George Winston’s Moon flowed from the speakers as Layla drove into Cannon Beach, laughing at Quin’s inexperience with vehicles. When he told her to park at Cinnia’s Café, Layla stopped laughing immediately, her stomach somersaulting.
“We don’t have to eat there,” Quin offered. “I can fix something to-go.”
The butterflies quieted. “Would you? I’m not ready to see anybody just yet. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he insisted. “We don’t want you to feel rushed. You’ll meet everyone when you’re ready.”
“Thanks.”
“You have to stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Thanking me for every tiny thing. I’d like to make this easier on you, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Your thank yous are unnecessary. So, what do you like to eat?”
“I’m not picky. Well, actually, I kind of am.”
“Most people are. How do sandwiches sound?”
“Good. I like turkey and mayonnaise.”
“Veggies?”
“Yes. And don’t forget my coffee.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Layla parked behind the café, and Quin shifted in his seat, scanning the air around her as he reached for the door handle. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
He stared for another twenty seconds then climbed from the car. When he disappeared around the wood-shingled corner of the café, Layla’s anxiety spiked. At first she had no idea why. Perhaps she was worried Banning would come outside to see her. But to stop there would be a lie, because her nerves, she realized with certainty, stemmed from Quin’s absence. She ached to see him again, and couldn’t look away from the café for more than three seconds. All her thoughts were of him—the way he looked, smelled and sounded, the things he said and the way he said them.
The enlightenment swelled her throat, squeezed her lungs, and moistened her eyes. She’d known Quin less than twenty-four hours, yet she yearned to make him a permanent fixture in her life. She felt he’d already claimed an everlasting position, but this wasn’t the case, which made her mouth dry and her palms sweaty. He could remove himself any moment; leave her with mere memories of the most amazing day of her life. He hadn’t even kissed her. What made her think she had a claim on him? He wasn’t hers to keep.
She drummed her fingernails on the steering wheel, trying to deny her feelings, but her unease grew as unwelcome questions charged her brain. What if he was only treating her kindly as a favor to her family? What if he planned to walk away as soon as he delivered her to her grandparents? What if she was nothing more than a task?
Blah! Her nostrils flared as she watched the café. She’d grown accustomed to taking care of herself and was rattled by the sudden and severe burst of need. What could she do about it? Walking away from him wasn’t an option. He was the only person who knew her now. He knew her better than she knew herself.
She laid her hands in her lap, staring down at her magical palms. In one afternoon her life had drastically changed and would never be the same again. She’d been reborn and was starting from scratch, and she didn’t want to face her new life alone. No matter how independent she’d been before, she needed someone now.
The passenger door opened, and she jolted, looking over as Quin slipped into the car. He was smiling, like he held an intriguing secret, but then he saw Layla’s expression.
“What’s wrong?” he soberly asked.
Normally she’d say nothing and change the subject, but he would know she was lying. Apparently the aura had its inconveniences as well as its perks. She looked at the haze of color surrounding him, which wasn’t swirling like before. It was idle save for slight waves of vibration.
The mist pulsed when he said her name. “Layla.”
“Yeah,” she answered, looking at her hands. “I’m fine. I . . . I was just thinking about how different everything is. I feel like a whole new person starting from scratch.”
“You’re still the same person you’ve always been,” he replied, “just with a little something extra.”
“I know. I’m okay, really. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“I’m sure,” he mumbled.
Layla could tell he wanted a better explanation, but he didn’t push for it. “Where’s the food?” she asked, pointing at the cups in his hands.
“Inside,” he answered, passing her coffee over. “I’ll summon it when we get where we’re going.”
Layla sipped then sighed. He’d added the perfect amount of cream and sugar. “Where are we going?”
“Do you want to go to the beach?” he asked. “You’d have a better view this time of day.”
“Um . . . Do you mind if we eat at the inn?”
“Not at all,” he agreed, so Layla started the car, driving two blocks south, then one block west.
It wasn’t until she parked that she remembered the inn was owned by Quin’s aunt. “Who will be working the desk?” she asked, trying to sound casual, but with little success.
“Dion,” he answered, watching her chew on her bottom lip, “the woman from last night.”
