A Stroke Of Magic Page 3

  Chloe pulled a chair out next to me and sat down. “Well, there is that, but my skin is tingling.” She shoved her arm in front of me. “See? Goose bumps. I always get them when I’m on to something like this. Just the other day, one of my customers told me about how she thought she saw a ghost, and the same thing happened. Goose bumps everywhere.”

  “Sweetie, that’s just your body giving you a physical reaction to something you’re excited about,” I told her. Someone had to keep Chloe’s feet on the ground. Witches weren’t real. Not the magic-producing, twitchy-nosed kind like in Bewitched.

  “What’s Troy’s mother’s name?” Chloe asked.

  I’d never met her, but he’d talked about her here and there when were together. “It’s Beatrice. Beatrice Bellamy.”

  “Is she local?” Chloe pushed.

  “I think so, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “Where’s your phone book?”

  “You are not going to call her and ask her if she’s a witch, Chloe!”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s not like she’d tell some stranger on the phone. I just want to see if she’s listed. So, where is it?”

  Sighing, I stood. “I’ll get it.” After grabbing the phone book from the living room, I returned to the dining room and plopped it down in front of my friend, troublemaker that she was.

  “What’s his dad’s name?”

  “I don’t know. He never talked about his father.”

  She flipped through pages until she found the Bs, and then ran her white-tipped fingernail down the list of names. “Wow, there’s lots of Bellamys but no Beatrice.”

  “Maybe she’s unlisted. Or maybe I’m wrong and she doesn’t live around here.”

  Sliding the phone book my way, she said, “You still haven’t been able to get a hold of Troy?”

  I shook my head. Against my sister’s advice, I’d attempted to reach Troy several times over the past month. Because, jerk or not, I felt he had the right to know about the baby. Only none of his numbers were still in service. I’d even checked the health club he’d worked at when we dated, only to find he was no longer an employee. They had no idea where he was, or if they did, they weren’t telling me. So, as of now anyway, he didn’t have a clue I was pregnant. Maybe good, maybe bad. But at least I’d tried. “I don’t know where else to look for him.”

  “I’ll do some checking around. About him and his mother. If she’s really a witch, someone I know will know of her.”

  “You don’t seriously think this is a possibility, do you?” I asked.

  “Like I said before, anything is possible. Even this. And come on, how cool would it be to have a witch in the family?”

  “Your idea of cool doesn’t quite mesh with mine. And even if this is more than a far-fetched thought, it still doesn’t explain my weird dreams.”

  “That might be one thing your doctor is right about. Maybe the woman is you, Alice. You’ve gone through a lot of stuff lately. Most of the time, dreams are all about our subconscious worries, fears, and fantasies. You know that.”

  Weird, but for some reason, it was far easier for me to write off the other, more tangible things to imagination and hormones. But the dreams were just too real, in every way. It was hard to let go of that. This woman? She wanted to tell me something. I’d never been surer of anything in my life. “My gut says it’s more than that, but you could be right,” I ceded.

  “Time will tell.” Chloe squeezed my hand. “I’m going to take off. I want to find out more about Beatrice Bellamy, and I think I know where to start.” Rising from her chair, she almost bounced to my front door. “I’ll call if I learn anything.”

  I’d known Chloe long enough to realize that once the twilight zone portion of her brain is engaged, there’s no pulling her away from something. “Okay. We’re still on for Wednesday next week, right?”

  “Absolutely. My treat, since it’s your birthday. And maybe I’ll have some answers for you by then.”

  After she left, I rubbed my belly and thought again about Troy and that day he’d been at my place. He’d been so insistent that either I or my sister had cast a spell on him to make him sick. That was the reason he’d paid me back. Somehow, he’d had it in his head that once he did, the pain in his stomach would dissipate.

  Troy was most definitely a liar. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. But that didn’t mean he’d lied about everything. So maybe this thing about his mother was the truth—at least as far as he believed.

