Chapter Eighteen
Emma didn’t know how long they kissed, but by the time he pulled away, she was liquid from head to toe. Where did he learn to kiss like that? On second thought, better if she didn’t dwell on it. She could just imagine the string of supermodels in his life. The tall, leggy types with sleek hair that never frizzed. Probably had names like Suzette or Giselle.
She crossed her arms and shivered, all too aware of her bedraggled appearance. “Um, I’ll go and get some towels.” She ran out of the attic before he had even had a chance to stand.
Down the hall, Emma leaned against her bedroom wall and waited for her pounding heart to slow. What the hell was wrong with her? He was supposed to be the enemy, and she needed to remember that. If she got all lovestruck over this man, nothing good would come of it. Sure, he had just helped her patch the window, and then kissed her into kingdom come, but she had to pull herself together.
After drying off, she slipped on a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt, then grabbed a few towels from the linen closet. When she didn’t find him in the attic, a brief pang of disappointment shot through her. She tried to ignore it. Maybe he had already gone home. Downstairs in the kitchen, she heard movement, and she found him tinkering with the ancient coffeepot in the corner.
Years ago Emma had painted the little room a sunny yellow with glossy white trim. Crisp Battenburg lace curtains framed the window, and a collection of blue and white china plates hung on the wall above the small kitchen table. Aside from the industrial-grade sink and double ovens she used for baking, it had a quaint, homey feel to it. It was the same kitchen her grandmother had used for decades, and many other Holloway women who had come before her.
Hunter Kane, shirtless and leaning over the coffeepot in the middle of the kitchen, looked completely out of place. And hot as sin.
Beside him, her spell book lay open to that same old “Day of Bliss” recipe. As usual. The house still hadn’t given up on it and Emma had stopped bothering to put the book away. It seemed like every time she walked into the kitchen, there it was. She ignored it now, like she always did. “It’s not going to happen,” she told the house under her breath. “Quit trying.”
“What’s that?” Hunter asked, shaking water droplets from his hair with one hand.
“Oh! Um, you won’t get dry without these.” Emma held up the towels. “So, you know, quit trying.”
He took the towels and began rubbing down his hair. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on Emma. She could almost imagine him stepping out of the shower, except she wasn’t going to. That would be ridiculous. Nothing good could come of her imagining Hunter gloriously naked, surrounded by steam with water dripping down his muscular torso—
“I thought coffee might be a good idea.” His deep voice startled her out of her thoughts.
“Coffee!” she said a little too brightly. “Yes, I’ll just make some.” She flew to the cupboard and pulled down a tin of gourmet coffee, aware that he was watching her every move. Emma felt flushed and jittery. She forced her hands to remain steady as she measured coffee into the machine. Being in the tiny kitchen with him felt like being in a room with a wild lion. It was unsettling. Because she sort of wanted the lion to pounce.
Outside, the rain continued to pour in gray, icy sheets. Emma sighed. “If all goes well, I’ll have a contractor fix that roof before the end of the summer. Good thing Sam’s been so easy on me with the shop rent.”
Hunter straightened. “Sam seems to really love this town, and the people in it.”
“Well, yeah. He owns the whole waterfront, aside from your restaurant. His family was in real estate, and he inherited it. Sam’s a lot different than his parents. At least, that’s what my grandma always told me. He’s kind of a simple guy, and genuinely cares about the community. I’m just so grateful he’s my landlord and hasn’t kicked me out yet.”
She frowned at the storm outside. “I better bake something fast, or that patchwork job we did in the attic is never going to hold. The only problem is, if I force the storm away it will just come back worse, later.”
Hunter was silent for so long that when she finally glanced up at him, she almost spilled the coffee grounds. He looked completely baffled.
“You say the weirdest things,” he said.
“Get used to it. The Holloways are the resident weirdos, haven’t you heard? Wait, you’ve spoken with Bethany Andrews. Of course you’ve heard.”
