Page 18 of A Heart On A Sleeve

eleven

Olive

A Sort of Pumpkin Patch

I should not have gone to the O’Reillys’ house last night.

Something told me Mabel was up to no good, but I take my work seriously and didn’t want to disappoint Beau if word got back that I was turning down jobs.

I knew from the minute I walked in that there wasn’t ever any book to examine, and when Max and the girls waltzed in, the jig was up.

But I also couldn’t be rude and just leave, and it was a little fun to mess with Sam.

If I’m being honest, though, it was also a little awkward.

I’m not practiced in letting loose or showing off my more playful side.

But it felt nice, oddly like part of me was more open to putting myself out there.

What is it about this man that intrigues me so much?

He was growly and possessive about the hockey thing, but also sweet to his mom and funny with his siblings.

I should be questioning if I can trust him, but for some reason, I’m not.

I know deep in my belly that he’s one of the good ones, if for no other reason than the love he has for his family.

My alarm chimes for the second time since I’ve hit snooze.

I skipped my run altogether this morning, which is completely unlike me, but I think I needed the rest. I toss the covers back and step onto the cool wood floor, making my way to the bathroom.

I pull the door shut, locking myself in, just in case.

I’m still a little spooked from the whole Irina situation.

Stepping toward the shower, I reach beyond the glass doors to turn on the spray when I see it.

There’s no way. There must be something wrong with the reflection.

The tattoo could not possibly be bigger than it was yesterday.

I spin toward the mirror hanging above the vanity counter, rubbing the sleep from my eyes to be sure I’m really awake.

Sure enough, extending from the scraggly heart are green pumpkin vines, varying in lengths from an inch to maybe four at the longest. Hanging off one of the vines is a small red book that appears to be vintage with tiny, almost imperceptible words where the title should be.

I clammer through the drawers in search of my contacts—I have to put them in to get a better look.

My heart is racing as I fumble through the task, sacrificing two dailies to the drain before I’m fitted with a full set.

Inching closer to the mirror, jamming my stomach into the vanity ledge, I make out the words Beguiling Books . What the heck?

Darting from the bathroom, I run to grab my phone, returning to snap a picture and send it to Ari.

It’s growing . . . What am I going to do?

Ari

What the hell? What does the book say? I can’t make it out.

Beguiling Books

Ari

What does that mean?

I don’t know, but I’m freaking the fuck out. We need to find that witch.

Ari

First off, did you just type the F word? ?? I’m working on it, I promise. I researched all night and came up with almost nothing online other than the old legends we already know. Did you find anything?

It was called for, this is nuts. And no! I was at Mabel’s most of the evening.

Ari

Oh, how was the book? Beguiling?

That’s not funny! There was no book, it was a setup to get me to their family dinner.

Ari

WHAT? You’re joking.

Nope

Ari

Wow. I knew Mabel was a meddler but damn . . . How was it?

This conversation deserves more than a text, so I hit send on her name and the phone barely rings before she picks up. “I know we need to discuss the whole, you’re cursed thing. And we will, but tell me you and Sam are dating, first.”

“No, we’re not. But I did have fun teasing him about going to Max’s games.”

“You didn’t. I’m telling you, this man does not fall for anyone, and yet, he’s smitten in fewer days than I can count on my fingers. Actually, are we sure you didn’t ask Irina to put a spell on him specifically?”

“Rude,” I burst in. “Maybe he just finds my personality endearing, or I’m just new and it’s all a game.”

“ Or , and hear me out, he has a fetish for giant white period panties, and you happen to be the only woman to uncover his secret.” I can hear her snickering to herself as she says it.

“Hilarious. They aren’t that big, thank you very much. Seriously though, we’re getting off topic. What are we going to do?”

“Well, I didn’t find much online. Maybe there’s something at Black Kettle .

. . an old spooky book of spells or something historical.

You need to see what you can dig up. I’m coming over tonight to formulate a plan.

I’ll meet you at the Brewhouse after work.

We can grab coffee and go to the cottage to brainstorm.

” Ari must be getting ready to head out for work.

I can hear the click of her heels as she walks around and the not-so-subtle clang of her door closing.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can find. See you later. Oh, and Ari . . . Thanks. I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone.”