  Hell. Did witches, real witches, exist? I glanced at the door Chloe had exited through and hoped, really, truly hoped, she’d discover something to disprove the notion. Because, in all seriousness, the thought of raising a baby with magic in his or her bloodline freaked me out more than anything else possibly could. My new motto in life was all about control. And come on: there was absolutely nothing I could control about this. If it proved to be true.

  Pushing the situation out of my mind, I made my way to my desk. A few hours of work on the Kendall account would certainly bring things into better perspective. After all, that was one thing I could control.

  As to the rest? I’d just have to wait and see.

  The telltale shuffle of my coworkers walking toward the elevator clued me in that it was time for lunch. I felt like the odd girl out. It wasn’t that the people at Enchanted Expressions weren’t nice. They were; they just didn’t think to include me in any of their out-of-the-office activities.

  Usually this sort of thing didn’t bother me. But today, for whatever reason, a hint of disappointment settled in when I was once again alone in the office I shared with two others. I shrugged it off. So it would be a working lunch. No big deal. Opening my sketchbook, I decided to flesh out some of my ideas for the Frosty’s Ice Cream Shoppe account.

  The ice cream counter went in first, with a line of stools in front. Behind the counter, I added a couple of employees and the large menu that hung on the wall. My hand moved quickly, the pencil making that swoosh sound I’d always loved, and I didn’t stop to think about the image emerging: I just wanted a rough sketch to begin with. The tables went in next. One by one, I filled the chairs with people spending time together, enjoying ice cream.

  Everything around me disappeared as I worked. Creative energy flowed from me to the pencil to the page, my hand in perfect harmony with my mental vision. While this feeling wasn’t completely unusual, it hadn’t occurred in far too long—since before the drastic change in my life, and never at Enchanted Expressions. On many occasions in the past, I’d begun a painting or a sketch and hours had disappeared without me being truly aware of it. When I looked at my work later, I’d remember every stroke I made with brush or the pencil, but the process itself was pure magic. Coming out of this trance was like waking up slowly from an afternoon siesta, without any outside intrusions.

  In other words, pure heaven.

  Not this time. A series of shivers erupted over my body, as if someone had dumped a bucket of freezing water down my back. Startled, I dropped my pencil and waited for the effects to subside, lifted my chin and glanced at the vent high on the wall. They must have fixed the AC, which was good, because summer was not that far off. Still, I made a mental note to grab my sweater from my car.

  Cracking my neck first to the left and then to the right, I appraised my nearly complete drawing. Definitely rough, it also had the air I’d been aiming for: celebration, fun, family, and friends. The center table showed a family of four sharing a huge sundae. Around them were other families, a group of kids in baseball uniforms celebrating their win, and a young couple sharing a malt while staring romantically into each other’s eyes. Very Norman Rockwell. I liked it.

  Thinking I’d grab some lunch before sketching in the finer details, I pushed my chair out from my desk. Ethan appeared, though. My office was large, but with three easels, three desks, three computers—each with two monitors, along with various other paraphernalia, plus the dividers separating the work spaces—there wasn’t that
much elbow space left over. And Ethan was a tall guy, so as soon as he entered, even that minuscule space seemed to diminish.

  As did my ability to breathe. Forcing a smile in greeting, I reminded myself to stay calm. To act professionally, to not show how much his presence affected me.

  “Have plans for lunch, Alice?” he asked in his sultry Irish brogue.

  Friday was casual day, and he’d chosen to wear black jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt. His tan, muscular arms caught my attention, and I had to admit once again that, boss or not, Ethan Gallagher was one hunk of a man. “Um. No. Why?”

  “I’m heading out now. I thought you might want to join me.”

  “For what?” I asked, then realized quite suddenly that I was staring at his chin. How had I never noticed the cleft before?

  “Lunch. It’s a meal between breakfast and dinner. Surely you’ve heard of it,” he teased.

  “Lunch. Uh-huh.” And the jaw itself? Strong. Angular. My hands itched to touch it, to draw it.