“Is Dion part of the coven?”
Quin reached out, touching her pout with his thumb, and it slid from her teeth, resting against his fingertip. “No,” he assured. “She’s part of a coven that lives northwest of our community—good friends of ours. But they don’t know anything about you or your past. With the exception of your dad’s family, that information has never left our coven.”
His touch soothed her more than his words, and it was his gaze that melted her muscles. “Oh,” was all she could say, because she’d forgotten what they were talking about.
Her stomach growled, and Quin smiled as he dropped his hand. Layla watched him exit the car. Then she shook her head clear and followed suit.
To Layla’s relief, Dion was on the phone and merely waved as they walked through the lobby. As soon as they reached Layla’s room, she bee-lined for the bathroom, barely excusing herself with an inaudible mumble.
Quin smiled at her modesty as he walked to a table by the window, taking two plates from his bag and setting them side by side. When Layla returned, he pulled her chair out, waiting for her to sit before doing the same.
“You don’t need to go?” she asked, pointing toward the bathroom.
“I went at the café,” he answered.
“Oh. Just making sure there isn’t a spell for that.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Nope, nothing like that. But our willpower reaches higher levels than normal, so we can delay physical needs longer than non-magical people.” He glanced at the empty plates. “Ready to eat?”
“If I had food,” she teased.
He stared at her smile for a moment then cleared his throat. “Right, we need food. It’s a hassle to pack and carry it everywhere, so we usually prepare it ahead of time then summon it.”
“So there are sandwiches sitting at the café, waiting to be summoned?”
“Yes. I fixed them when I was there. And when I say fixed, I mean I put them together using magic. We can take a raw turkey and prepare it however we want in seconds, no appliances needed. Anyway, I made the sandwiches then performed a spell to preserve them until we’re ready to eat.” He held his hand over her plate, and a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomatoes and mayonnaise appeared. When he covered his own plate, a roast beef sandwich materialized.
“You make it look so easy,” she whispered.
“I’ve had twenty-two years of practice,” he noted.
Her posture sagged, and Quin’s straightened. “What’s up?” he asked, sweeping her hair behind her shoulder.
“Is it going to take me twenty years to learn what you know?”
“No,” he assured. “You’ll catch up in no time.”
She wasn’t convinced, so he elaborated. “A child’s magic is weak because they don’t posses the same amount of patience and focus adults do. You’re going to be able to skip most of the steps I took in my magical education.”
This soothed her, so she picked up her sandwich, waiting for him to look away before taking a bite. He smiled, concentrating on his food in an effort not to watch her eat, and within ten minutes they were done.
“Do they do something magical to the food and coffee at Cinnia’s?” she asked, watching him magically clean the dishes.
He shook his head as he returned their plates to his bag. “Besides the way it’s prepared, no.”
“It’s really good,” she noted, “better than normal.”
“Cinnia perfected the process of selecting and brewing good coffee beans years ago, so her coffee’s everyone’s favorite. As for the food, it’s as good at home. We always use fresh ingredients, and our gift helps us prepare them flawlessly.”
“I see.”
“But the smells are magical,” he added. “Our food preparation doesn’t generate the usual aromas, so they use magic to make the dining room smell appropriate.”
“That’s not fair,” Layla humorously objected. “They’re not giving people the chance to refuse their product. When I smelled the place, I was tempted to jump over the counter for a cup of coffee.”
Quin laughed, shifting in his chair to face her. “I guess it’s working.”
“To say the least. That could be dangerous if they get another coffee addict like me in there.”
“I’ll have to warn them,” he replied, taking her hands.
She looked at their entwined fingers, and Quin yearned to know what she was thinking. But even her silence, though unfamiliar and unnecessary, captivated him.
“What would you like to do now?” he asked.
“Hmm . . .” Layla hummed, quickly pushing the option of meeting her family to the back burner. So far her day had been stressful, but amazing and magical. She worried the magic would slip into the background once she came face to face with her past.
She found Quin’s eyes, and by the dim light of the wall sconce they looked black, but they weren’t frightening. They were warm and tender. As Layla stared at them, she realized her fear of watching Quin slip into the background outweighed her worry over magic.