He leaned against the counter and folded his arms, a playful smile curving his lips. “I’ve heard a few things, yes. I’ve heard you are a magical creature who lives all alone in this big house and bakes spells into cupcakes.”
She eyed him carefully. Of course the townspeople talked. But he obviously didn’t believe it. Nobody with any sense ever really gave it much credit, except a few of the locals. Most visitors just found the story charming and bought cupcakes for the fun of it.
“And you don’t believe it,” she said.
His smile broadened and he took a step forward. “Who doesn’t like a good story? And it’s no wonder they chose you, Goldilocks, to be the resident fairy-tale character. You’re perfect for the part.” He smoothed his fingertips down a lock of her hair.
“Fairy tales are make-believe,” Emma said solemnly, stepping back. It was important that he understood. “What I do is real.”
His laughter was low, a deep, rich sound that resonated through her bones. He was special, too, this man. Something about him made her want to melt into him, and no one had ever made her feel that way before. But he didn’t know her. Not really. He didn’t accept who she was.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” She felt as though she were hanging from the edge of a cliff, holding on by just one hand. His answer would have the power to lift her up, or send her plummeting.
Hunter gave her a half smile. “Sure, I do.”
Her hand slipped on the cliff’s edge. “No, I’m being serious. I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories by now. Do you believe them?”
Hunter took a deep breath and gazed out the window, avoiding her face. “You know what I believe in? Facts and numbers. The logic of A plus B never changes. It’s steadfast. You can hold on to it. You can build from it.”
“Numbers?” Emma echoed. She was asking if he believed in her and he was talking about accounting? Her fingers slipped off the edge of the cliff and she began to fall.
“Exactly,” he said. “In my experience, people are mercurial by nature, but you can always count on numbers to tell the true story. Profits, overhead, bottom lines. I pay attention to those things and I stay on top. Everything else is just window dressing.”
Emma felt as though she were plummeting to the bottom of a ravine. All her hope dropped to the pit of her stomach. They were so completely different. A man like him could never live in her world, nor she in his. She hadn’t even realized she’d hoped it. Stupid!
“Look, Emma. I can see you’re struggling to make ends meet. What I’m trying to say here is, I know how to make money. It’s what I’m good at. And it’s clear you need help. I can help you.”
She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re obviously having financial troubles. Your house needs repairs and your business is failing. You need to start thinking about making serious changes. I know you haven’t had an easy time of things since your grandmother died.”
A sudden ache unfurled inside her and she fought to breathe around it. “I’m managing just fine.”
“Maybe for now, but it won’t last. Your grandmother’s way isn’t working anymore. The world’s moved on, and you’re going to need to update your business model. I can help you do that. I’ve already organized those vendor files and e-mailed you the new spreadsheets. Haven isn’t going to be the only establishment you’ll have to contend with. Bigger businesses will come. You need to consider what you’re going to do in the long run. This magic act you’ve got isn’t going to work forever. You need to be more realistic.”
Magic act? Her cheeks burned with humiliation and something sharper. Anger flooded through her. “You’ve barely been on this island for longer than two minutes, and yet you want to tell me how to fix my life? My shop, my house? They’re mine. This is my life.”
To her complete horror, she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. She suddenly felt as small as she’d been when her mother left; as hopeless as when her grandmother died. Why did she ever imagine he could believe in her? “You think you have it all figured out. But there are some things in this world that are just as important as your precious numbers and profits—no—more important. Like friendships. And community. And trust. Without any of that, nothing else matters. I’m sorry if my way of doing things doesn’t measure up on your spreadsheets.” She swiped at her eyes.
“Emma.” Hunter took a step forward, a stricken look on his face. “I don’t want to upset you. It’s just hard for me to watch you struggle.” He ran his hands through his hair and let out a frustrated breath.