  He must have noticed my gaze was not directed at his eyes, because he rubbed his chin. “Do I have something there?” he asked.

  “Hmm? Oh. No. Sorry.”

  He didn’t say anything, just stood there watching me with an inquisitive, teasing expression. As if he had a secret he couldn’t wait to share. Finally, I said, “Um, did you need something?”

  “I asked you to lunch, if you’d like to go,” he reminded me.

  “Oh. Sure.” My stomach flip-flopped. “When?”

  He laughed. “Now. Is this a good moment for you to step away?”

  I hesitated. Ethan got under my skin, and I didn’t completely understand why. Sure, he was sexy in a Remington Steele sort of way, but I was pregnant. No man anywhere should be getting to me at this juncture of my life. So, spending an hour with him alone made me more than a little nervous. But I couldn’t exactly say no to my boss, now could I?

  “It’s fine,” I mumbled. “I just need a minute and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “I’ll meet you in the lobby then. Sound good?”

  I nodded in agreement just as his gaze caught the sketch I’d been working on. “Hey, that looks pretty good.” He bent over to get a closer view, and as he did, the clean, fresh scent of his cologne wrapped around me. “Is that us?”

  “What?” I so wanted a bottle of whatever he was wearing.

  He pointed with his index finger to the couple sipping the malt. “I know it’s rough, but that looks a lot like you and me.”

  “Don’t be silly. Why would I draw us as a couple?”

  Straightening, he winked at me. “I don’t know, but the likeness is uncanny. Take another look.”

  I leaned over, all ready to point out the myriad differences between my hurriedly sketched figures and us, but as my eyes took in the drawing, I gasped. The profiles of the man and woman were, indeed, eerily familiar. Why had I done that? I certainly hadn’t done it on purpose. Heat tickled my cheeks, and I said, “There’s not enough detail to tell.”

  “Actually, I was thinking they had more detail than any of the other people in the shop.”

  The tickle of embarrassment turned into a blast. I imagined flames shooting out from my cheeks; they were that hot. And since a person should change the subject when there’s no hope of the floor opening up to suck her away, I did. “Lunch?”

  “Of course. I’ll meet you downstairs.” He turned to leave, saying over his shoulder, “I think it’s cute. That you put us in the picture.”

  Cute? More like freaky. Did the fact that I’d coupled myself with him in pencil mean I harbored fantasies I hadn’t fully admitted to myself? Or was it yet another sign of hormones gone wild? Hell if I knew, and I didn’t have time to figure it out. Tucking the picture away in a drawer, so no one else would see it, I went to meet Ethan.

  First, though, I stopped in the restroom to check my appearance. I was pleased to see I looked mostly okay. Except for my shirt. I’d been in a hurry that morning and grabbed the first clean one I’d come across that fit. Soon I’d have to give in and go buy maternity clothes. Not something I looked forward to.

  I tugged at the drab olive green blouse. The cut and style suited me well enough, but the color did nothing for my skin tone. Primary hues were best. Blue, especially. If I had to go to lunch with someone as dashingly sexy as Ethan, it’d be nice to feel confident.

  “I wish you were blue, you ugly green shirt,” I said as I turned on the faucet.

  A long, rolling tremble began at my toes and inched its way up my body. I grasped the edge of the counter to steady myself and inhaled. The walls closed in and, for a minute, the entire room swirled around me. I thought I might faint. I bent over and splashed my face with cold water, which helped. After another minute passed, everything settled and I took another shaky breath.

  I didn’t get, at first, what had happened. Seeing as I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, I assumed my body wanted some calories, and that was that. But after I dried my face off, when I turned to leave the restroom I caught sight of my reflection out of the corner of my eye and stopped. I forced the air out of my lungs and then back in. I wanted to freak, truly I did, but I think I was in shock.

  Holy shit.

  Turning orange juice into grape had apparently been too difficult, but somehow, changing the color of my blouse wasn’t? Again I tugged at my shirt, now a bright peacock blue. Seriously, the fabric itself had changed color. How was that even remotely possible?

