Page 9 of Demon Loved (The Witches of Mingus Mountain #5)

Had she really just invited Bill Garrett to the folk festival?

It sure looked like it.

Well, she couldn’t take back the words now. And honestly, she wanted him there to see her perform. True, he’d already heard her playing at the tasting room, but this would be different. She wouldn’t be covering the same old songs that everyone wanted to hear.

No, at the folk festival, she’d have one of the few opportunities that came her way to play her own music, to see how people reacted to the songs of her heart.

Which meant she needed to get the one she’d been working on for the past few weeks completely out of her head and down on some paper.

Luckily, Bill didn’t seem awkward about the situation, and instead asked a few questions about the festival and the sorts of things he could expect.

Nothing about his tone or expression made her think he thought it a little strange that a woman he barely knew had asked him to hang around and attend a local event.

They chatted about the sorts of things he might do to occupy himself over the next couple of days — she told him he needed to visit Sedona and maybe drive up to Flagstaff to see the aspens, since, charming as Jerome was, there wasn’t so much to do there that you still didn’t need to find alternatives during a multi-day stay — and when Tori came back with the check, he reached for it so smoothly that Bree didn’t even have a chance to protest.

Not that she should have, she supposed. After all, he was the one who’d asked her out to dinner.

And she also knew she shouldn’t worry about the chunk he’d dropped on their meal, not when he was independently wealthy or something.

From a lot of other guys, she would have thought that was only a line designed to get her into bed, but she didn’t think so.

Something about Bill seemed too inherently trustworthy to allow him to lie to her like that.

In fact, he even offered to walk her home, despite him staying right here in the Grand Hotel and not needing to do much more than go over to the elevator to get to home base. She thanked him but said she was fine.

“Jerome is the safest place in the world,” she said, knowing that was pretty much true. Sure, there was the occasional tourist-caused fender-bender from time to time, but residential and personal crime was practically nonexistent.

It was kind of hard to pull off that kind of stuff when you were surrounded by witches and warlocks, some of whom had the ability to sniff out those sorts of illegal activities…or anyone who’d be inclined to lie about them.

Bill looked dubious, but after she told him again that she would be fine, he let it go, although he still walked her over to the steps that would lead her down to the street level below them.

From there, she’d have to descend once more, but once she got to Main Street, it was pretty much a straight line downhill to her apartment over the gallery.

No attempt at a kiss, either, and she wasn’t sure what to make of that.

It’s because he’s a perfect gentleman, she thought as she waved goodbye and then began to make her way down the stairs. They were steep but had been renovated recently, so at least they weren’t uneven anymore.

Or maybe, despite all evidence to the contrary, Bill Garrett hadn’t leaned in for a kiss because he wasn’t that into her.

She didn’t want to believe that, though. If he wasn’t interested, she doubted he would have asked her out to a dinner that had lightened his wallet by a few hundred bucks.

Maybe he was holding back because he was here on vacation and would eventually return to L.A., even if he’d agreed to stay longer than maybe he’d originally planned.

That theory made more sense, although she knew there were plenty of men in the world who wouldn’t have any problem with indulging in a holiday fling before they headed back to their ordinary lives.

Bill Garrett didn’t seem to be most men, however. It wasn’t just his extraordinary good looks — no, something about him seemed more thoughtful, more kind, than anyone else she’d ever met.

Not the sort of quality you’d expect from a trust fund baby.

If that was even the source of his wealth. There were plenty of ways to live off an inheritance without it coming from a trust, she supposed, but that did seem to be the most likely reason why Bill could live his life exactly as he pleased.

She emerged on Clark Street, cut past the Haunted Hamburger, and then descended the rest of the way to Main Street.

The Spirit Room was open, so she could hear the murmur of voices and the background hum of canned music, but it still felt pretty subdued compared to the way the place could get jumping when a popular band was playing.

Even though she knew it was silly to be annoyed by something so minor, she still kind of hated knowing she’d probably never get booked there. It wasn’t a lack of talent that kept her from playing the venue, but instead a focus on the kind of music that generally didn’t get people’s toes tapping.

