Page 18 of Demon Loved (The Witches of Mingus Mountain #5)

She thanked Angela and Connor, and reassured them she’d be back at three forty-five to await her turn on stage, then headed over to the spot where she’d parked Sally so she could drive back to the gallery.

It was a good thing the apartment came with a designated parking spot, because Jerome was going to be packed this afternoon.

The parking spaces nearest the festival were going to be taken over by the food trucks, so a lot of people were probably going to have to leave their cars in the satellite lot out by the old Gold King mine and then either hike down to the park or take the shuttle the town offered during the weekend.

Those logistics weren’t her problem, though. Now that she’d dropped off her equipment, she could get around on foot just fine.

No, the biggest problem would be trying to navigate her time with Bill…and not give away how much she knew she already cared for him.

He definitely looked cheerful when they met up by the food trucks a little before noon.

Unlike a lot of the crowds who’d already gathered to listen to the music — the first act started right at twelve — he wore another of his short-sleeved camp shirts rather than a T-shirt, this one in deep burgundy that looked great with his lightly tanned skin and dark hair.

And possibly she’d been imagining it, but she thought she saw his hazel eyes light up in admiration when he caught sight of her walking through the crowds, her sequined skirt sending off little happy sparkles as she moved.

“This is much more than I imagined,” he said after they’d exchanged greetings.

Yes, she had to admit that a couple of hundred people gathered in a not-very-big space felt like quite the crowd. Also, the food trucks were accessible to everyone, not only those who’d bought tickets to the festival, so the lines there were also pretty impressive.

“I think we’d better queue up now,” she replied. “Otherwise, we’re going to be waiting forever to get our food.”

“A good idea,” he agreed as he surveyed the crowd. “Which one looks best to you?”

“Anything,” she said simply. “You can pick.”

He studied the various food trucks — there was one from the Mustang Grille in Cottonwood, and one offering Mexican food, and two more beyond that, a truck that specialized in good old American food like hamburgers and hot dogs and one that had Mediterranean fare like shish kebab and falafel and shawarma.

“Let’s try the barbecue one,” he said. “It sounds interesting.”

Bree would probably rather have had the Mediterranean food, since the Verde Valley was pretty short on restaurants like that.

But maybe because Bill liked to travel so much, he had a habit of sampling the barbecue wherever he was.

She’d heard it could vary regionally quite a bit, although she’d never been able to venture out of Arizona to find out for herself.

They got in line. The queue wasn’t quite as long as some of the others, and she guessed that was because anyone attending the festival who lived in the Verde Valley knew all about the Mustang Grille, since they had restaurants in Cottonwood and Sedona and Prescott.

Thanks to that, they were able to get their food fairly quickly, and managed to snag a spot at one of the picnic tables just as several of the early birds were getting up to leave.

Bree could only hope that kind of luck would continue to follow her for the rest of the afternoon.

“Did you get over to Sedona yesterday?” she asked, thinking that was a neutral enough question.

Bill hadn’t started eating yet, so it wasn’t as though she’d interrupted him. Still, she noticed how he paused before saying, “Oh, I decided to stay here in Jerome and explore a bit more. Also, I knew today would be busy, so I thought it might be better not to go running all over the place.”

She wasn’t sure whether taking a trip of less than a half hour to see Sedona’s red rocks could exactly be classified as “running all over the place,” but she decided not to comment on that. If he’d wanted to stay put and do more sketching or whatever, that was his prerogative.

“I hope you found some interesting stuff,” she replied before taking a bite of her pulled pork sandwich.

He nodded. “Paradise Lane. There are some beautiful Victorian houses up there.”

Bree wasn’t sure why such an admission startled her.

Maybe it was because not many tourists made it to the street where she’d grown up, thanks to the way it was so cut off from the normal flow of traffic through Jerome — by design, she was sure.

Several civilians lived there, too, but the majority of the residents on Paradise Lane were also McAllisters.

And since he’d already been there, she didn’t see the point in trying to hide that it was her former home base.

“I grew up there,” she said, reaching for a French fry.

Now it seemed to be his turn to be surprised. “You did? Which house?”

“The yellow one with the green trim,” she replied.

“My parents still live there. My brother lives on Paradise Lane, too. He bought a house near the end of the cul-de-sac — the pink one. He hates the color, but it was such a steal that he snapped it up anyway. I think he’ll repaint it in the next year or two, though. ”

As she said all this, she couldn’t help wondering if Bill would look at her as kind of a loser for living over a gallery when her brother had just bought his first house. All right, Shane was a couple of years older and farther along in his career, but….

“What’s wrong with pink?” Bill asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I guess he thinks it’s too girly or something.” She couldn’t help smiling a little as she made that remark, mostly because it probably was a bit foolish to say one color was more feminine than another.

