. “One hundred.”
The auctioneer looked at Wyatt. “Do I hear one twenty-five?”
“One thousand,” Wyatt answered.
The crowd gasped, but Marigold just narrowed her eyes and lifted her paddle again. “Two thousand.”
Wyatt smiled and raised his paddle high. “Three.”
The auctioneer stared at him. “Are you saying three thousand?”
“I am.”
“Ma’am?” The auctioneer directed his attention to Marigold. “Would you like to counter?”
“Four,” she answered. “Thousand.”
The audience was dead silent and hanging on every word.
Before the auctioneer could ask, Wyatt said, “Five.”
“Six,” came Marigold’s reply.
Wyatt shook his head. “Seven.”
Marigold let out a sigh. Wyatt smirked. He’d done it. He’d won.
“Nine,” she said.
“What?” He looked at her. “Nine?”
She nodded. “Nine. You have any other questions?”
“Sure,” he answered. “How do you feel about nine thousand five hundred?” His cap was ten. He was hoping she’d already hit hers.
The audience seemed to be collectively holding its breath.
“I feel like it’s five hundred too little.” She waved her paddle at the auctioneer. “Ten thousand.”
Wyatt sat back, almost unable to keep from laughing out loud. He put his paddle down and held his hands up. “I’m out.”
“Yes,” Marigold hissed.
The auctioneer looked a little blank. He glanced around the room. “Do I hear ten thousand five hundred?”
Not a peep.
He banged the gavel down. “Sold to the blonde in the third row.”
The audience started clapping.
She grabbed Wyatt’s hand. “Are you mad?”
“Not one bit. My client isn’t going to be happy, but hey, that’s on her, not me.” He tipped his head toward the checkout desk. “Let’s get these hideous things and get out of here.”
“You got it.”
They went together to collect the bookends, then he waited while she paid. He picked up the box that the bookends were in. “I’ll carry them for you.”
“In case I get knocked down again?”
“No one is touching you. But yes, something like that.”
She smiled and looped her arm through his as they left the building.
Dusk was fast approaching. He did a quick scan of the parking lot, but saw no one suspicious. “Where’s your car?”
She clicked the button on the key fob, causing the lights to flash. “Right there.”
“Okay.” They walked over together, then while she got in, he secured the box on the passenger seat.
Something felt off. He did another scan of the parking lot. His gut was telling him they were being watched.
She put her seat belt on. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow for the rehearsal dinner.”
“Reneging on the bet, huh?”
“Oh! Breakfast! The excitement of winning made me forget—hey, are you paying attention to me?”
He nodded. “Yes, but something’s not right.”
Her smile vanished. “Like what?”
“Not sure. I’m going to follow you home. Make sure you’re okay.”
“You’re scaring me a little.”
“I don’t mean to. I just want you safe.”
“You really think something’s up?”
“I do.” He took his eyes off the parking lot to look at her. “But nothing’s going to happen to you.”
She nodded, the concern in her eyes evident.
“Lock your doors as soon as they’re closed, then pull out. Wait at the exit until I’m behind you, then head home. Don’t get out of your car until I’m there.”
“Okay.” She closed her door, the snick of the locks engaging the next sound.
He walked to his SUV, his head on a swivel.
Nothing happened in the parking lot, and nothing happened on the drive back to her house, but the feeling in his gut had yet to abate. She parked in her driveway.
He pulled in behind her and got out. A quick perimeter check revealed nothing out of the ordinary. He walked to her car door.
She rolled the window down. “Everything good?”
“Seems to be.”
“You know, I was just going to drop these off and go back to work.”
He nodded. “I know. I don’t think that’s the best idea. Unless you want me to come with you. I don’t like the thought of you being alone.”
She sighed. “I guess I can stay home. Just means more work I have to make up tomorrow.”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to. I’m all yours tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Let’s get you inside and make sure the house is secure.” He doubted that would be enough to satisfy him. Whatever was setting off his instincts wasn’t going away.