She shook her head. They were so different. He had the whole world organized into neat categories that could be calculated and measured, and he was convinced that was how the universe worked because it worked so well for him. But she wasn’t him. Her life was nothing like his. In fact, Emma was pretty sure the universe had been laughing at her for years. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was born a Holloway, and she’d been given a gift. It wasn’t just a “magic act.”
“You can’t do it, can you?” she blurted. “You can’t step outside of yourself for just one moment and believe that what I do is real.”
He threw his hands up in the air. “Believe what, exactly? What do you want me to say? That I believe in magic?” His expression was one of incredulity.
She lifted her chin, grateful that her voice was steady. “Some things can’t be explained, but that doesn’t make them any less real. Maybe you’re just afraid it might be true.”
“I’m not afraid,” he said in exasperation. “It just makes no logical sense.”
“So what? Believe anyway.” She knew he was going to walk away and that it was probably for the best, but a tiny voice inside of her urged her to try one last time. She gathered her courage. “I dare you.”
He was quiet for a long time, and Emma wondered if she had pushed him too far. Maybe this was the part where he told her she was a freak and walked out the door. She waited for what felt like an eternity. Each tick of the clock above the kitchen door made her feel one step further away.
“Okay,” he said softly, nodding.
She sucked in a breath. The smallest tendril of hope spiraled through her and she exhaled, afraid to embrace it in case it was her imagination.
Hunter nodded and looked her straight in the eyes. “Show me. I’ll try to keep an open mind. I promise.”
Emma grabbed a mixing bowl from the bottom cupboard and slapped it onto the counter. When the full moon came, she and Juliette would see him gone. But here in this kitchen, surrounded by the storm outside, time stood still. For just a moment, she wanted to show Hunter Kane the truth. She wanted him to believe in her.
* * *
An hour later, Hunter sat shirtless and barefoot at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of cinnamon-infused coffee. A deep sense of warmth enveloped him as he watched Emma in the kitchen. She was all fluid grace and movement, whipping up a bowl of frosting until the zesty scent of lemons and vanilla filled the air. Occasionally, she would brush past him, and it was all he could do not to grab her and draw her closer. The kiss they shared in the attic was seared into his mind and his body was still thrumming from the memory of it.
A single ringlet fell over one of her eyes, and she sucked her lower lip in concentration. He shifted uncomfortably and took a quick gulp of coffee, scalding his tongue. She was the most intriguing, alluring woman he had ever seen, and that was the problem. He had no business even thinking about her, not when he didn’t even plan on staying. He suddenly wondered how she’d react if she knew his real plans. If all went well, in just several weeks his restaurant would be booming, along with the rest of the wharf properties once he acquired and upgraded everything. When things were running smoothly, he’d move on to his next project. Maybe he’d scope out other islands in the Puget Sound to expand his businesses, or maybe he’d move south to Portland. A pang of guilt flooded him and he pushed it away. This was what he did; what he was good at.
“Okay,” she said brightly. “Bring me two of those cupcakes on the table. You, Mr. Skeptic, are about to be dazzled by the Holloway magic.” She brushed the curl off her forehead with the back of her hand and beamed up at him.
Hunter sucked in a breath. God, he wanted to kiss her again, but she was like a scared rabbit now. The moment in the attic had passed, and he could sense her nervousness. It made him want to hold her until her tension fled. He wanted to unlock all that wildness that lay just beneath her surface.
He brought two warm vanilla cupcakes to the counter and she began frosting them with simple swipes of a butter knife.
“They’re not going to be pretty because I didn’t have a lot of time, but it really doesn’t matter,” she said. “They should work just fine.”
The storm still raged outside, charcoal clouds roiling on the horizon. Every few minutes, thunder rumbled and lightning shook the house.
“What exactly are these supposed to do?” he asked, distracted by the way she bit the tip of her tongue while icing the last cupcake. He wanted her mouth, and that tongue. Again.
Emma held out a frosted cupcake and winked. “You’ll see.”
He took the cupcake and bit into it, his eyes never leaving her face. It was delicious, and the blend of lemon zest and creamy vanilla warmed him to his toes. “Delicious.”