“May I try some more magic?” she asked.
“Sure,” he agreed, pulling her with him as he stood, “but we’ll have to keep it mellow. We don’t want to disturb the other guests.” He led her to the side of the bed then he tossed the pale blue comforter aside, pulled back the sheet, and threw a pillow on top of the blankets. “This is a good example of how our gift makes everyday life easier. Most people make their beds, but we can do it in seconds without any physical work. Would you like to try?”
“Yes,” she answered. “How do I do it?”
“It’s the same theory I explained earlier. You have to visualize the result you want then realize it happening. I’ll tell you the steps to take, but then I’m going to stand back and let you do it on your own.”
“Why?”
“Because explaining as you go will distract you.”
“Oh, okay.”
“First, you’ll close your eyes and get a good mental picture of the bed made the way you want it. Then you’ll keep that image active while looking at the unmade bed. Theoretically you’ll have two outlooks at that point—what you want and what is. Your goal is to take what is and mentally rearrange it into what you want. It will help to use your hands on this. If you want that pillow by the headboard, imagine it happening while using this motion.” He swept his hand to the right, and the pillow floated to the headboard. His hand returned to the left, and the pillow followed, softly landing on the heap of covers. “Don’t be embarrassed about your movements. They can feel awkward, but they really do help.”
Layla nodded, and he swept her hair behind her shoulders. “Remember everything?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be able to do it.”
“I think you’ll do fine, but don’t get discouraged if it doesn’t work. We have all afternoon to practice.”
Layla couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do than spend the day making magic with him. “Okay,” she agreed, pushing her shoulder back, and he smiled as he stepped away.
Layla watched him for a moment then turned toward the bed, examining the sheets, pillows and comforter. Once she’d memorized the details, she closed her eyes, but instead of conjuring the image of the already made bed, she recalled the messy one. Her mind’s eye looked closely, making sure the details were perfect. Then she imagined the steps she would take to put everything where it belonged. Once the bed was in ideal order, she held tight to the image and opened her eyes, determined to make it a reality. But the bed was already made!
She spun around. “Why didn’t you let me do it?”
Quin laughed and pointed at the bed. “You did do that.”
“But I . . . I didn’t do anything.”
“What did you think about when your eyes were closed?”
“I did what you told me . . .” She trailed off, realizing that was a lie. “Well, no, I guess I didn’t. I imagined the messy bed. Then I made it in my head.”
“That’s amazing, Layla. You just performed magic a lot of practiced magicians have a hard time doing. When you saw the bed making itself, that’s exactly what I saw. You did that without any movement at all.”
Layla looked at the perfectly made bed, proud she’d succeeded, but disappointed she’d missed it. It didn’t seem real. “I wanted to see it,” she pouted, feeling ungrateful.
“Okay,” he said, waving a hand, and the blankets pulled back, wrinkling once more. “Try it again, but leave your eyes open. It will be harder to imagine it clearly, but I have no doubt you’ll succeed.”
He stepped away, and Layla faced the bed, staring at the pillow that was two feet from where it should be. She imagined it rising, but it lay idle. She tried again. Nothing. She huffed and aimed her right palm at the stubborn pillow, imagining it rising as she slowly lifted her hand. The cushion wiggled then jerked into the air, and Layla grinned, softly squealing as she flipped her hand to the right. The pillow zoomed two feet, hit the headboard then fell into place.
Layla giggled, beyond elated. She would have jumped for joy had the mere idea not ignited her cheeks. Instead, she went on with her task, and within twenty seconds the bed was in perfect order.
Layla stared at her accomplishment through happy tears, a smile frozen on her face.
“See?” Quin said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You’re a natural.”
She looked up at him then buried her face in his chest. “I can’t quit smiling.”
“Good,” he whispered, wrapping her in a hug. “I like your smile.”
She flashed it at him. “May we do some more?”
“We can do whatever you want,” he agreed, sweeping her hair from her flushed face, any excuse to touch her, to capture the exhilarating energy bursting through her forgotten armor, to absorb a small yet astounding piece of a woman unlike any other. A small moment with her was worth a million moments with anyone else, and he would steal them as often as possible.