  Most women would probably think this was cool, but not me. I preferred ginger ale to stay ginger ale and green garments to stay green. Besides, I was about to meet Ethan, and he’d just seen me, so unless he was color-blind, he’d notice. How the hell would I explain a chameleonic shirt?

  My mind jumped around all the possible things I could say, and nothing I came up with seemed realistic. If I wished it blue, maybe I could wish it back? “I wish this shirt was its original color,” I whispered. Nothing happened, so I tried again. “Please, please, please be green.”

  Zip. Zilch. Nada.

  With shaking hands, I whisked out my cell phone and dialed Chloe. Only she didn’t answer. Maybe I’d just stay in the bathroom and hide? No. He’d eventually come to find me, and that would be so much worse. Which meant I needed to figure this out. And fast.

  I was about to try wishing the color back again when the restroom door opened and Missy entered. The woman wore a constant frown, though maybe that was only when she dealt with me. She glared as she crossed to the row of sinks. “I just saw Ethan in the lobby. He wanted me to check on you.”

  “Oh. I should go then,” I said.

  She didn’t respond, so I left. Whatever her beef with me was, it would come out sooner or later. Right now, I had more important things to think about.

  Ethan’s gaze skimmed over me when I met up with him in the lobby. “I was beginning to worry.” Cupping my elbow with his hand, he led me toward the door. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. Sorry it took me so long.” Hey, if he didn’t mention my shirt, I wasn’t going to.

  “Not a problem. I thought we’d go to Roméo’s, since it’s within walking distance and it’s a beautiful day. Do you like Italian?”

  “Love it.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were seated in the restaurant. We’d already placed our orders, and now I didn’t know what to say. After the sketch incident and the magically changing shirt, I pretty much had nothing. Besides, he’d likely invited me to lunch for a reason, so I assumed he’d take control of the conversation at some point. Until then, I was content to nibble on a roll and drink my water.

  “How are you finding Enchanted Expressions?” His tone held nothing more than interest and mild curiosity, but a knotted ball of tension curled between my shoulders.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not very happy, are you?”

  Oh, no. Was this one of those take the lousy employee out to a public place to fire her so she wouldn’t make a scene type o
f things? “Why would you say that? I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to get to work every day!” So I exaggerated a little. It didn’t hurt anything.

  His smoky eyes met mine, and again, my instincts told me he saw straight through me. “A little overkill on the excitement, don’t you think?”

  I fiddled with my water glass. “I don’t want you to fire me,” I admitted softly. “It’s a good job, and I’m grateful to have it. There are a lot of things I like about it. I’m still adjusting, that’s all.” I shrugged. “I never saw myself in an office for forty hours a week.”

  “Then why are you?”

  Because being a single mother required a decent income, that’s why. Of course, I couldn’t tell him that. It wouldn’t be right when most of my family remained clueless. “Time to grow up, I guess,” I said instead.

  “Remind me. What did you do before taking this job?”

  “Lots of things. After college, I decided to try my hand at being a working artist. After a year of that, I decided I was tired of eating only ramen and mac and cheese, so I accepted a part-time gig at a gallery. The gallery’s owner, Maura, is a huge supporter of independent artists, and helped me gain a little notice.” My fingers curled together on my lap. “It was a good fit then, but things change,” I explained, not wanting to give more details.

  “Why did you wait so long to enter the field you went to school for?”

  While his tone still only held general interest, my nerves ramped up another notch. Not sure what to say, I settled on, “It was the right time.”

  The waitress brought our food, but my appetite had vanished. Not because of nausea, for once, but out of stark, cold fear. I didn’t know what I’d do if I lost my job. Ethan’s appetite seemed to be fine, so rather than eat my food I watched him eat his. And for a few minutes, I was pleasantly distracted watching his jaw move as he chewed.

  “I’m not firing you. I should have said that straight off. I apologize.”

  In a blink, all my anxiety evaporated. “Oh. Well, good. You made me a little nervous.”