“I know.” She bit into her own, and for several moments they chewed in companionable silence, with only the sound of the storm outside. Hunter glanced out the window and stopped chewing. He stared in surprise as the black storm clouds seemed to roll backward toward the horizon, as if being pulled back from where they had come. It was the oddest thing he’d ever seen. The sky looked like a movie reel on rewind.
“See.” She pointed out the window. “The storm is leaving. That’s why I call these ‘Summer Sunshine.’”
He swallowed, frowning as the fog dissipated on a spring breeze. Clouds parted overhead and the sky dawned a clear, crystal blue. The rain droplets on the grass and trees outside sparkled like crystalized sugar. He licked the last of the frosting off his fingertips just as a brilliant rainbow arced across the sky.
Very slowly, Hunter turned to Emma. She stood in front of the sunlit window, glowing softly around the edges as though lit from within. In that moment she looked so much like an angel, Hunter could almost believe in anything. “You did that?”
She gave a half shrug. “I told you. This is what I do.”
Hunter felt his mouth go dry and he swallowed once. Twice. “How?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really know. I’ve just always loved baking, and my grandmother explained that my good wishes and hopes sort of flowed over and around me whenever I made something in the kitchen. That’s how it starts. The Holloway abilities. It’s something we are naturally born to do.”
A bird began singing in the maple tree outside. Hunter ran a hand through his hair, roughing it up as if to clear his mind from the fairy-tale fog he was in. “How long will it last?”
“Only a few days, if we’re lucky. Mother Nature always has a way of taking back control.”
He stared into her liquid silver eyes and wanted, more than anything else in the world, to understand. “So you bake these, and then things happen when people eat them?”
She nodded and began clearing up the kitchen, as if it were any other normal day. Maybe for her, this was business as usual. Hunter felt a strange yearning somewhere in the region of his chest. It was not unlike the feeling he remembered when he was a kid on Christmas morning. All the bright, shiny packages he couldn’t wait to open. The mystery and the surprise, mingled with the bittersweet knowledge that the day would end and the joy couldn’t last. He remembered that hollow feeling when his parents would start the drinking that would eventually lead to the arguing. For a few shining hours he could pretend things were good and that they were a real family, but it didn’t last. He wished it could.
For the next half hour, Emma explained her different recipes and how they helped people. He watched in fascination as she flipped through her grandmother’s ancient recipe book. He could barely grasp what she was saying. If it really was all true, then why wasn’t the world banging down her door for her creations?
“You could sell your cupcakes on a grander scale, you know.” The idea was almost too overwhelming to contemplate. “The entire world would fight for these.”
“No,” Emma said. “It doesn’t work that way. If I tried to exploit it, it would fade away. That’s just the nature of it. And it doesn’t work on me, either, which is ironic. I can make other people feel good or have good luck, but I’m immune.”
“But you just changed the weather. That was for your benefit.”
“For the house’s benefit.”
He frowned in puzzlement. “The house?”
“It’s hard to explain.” She began filling the sink and placed the mixing bowls in the soapy water. “It’s going to sound weird.”
“I can assure you it won’t be the first weird thing I’ve heard today.” A mischievous humor filled his voice.
Emma turned, wringing a dishrag in her hands. “My house is sort of . . . sentient. By fixing the weather, I was easing its distress.”
A door shut quietly upstairs and Hunter glanced up toward the ceiling. “It’s haunted?”
“No, no. That’s what Bethany Andrews would say. Or small-minded people who are afraid of things they can’t explain. But it’s not haunted. There aren’t any ghosts or anything like that. It’s just . . . opinionated. It always has been. It’s been in my family for generations. Just another weird Holloway quirk.” She tried to laugh it off, but Hunter could see she was afraid of what he would say. He suddenly saw the little girl she must have once been. Big eyes, hopeful, wanting so badly to be accepted. It made that place inside his chest ache again.
