Barely visible through a looming canopy of branches, the cloudy sky shed little light on the rural road Quin led Layla to. She flipped on her headlights then glanced at him, deciding by his posture that he was uncomfortable riding with her.
“You could have driven,” she offered.
He stared at her for a long time before responding. “I don’t know how to drive.”
“What?” she blurted.
“I don’t know how to drive,” he repeated.
Layla considered this, realizing she hadn’t seen his car, nor had he mentioned one. So how had he gotten home the night before? Unless he stayed at the inn. But he wore different clothes—olive green shorts instead of brown, and his white t-shirt looked freshly laundered. His flip-flops were the same—dark brown and comfortable.
“How do you get around?” she asked.
“I walk a lot.”
“Apparently. But how do you travel long distances?”
He didn’t answer. He just stared at her for what seemed like ages.
“Take your next right,” he instructed, breaking the heavy silence.
She slowed then turned onto a narrow road lined with giant Sitka spruces.
“Keep going on here until you hit a dead end,” he added.
She threw him a tentative glance. “Did our conversation hit a dead end?”
“No. There are a lot of things I want to tell you, just not while we’re driving.”
“Does my driving scare you?”
“No,” he laughed, “but I want you to be able to look at me when I tell you.”
“Oh.” That made perfect sense. “So where is it we’re going?”
“It’s a clearing,” he answered. “There are dozens like it around here, many of them right off the highway, but this one’s off the beaten path and undiscovered by tourists.”
They were definitely off the beaten path, Layla thought, turning her car around at the dead end. She cut the engine and tossed her keys in her backpack, looking over to find Quin’s jaw set.
“You okay?” she asked.
He wasn’t. He was a mess of nerves and guilt. Nerves, because a lot of people were counting on him to do this right. And guilt, because he wasn’t giving her a way to escape if he did it wrong. She’d have a hard time finding her way back from the clearing without his help.
He forced himself to relax, offering a somewhat dishonest answer. “I’m worried you won’t like hiking without a trail.” He paused, lips twitching into a smile. “I could carry you again.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she refused, a grin curving from one red cheek to the other. “I’m pretty good at navigating the ground when I have shoes on.”
Quin had no doubt. She was extremely graceful. And why wouldn’t she be? That was one part of being a witch that needed no training. He tore his gaze from her face and removed his flip-flops, slipping them into his bag.
“Why do you do that?” she asked.
“I’d rather walk on earth than shoes,” he answered, watching her gather her hair into a ponytail. “Why do you put your hair up?”
“It will get tangled if I leave it down.”
“Hmm . . .” he mumbled, resisting the temptation to touch the contained spirals. “Are you ready?”
She looked him over, stomach fluttering like mad. “Yeah.”
Navigating bulging roots, overgrown brush, and reaching tree limbs, Layla proved to be the lithest witch Quin had ever seen. If his stride hadn’t been longer than hers, he would have had a difficult time keeping up. Considering her parentage, her astounding grace didn’t surprise him, but it did captivate him.
“These trees are insane,” she said, tilting her head back. “It’s like looking up the side of a skyscraper.”
Quin followed her gaze to the treetops. “They’re wonderful.”
“Yes,” Layla agreed, skirting a small patch of yellow wildflowers. Then she sidestepped to avoid a cluster of shelf fungi protruding from a lichen covered tree trunk. She wrinkled her nose at the bright orange conks then glanced at Quin, blushing when she found his eyes.
“So,” she mumbled, quickly looking away, “is Karena your only aunt?”
“No. I have two. Karena’s my dad’s sister, and my mom has a sister in Alaska. But I also have a great aunt.”
“Close by?”
“Very close. My dad’s entire family lives within five acres of each other.”
“How many are there?”
“Sixteen.”
Layla stumbled to a standstill. “You live within five acres of sixteen family members?”
“Yes,” he confessed, carefully gauging her reaction.
“Wow,” she breathed. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
Quin took her hand, compelling her to walk. “It’s nice. If you need something, there’s always someone around to help. Another family shares the property with us, and we’re as close to them as we are each other. You’ve met a few of them.”
Her forehead wrinkled, so he elaborated. “Brietta and Banning are the youngest of them—brother and sister. There are six others.”
“You share land with twenty-four people?” Layla asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
She suddenly halted, narrowing her eyes on him. “You’re not part of a cult, are you?”
“No,” he laughed, once again urging her forward.
“Is it a religious group?” she pressed.
“No,” he assured, “just two families who get along well enough to share land. Do you have a religious affiliation?”