“It’s not every day that your goody-two-shoes bestie shows up with a random, and might I add, not that well done, tattoo. Don’t mention it.” I scoff at her statement but she isn’t wrong. This is not top-quality work, although the vines are much better than the heart itself.

We hang up, and I step into the steaming hot shower spray, avoiding my reflection like the plague.

Even though I know it won’t work, I spend extra time scrubbing at the tattoo as if by some chance this really is all a big joke.

After ten minutes of wasted effort and my skin begging for relief, I jump out and ready myself for the day.

It’s not cool enough for long sleeves in the shop yet, but long sleeves are a must if I intend to keep this tattoo from Beau, and everyone else for that matter.

Slinking into tights and a bell-sleeved emerald dress, I put my hair up into a long, flowy ponytail with a matching bow, slick on some sheer makeup including mascara and eyeliner, and slide my toes into my brown Mary Janes.

A quick stop for coffee first, and then it’s just me and my mission to find out anything and everything about Irina.

“Ugh,” I harrumph a pile of dusty, old books onto my desk. This is the fifth pile of the day, and my eyes are nearing a state of permanent strain from too much staring at the pages.

“Olive, you have a visitor,” Beau bellows from the front of the store.

I slide my hands down the front of my dress and smooth the flyaways that have escaped to dangle around my face while I make my way to the front.

“Oh, hi.” A whirring breath releases from my chest when I see Sam. Not that I’m comforted to see him, but I’m glad after my search has yielded almost no results that I don’t need to discuss how to magically transform any books found in someone’s attic at this very moment.

“Can I steal you for a minute to talk?” He wears a sheepish grin, and those sparkling blue eyes tell me he’s up to something.

I glance at him sideways for a brief moment before agreeing, “Um, sure. Come back to my desk.” I turn and head in the direction.

It’s not completely private, but Beau is listening to smooth jazz and I’ve seen him nod off a time or two since he returned from lunch.

Sam will be able to speak freely without interruption.

I round my desk and plop into my rolling chair, desperate to get off my feet while I listen to whatever he needs to say.

“Comfortable?”

“Actually, no. I’ll be better when I can take these shoes off for the day, among other things.” I dare him with a look to ask me to expand. He won’t though, I know it.

“No one expects you to get this fancied up, you know. The lady who had this job before you wore mostly jeans and romance book T-shirts. Carol was very casual.” He raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head as if he’s trying to get the picture out of his mind.

I think what he described sounds rather delightful.

“Thanks? But this is just who I am. My momma taught me to dress to impress no matter the occasion.” I cross my arms. This couldn’t be what he came to talk to me about. “What can I help you with? I’m, um, a little bit busy.” I nod toward the pile of unopened legends strewn across my desk.

“I wanted to see if you had given any thought to going on a date. You left in a hurry last night, and I didn’t get to ask you properly.” Sam looks at his shoes, and there’s a shyness to his question.

“I’m sorry, Sam—” His face drops even more, and I immediately realize that wasn’t the right way to start.

Trying to course correct and not hurt his feelings, I explain, “It’s just that I’ve been trying to settle in, dealing with work research and stuff, you know.

I haven’t even had a second to decorate for fall, and that’s one of my favorite things to do.

I have the perfect porch for it, and instead it looks like the anti-autumn scrooge lives there.

” I ramble as he leans in, hovering over me and hitting me with a burst of his warm cinnamon scent. He’s close, like really up in my space.

Sam lifts my chin with two fingers. “I get it, but I’m determined. When I set my mind to something, I don’t give up easily.” The words ghost over the shell of my ear as his lips graze my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. “Prepare yourself to be wooed.”

“I-I will think about it . . . I promise.” I’m breathless from our proximity, my face still tingling from his touch.

Sam smiles the most drool-worthy smile as he takes a step out of my space.

I know he can see how he affects me, and I don’t like it at all.

A part of me does want to try for a date, and that in itself says something about him.

There’s just the other part of me that is scared to let him in.

He already makes me feel off kilter. If I gave him a chance, he’d have the power to wreck me, and with so much up in the air (and painted on my skin), it’s a little overwhelming.