Expression considering, Bill scooped up a forkful of brisket. “I think pink is a nice color.”

“So do I,” she said, then added, “but I’m not sure I’d want a pink house, either.”

He nodded and ate the brisket, washing it down with a swallow of iced tea. “What’s your favorite color?”

Maybe that was the sort of thing you asked on a first date, but Bree was just glad he’d posed such a simple question to her. “Blue,” she said, “but more like a teal or turquoise kind of blue. What’s yours?”

“I suppose I hadn’t thought about it,” he responded, and she found herself lifting an eyebrow.

Were there really people in the world who didn’t have a color preference?

“Oh, come on,” she urged him. “There must be something you gravitate toward more than others.”

His expression turned thoughtful. “Then green, I suppose. There isn’t much of it where I — ”

The words broke off then, as if he’d been about to say something he hadn’t intended. Once again, Bree allowed herself an inner frown.

Had he been about to say there wasn’t a lot of green where he came from?

Considering his home base was Los Angeles, she didn’t find that too strange. Lots of people had lawns there, and she had a vague impression that there were golf courses everywhere, too, but the native landscape was almost as dry as it was here in Arizona.

Probably better not to press him on the subject.

“Well, I like green a lot, too,” she said cheerfully. “It’s my second favorite color.”

They were sitting across from one another, so there was no mistaking the way his eyes — also green, although not the bright green of fresh grass but the dark, smoky color of a pine forest, with flecks of amber and gold — held hers for a moment.

“I’m glad we have that in common.”

Color touched her cheeks, but she told herself it wasn’t a big deal, not when it would probably be hidden by the blush she’d applied earlier, or maybe just the regular flush she got from sitting out in the sun for any length of time.

However, she tried not to let awkwardness overwhelm her. After all, this was the reason why you went out with a person multiple times — to get to know one another, to find out if you really were compatible.

“Since we’re on the subject of favorites,” she said, and hoped it didn’t sound as if she was forcing the issue, “what about music?”

Bill set down his fork and reached for his cup of iced tea again. “I like what you play.”

Well, that was nice of him, but that wasn’t what she’d asked. “Before you heard me play.”

Now he smiled, as if he’d guessed that his first answer hadn’t been the right one. “Guitar,” he said. “Solo classical guitar, I suppose. It’s…soothing. But I very much like what I’ve heard from you as well.”

Once again, their eyes met. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting to see — maybe another flash of the amusement she’d spied just a few seconds earlier — but this was nothing like that.

No, it was naked need.

Warm blood rushed through her, but then he blinked and the moment was gone.

And they were sitting here in public, surrounded by couples and families enjoying their food truck lunches, and she knew there was no way in the world she could possibly ask him what he’d been thinking.

If she hadn’t just imagined what she saw, of course.

Then she heard the voice of Brad Otis, one of the organizers of the festival, coming through the speakers, and she realized with infinite relief that the music was about to start.

She wouldn’t have to say anything at all, could pretend as if that moment had never happened.

“Welcome, everyone, to the tenth annual Jerome folk festival!”

Everyone applauded, and Brianna set down her sandwich so she could join in. Bill clapped as well, although she noticed he did so only after everyone else had started to put their hands together, almost as if he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do until he’d seen other people doing it.

“We’re kicking off five hours of music today, and four hours tomorrow,” Todd Otis continued. “Our first performers are Skinny Lizard, down here today from Payson. Let’s give them a warm welcome!”

Everyone started clapping again, and Todd stepped away from the microphone so the band could come on stage. Although Bree didn’t know them well, she’d heard Skinny Lizard before and knew they tended to be a little more bluegrass than most of the other acts that would be performing today.

That was fine, though. A little variety never hurt anyone.

Hearing the banjo player start picking away only made her realize, though, that she’d be going onstage in four short hours. All these people who were tapping their feet along to the music or nodding their heads would be listening to her.

The food she’d just eaten seemed to congeal into a ball in her stomach. Looking back at Bill, she saw he now gazed at her with concern.

“Everything all right?” he asked softly.

The music was loud enough that she was a little surprised she’d been able to hear him clearly.

Or maybe she’d just read his lips…those strong, kissable lips.

“I’m fine,” she managed. “Just a little attack of stage fright, I suppose.”

He reached across the table to touch her hand. It was their first real physical contact, and she couldn’t ignore the warmth that flowed through her at even that small pressure of his fingers on hers.

“You’ll be wonderful,” he said. “I’ve heard you play and sing. You have nothing to worry about.”

Easy for you to say, she thought.

He was only trying to help, though. And his words did encourage her, if only a little.

She wasn’t an amateur, after all. No, she’d been performing locally for years now, ever since she’d gotten paid to sing at the Arizona Stronghold tasting room when she was only eighteen, years before she could even drink their wine.

This was going to be fine.

Wasn’t it?