“No,” she replied, adamantly shaking her head. “I mean, I’ve been to church a few times, but organized religion isn’t for me. Too much fire and brimstone. I say, as long as you’re not hurting people, live how you want to live. Not a popular slogan in the Bible belt. Oklahoma’s conservatives are glad to be rid of me.”
“It’s a good slogan,” he commended, looking forward. “We’re here.”
Layla raised her gaze as they stepped into a small clearing divided in two by a bubbling stream. Springing from a cluster of rocks capping a plant covered escarpment, the water cascaded down slick moss then trickled across the clearing, disappearing into the dark crevices of a cracked boulder.
Layla stood silent and still, opening her senses to the water and birdsong as she watched misty beams of cloudy light flood the forest floor. “It’s fantastic,” she approved, smiling at her guide. “Very peaceful.”
“That’s one reason why I like it,” he said, digging into his bag. Then he pointed toward a large boulder shaped like a jelly bean, its concaved side conveniently facing the water. “Do you want to sit?”
Layla scanned the thick, green moss carpeting the ground. “Isn’t it wet?”
“Yes,” Quin confirmed, pulling a compact raincoat from a small plastic pouch. “But I knew that.”
“Hmm . . .” Layla smirked, watching him drape the thin plastic over the moss. “Do you always carry a brand new raincoat in your bag?”
“No. I usually get wet.”
“How do you keep from freezing?”
He straightened, blatantly staring as she pulled the elastic band from her hair. Then he sat, nestling his back into the boulder’s arch. “It’s a trick I learned as a child,” he answered, patting the plastic to his left.
“That’s all I get?” she objected, sitting next to him.
He flashed a smile as he took her hand. “For now.”
Layla laughed as she looked at the creek. “So what else do you like about this place? Besides its peacefulness.”
“Pretty much everything,” he answered, playing with her fingers as he looked around. “Its undisturbed vegetation tops the list, along with its size and seclusion. With so much natural beauty packed into such a tiny space, you’re guaranteed an entrancing view.” He paused, looking from the waterfall to her face. “I like that you like it.”
Layla’s cheeks grew hot, so she dropped her gaze and fidgeted with a lost leaf. Quin remained silent, still playing with her fingers. Then he took her wrist and raised it in the air.
Layla looked over, finding him examining her hand. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Admiring your hands,” he answered.
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s kind of weird.”
“Why?” he returned. “They’re nice to look at.”
She skeptically searched her hand, looking for nice features. “They’re okay,” she decided, “now that I can wear my nails long.”
“Why couldn’t you wear them long before?”
Damn. Layla should have anticipated the question; he was so damn thorough. But she hadn’t; now she was stuck. Unnerved and pressured by his continuous stare, she looked away, anxiously rubbing the side of her neck as she watched a bird hop from branch to branch. She’d never told the story to anyone and wasn’t sure she could get through it without making a blubbering fool of herself.
“You don’t want to talk about it,” Quin concluded.
Layla swallowed, blinking back dreaded moisture. “I . . . I’m not sure how.”
“Because it’s sad?”
She nodded, still looking away.
“You don’t want me to see you cry,” he realized.
Layla smirked and looked forward, glad the move didn’t jar any tears loose. “Isn’t that kind of a buzzkill?”
“Maybe to some,” he conceded, “but I ask questions because I want to know you. Why would I fault you for giving me the honor?”
Despite his assurance, Layla didn’t want to bawl in front of him, so she took a deep breath before finding his eyes. “I kept my nails short for my mom. She had a stroke the year I graduated high school, and I don’t have a dad or siblings or anything, so I took care of her. Until she died… about two months ago.” She turned away, wiping her eyes before looking back. “See? Buzzkill…” Her voice trailed off as Quin’s forefinger touched her lips.
“No,” he countered, lowering his hand. “You made a difficult sacrifice for someone you love—a choice worthy of admiration and respect. I’m sorry you faced such tragedy alone. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt.”
“It hurt like hell,” she mumbled, licking her tingling pout. Then she cleared her throat and looked at the water. “But life goes on, right? I was a zombie when she was sick, and I got even worse when she died. It took two very good friends to make me realize I hadn’t died with her.”
“I’m glad you had them.”
“Me, too,” she agreed, picking up a twig and twirling it through her fingers. “They’re the reason I’m getting a guided tour of Oregon from a good-looking guy.”
“You think I’m good-looking?” he asked.
“Like you didn’t know,” she smirked.
“I hoped,” he confessed, “but I didn’t know.”
Layla raised an eyebrow then shrugged. No point in denying the obvious. “I doubt there’s a woman out there who wouldn’t think you’re gorgeous, Quin.”
“You’re not like other women, Layla.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I don’t think; I know.”
“Yet you claim not to know I find you good-looking.”