Well, that was on her. If she’d concentrated her talents in a different area, maybe she could have been her generation’s answer to Lady Gaga, or whatever. As things stood, though, she knew she was a folksy singer, and it felt too late to shift gears now.

A few lights shone through the gallery’s windows, just enough to guide Bree to the stairs that led up to her apartment.

Belatedly, she remembered that she had to watch the place tomorrow afternoon, since Chelle, the owner, had an appointment in Scottsdale and wouldn’t be back until well after closing.

Usually, Brianna would have been okay with the interruption to her schedule, if only because minding the store offered her a small change of pace. Now, though, she didn’t much like the idea of being trapped in the gallery for half the day, not with Bill Garrett wandering around town.

And he didn’t say one word to you about getting together tomorrow, she scolded herself as she touched a finger to the door to unlock it and let herself in.

Most of the time, she went through the show of using her key just so no one could see what she was doing, but this part of Main Street was utterly deserted tonight.

It wasn’t as if there was anyone around to see how Brianna McAllister had managed to unlock her front door with a mere touch.

Because she often came home after dark, she always left one light on, the pretty little mercury glass lamp that sat on top of her bookcase. It didn’t do a whole lot to illuminate the space, but it was just enough to prevent her from tripping over something.

She dropped her purse on the dining room table and went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Yes, Tori had brought them water during dinner, but her throat still felt dry.

All that talking, probably. She and Bill had talked a lot.

The conversation had never felt forced, though, and had flowed naturally from one topic to another.

Throughout dinner, Bree had been just the slightest bit tense, wondering if Shane was going to emerge from the kitchen and pull some kind of big-brother act on her, but either Tori had kept her mouth shut about how his sister was dining at The Asylum with a hot stranger, or Shane had decided he should keep his distance.

Either way, any scenes had been happily avoided, and she could only be grateful for that.

She didn’t want any awkwardness between Bill and her…

even while she knew there was no way the two of them could have any kind of a real connection.

Getting together with a civilian wasn’t impossible, true, and neither was a long-distance relationship.

Both of those things at the same time?

Not so much.

It was far too early to get ready for bed. Instead, she went into the hall closet, which was surprisingly large for an apartment of this size. Inside was her beloved old acoustic guitar.

She took it from its case and then pulled out one of her two dining room chairs. Sometimes she played on the sofa, but she knew she had much better posture when she sat on a hard seat.

No song at first, just her fingers finding their way through a progression of minor chords, their melancholy a fitting accompaniment to her current mood.

Maybe it was foolish to feel this way when she’d just had a wonderful dinner with Bill and the promise of him accompanying her to the folk festival in a few days.

And yet….

Figures that the first decent guy I meet in a long time is a civilian from L.A.

, she thought, strumming away quietly. There wasn’t any real need to keep the noise down, not when the buildings on either side were fully commercial and didn’t have anyone living there, but the habits she’d acquired during her childhood when she was trying her best not to blast everyone in the house were hard to shake.

Besides, banging on the guitar like a kid enthusiastically playing in her first recital didn’t fit her current mood.

She couldn’t be sad, not when she’d had such an enjoyable evening, but at the same time, she also didn’t think she had as much to celebrate as someone looking in from the outside might have thought.

Well, all she could do for now was focus on the positive. She would spend time with Bill or not, and things would progress…or they wouldn’t. Sitting here and feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t change a damn thing.

Maybe she should see if Bellamy was available for coffee or something tomorrow morning.

Her best friend was currently house shopping with Marc Trujillo, the de la Paz hottie who’d basically fallen in her lap just a month earlier, but thanks to Bellamy’s recent windfall lottery win, it wasn’t as if she had a job she needed to go to or something.

And Bree didn’t have to be on duty at the gallery until one.

She set the guitar aside and reached for her purse, which luckily was within arm’s reach. A quick text to her friend — and a faster response than she’d expected.