He laid a hand on her arm. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“I don’t know.” She focused on the dish towel in her hands, twisting it nervously. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I guess I just wanted you to believe in me.”
He couldn’t wait any longer. Hunter pulled her into his arms and a lightning-hot energy seemed to radiate outward, fusing them together. None of what he had just witnessed made logical sense, and he couldn’t care less. In this moment, with her in his arms, all he could do was believe.
He pushed her up against the counter and kissed her slowly, savoring the sweet taste of her, the softness of her skin, and the unbelievable feeling that everything with her felt so right.
The overhead lights in the kitchen dimmed and winked out as the back door swung open to let the puppy into the garden. Soft music began to play on the living room speakers and all the curtains in the downstairs windows drew quietly closed. It was odd, to be sure. But with Emma in his arms, Hunter just didn’t care.
* * *
Emma woke the next morning, feeling deliciously warm and floaty. Her skin felt flushed, her leg muscles shaky, and for several moments she kept her eyes closed and savored the complete sense of contentment that settled over her. It felt good to be alive. She yawned and snuggled deeper into her comforter, hovering on the edge of sleep. But sleep didn’t come. Something niggled at the back of her mind....
Crap! She sat bolt upright in bed, hand covering her mouth. Crappity crap crap.
She had sex with Hunter Kane.
Sex. She pulled the comforter up under her chin, eyes wide, toes curled.
With Hunter. She yanked the comforter over her head, but it didn’t help.
Visions of the night before began flipping through her mind like an erotic movie reel. Hunter’s torso flexing as she ran her hands over the smooth ridges of muscle. The slick glide of his tongue against her skin. The dark, sensual taste of him. His hands guiding her back against the counter. The weight and heat of him as he covered her body. His mouth. His mouth on her.
Emma had the sudden urge to fan herself because, holy heart attack. In all her adult life, she had only ever slept with one man, and it had never been anything like that. Last night she had acted like a lusty nympho, and he had been demandingly, deliciously game. This. This was what everyone talked about. The all-consuming sexy thing that made really bad decisions seem like good ones, in the moment.
She stood and walked over to the mirror above her dresser. Yep. There was no denying that some bad decisions were made last night. Her hair was the epitome of bird’s-nest chic, her lips looked swollen from all the kissing, and there was a faint mark at the base of her neck and another, lower on her stomach. A residual flutter of lust at the memory of Hunter licking his way down her body washed over her. For a few seconds, a goofy grin spread across her face, but she shut it down, fast.
Okay, okay, okay. She launched out of her bedroom, grabbed a towel from the hall closet, and strode to the shower. What the heck had she been thinking? She turned on the shower and immediately stepped in, gasping as cold water hit her in the face. Swearing, she adjusted the water nozzle. She hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. But it didn’t have to be a problem. Because she could totally handle this. A faint thrill shot through her. Whatever this was.
Shrugging, she poured vanilla shower gel into her hands, trying to mentally lessen the impact of what had happened between them. So they had sex. It wasn’t that big a deal. Normal people did this kind of thing all the time. Maybe not her, because she wasn’t super normal, but whatever. No big. She closed her eyes and massaged shampoo into her hair, practicing what she would say. What did a person say after something like this? How did you move on from it?
Hey, Hunter. Thanks for the ride, but this is where I get off. Sure, that would be awesome. If she were Rizzo from Grease.
Hi, Hunter. I’m a professional, so let’s get down to business. Straightforward. Nice. It worked in Pretty Woman. Then again, prostitute.
Hi, Hunter. What? Oh, I barely remember . . . Bingo. Sex amnesia. It could happen.
A soft smile played around Emma’s lips when she finally stepped out of the shower. The weirdest thing of all was that she didn’t truly regret it. Once she got over the initial shock, she rather liked the memories of what they’d done last night. Every reckless one. No matter what happened afterward, those memories were hers to keep. Even if he wasn’t.