“That’s just one reason why you’re different,” he explained. “It’s obvious when other women find me attractive. With you, I can’t be so sure.”
“Just mildly sure,” she returned, knowing her attraction hadn’t gone unnoticed. Maybe she didn’t throw herself at him like other women, but there was no way he hadn’t figured out why she blushed every time he spoke.
“Sure,” he confessed with a grin.
“I’m not a mystery, Quin. I can’t help but be obvious.”
“Why do you try so hard to avoid it?”
“Why does anyone?”
“Nice sidestep,” he noted, dimples deepening.
She puckered and looked at her twig. “You’re not the most obvious person either.”
He’d been rubbing his thumb over her fingernails, but suddenly stopped, silently watching her for several seconds. Then he laid her palm on his warm knee, covering it with his warm hand. “What do you want to know?” he offered.
Layla boldly met his stare, determined to take advantage. “Do you treat everyone the way you treat me?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Are you always this polite and vocal about your feelings?”
“I like to think so.”
“Then why aren’t you married?”
“What?” he laughed.
Layla’s gaze remained level as she elaborated. “A polite, good-looking guy who openly expresses how he feels. It reads like a fantasy personal add. I bet there are unattractive jerks everywhere using that line as we speak. So tell me,” she insisted, wiggling her hand under his, “why isn’t there a ring on your finger?”
He stared at his hand for a moment then found her eyes. “The women I’ve been with were great, but not what I was looking for.”
“Really,” she dryly replied. “Within two hours of meeting you, you introduced me to two incredibly beautiful women. I’m going to assume there are more. So what are you waiting for, your soul mate?”
“No,” he casually answered. “I’ll probably never meet her.”
“You think she’s out there?”
“Yes.”
“You’re serious,” Layla realized. “You believe in soul mates.”
“Yes,” he confessed, “but not everyone’s destined to find theirs. With work and forgiveness, the love between two people who aren’t soul mates can be nearly as beautiful and just as fulfilling.” He paused, watching her incredulous expression. “I guess you don’t believe.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that.”
Quin could feel it coming—the perfect intro to an unusual subject. “There are a lot of things people don’t see,” he pointed out. “That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
“But that’s like saying anything’s possible,” she argued.
Quin’s heart skipped a few beats, his free hand flexing as nerves erupted, twitching his entire body. Everything was riding on how he handled the next few minutes. “So you need proof to believe in something,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual, but his anxiety was at an all time high.
Layla thought for a moment then nodded. “Yeah. In order for me to say I honestly believe in something, I need proof. I could consider a theory, and find it plausible, but that doesn’t equal belief.”
“So if I told you I have a pair of jeans at home,” he teased, trying to ease his tension, “you wouldn’t believe me?”
“Very funny,” she laughed, “and completely off subject. Now, if you tell me there’s a purple alien staying in your guestroom, we’ll be back on track.”
“I don’t believe in purple aliens,” he countered.
Layla tilted her head. “How can you believe in one and not the other?”
“You believe I have jeans, yet you dismiss soul mates.”
“I’ve seen jeans, so I know they exist.”
“So it’s definite. For you, seeing is believing.”
“I would have to say, yes, it’s definite.” She paused, chewing her lip as she looked down. “That doesn’t mean I’m not open to ideas. I like to hear theories and form opinions. I just can’t support them without proof, and I won’t change my desired lifestyle based on blind faith.”
“I think that’s a strong and honest point of view,” he commended.
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s stubborn and contrary.” She stopped spinning her twig and looked him in the eye. “What else do you believe in?”
He hesitated, terrified to come right out and say it. “A lot of things. There are a lot of secrets out there.”
“But no purple aliens,” she added.
“Not that I’m aware of,” he confirmed.
She laughed and shook her head. “Okay. So what is out there?”
She’d done it again. She’d given him the perfect intro. After a deep breath, he took the plunge. “How do you feel about magic?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you believe in magic?” he rephrased, barely breathing as he searched everything about her—face, posture, hands, the air around her.
“Are you asking if I believe magicians really do possess miraculous power?” she asked.
“No,” he clarified. “I’m not talking about sleight of hand or smoke and mirrors, which is what you see at public magic shows. I’m talking about real magic. The kind the public doesn’t see.”
“You’re forgetting,” she replied, “I need to see to believe.”
“Right,” he mumbled.
“Do you believe?” she asked.
Quin maintained sober eye contact as he answered. “I do.”
“Hmm…” she mumbled, curiously searching his gaze. Then she shrugged. “I guess that’s no different than believing in soul mates, and since we can’t prove each other wrong, it’s a moot point.”
Quin took a moment to memorize her smile before risking it. “What if I told you I could prove it?”
Her lips dropped as her forehead furrowed. “I guess I’d ask you how.”
Quin filled his lungs then scooted around, sitting cross-legged in front of her. She pulled her knees from her chest, crossing her legs as well, and he took her twig, tossing it aside so he could have her hands.
“Layla,” he breathed, meeting her stare, “I’m not like most people.”
“I know,” she smirked.
“That’s not what I mean,” he continued. “I’m saying I can do things other people can’t.”
She tilted her head, biting her lip as she watched his eyes. “Like what?”
“A lot of things,” he answered, tightening his hold on her hands. He couldn’t help himself. It took a great deal of restraint not to grip her like his life depended on it.
“Like what?” she urged.
Quin sighed and got it over with. “Like magic, Layla.”
Stunned, confused and torn between laughing and backing away, Layla had to make sure she’d heard correctly. “Magic?”
“Yes,” Quin confirmed.
“You’re joking,” she assumed.
“No,” he insisted. “I’m very serious.”
“Magic,” she repeated, at a loss for something useful to say.
Quin nodded, and Layla continued to stare, unable to make heads or tails of his confession. Oh god. He was crazy. She was in the middle of nowhere with a crazy person.
Quin shifted, his fingers flexing around hers. “What are you thinking, Layla?”
“That you’re crazy,” she snapped, agitated by the whole damn situation. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering how to handle the handsome nutcase. Then she smoothed her ruffled feathers and looked back. “I’m sorry. That was mean. But . . . well, are you?”
“Am I what?”
Crazy, she thought. “Unwell,” she answered. “Do you take meds and visit with doctors about your . . . magic?”
Quin smiled and shook his head. “I’m not crazy, Layla. I’m telling the truth. I can perform genuine magic.”
Apprehensive about playing along, Layla looked down, weighing her options. She hated the thought of blowing him off—returning him to the café before walking away forever. But she couldn’t sweep the subject under the rug and pretend his delusional behavior was normal.
“So,” she whispered, trying to remain sympathetic despite her disappointment, “what kind of things can you do?”
“Just about anything,” he answered, relaxing his grip. “Do you want me to tell you or show you?”
She raised an eyebrow, wondering how far he would take it. “Both.”
“Okay, but don’t let it scare you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Okay,” she hesitantly agreed.
“Hand me that twig you were spinning,” he instructed, releasing one of her hands.
Layla reached out, blindly finding the twig and handing it over.
“Don’t be frightened,” he pressed, softly kissing her hand. Then he placed it in her lap.
Layla touched her tingling knuckles, her heart and cheeks flooding with warmth. Damn. Why’d he have to be crazy?
Quin held out a hand, and the small stick lay idle in his large palm. “I can make this twig do pretty much anything I want without touching it.”
“Show me,” she insisted.
Keeping his gaze on her face, he took a deep breath and pointed at the twig, which floated into the air! Layla gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth, and the stick fell to Quin’s palm.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“How did you do that?” she demanded.
“Magic,” he answered.
She shook her head, unable to find her lungs. “This is a joke. This has to be a joke.”
“No,” he countered, “it’s magic.”
The hair at the nape of Layla’s neck stood on end, her eyes moistened, and her chest tightened. “Do it again.”
“The same thing or something different?”
“The same thing.”
Like before, he stared at her and she stared at the twig, watching it float from his palm. When it stopped and hovered, she leaned forward, slowly running her fingers along every side. There was nothing holding it there!
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “It’s impossible.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” she blurted, bewildered and mystified, but unafraid and itchy with anticipation. “It’s exciting. What else can it do?”
He grinned, a huge sigh deflating his chest. “What do you want it to do?”
“I don’t know. Make it spin around or something.”
As soon as she made the suggestion, the stick began rotating, each turn faster than its predecessor until it was a blur. When it stopped, it flipped upright, floating to eye level. Then one inch cracks split along the top and bottom. As the bottom pieces formed an upside down V, the top pieces formed a tiny heart. Then two thin strips of bark, one on the left and one on the right, slowly peeled away from the wood, stopping once they hung by a thread from the base of the heart.
Layla gasped, discerning a tiny stickman with two legs, flexible arms, and a heart shaped head. “That’s amazing,” she breathed, watching the earthen creature wave and bow.
“Hold out your hand,” Quin instructed.
Layla eagerly obeyed, and the twig man hopped to the moss, picked a yellow wildflower then jumped into her palm. She barely felt the pressure of his miniscule feet as he stepped forward, raising the flower toward her face, but tingles slithered from her hand to her spine, reaffirming his magical presence.
Layla leaned in, smelling his offering. Then she grinned at Quin, finding deep dimples and twinkling eyes.