Page 13 of Never Been Witched (Starfall Point #3)

Her eyes locked on Collin’s face, and she knew that he’d felt it too. What did that mean? Did Collin have magic? He didn’t seem frightened or surprised, but it struck her that he’d probably learned to hide his emotional responses in the corporate world.

Interesting.

“Alice!” Clark called again, sounding less friendly this time. Locals and tourists alike turned to watch his progress along the sidewalk.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Collin murmured.

“Definitely not,” Alice said, twining her fingers through his.

“Right.” Collin nodded sharply and looped her arm through his as if they were out for a Sunday promenade.

“Here you go.” Nick appeared behind them, carrying Collin’s shopping bag out of the shop. He brightened upon seeing another potential customer. “Clark, how are you?”

“I’m just fine, Nick,” Clark said, a thin smile plastered across his face.

It looked like his skin was stretched too tight across his blandly handsome face, and there was something off about his complexion.

He was…gray, not quite the luminous silver-gray of a ghost, but certainly not his usual suntanned health.

And there were large, bruise-like smudges under his eyes.

He looked desperate and ill. Rather than sparking empathy, it only made Alice step closer to Collin.

“I was hoping to chat with Alice for a minute.”

“No, thank you,” she said. But Clark was reaching for her arm, as if she hadn’t uttered a word.

“Oh, I’m afraid Alice and I have lunch plans,” Collin lied smoothly. “I’m making some changes to the restaurant’s menu, and I need someone with her discerning palate.”

Alice fought to keep her expression neutral, not to show even a flicker of surprise.

“I certainly understand that. Everybody knows what a good girl Alice is to have on your side, but I really need her at the moment,” Clark insisted.

Alice managed not to recoil at the words “good girl,” but it was a near thing. “No, Clark, we can talk later. I don’t want to be rude to Mr. Bancroft.”

“Um, is everything all right?” Nick asked, his gaze moving between Alice and Clark.

“I insist,” Clark said, reaching for her free hand.

Alice flexed her fingers, preparing to… Well, she wasn’t really sure what.

Throw him off? Punch him in the throat? At this point, she was so tired of Clark that both options seemed reasonable.

Collin interceded smoothly, reaching out to shake Clark’s hand.

“Collin Bancroft. We’ve met before, I believe,” he said. “Nice to see you again.”

“Of course,” Clark seethed. “If I could just borrow Alice for—”

“You don’t ‘borrow’ a person,” Collin told him, his expression perfectly civil, even if his voice was fog rolling over a dark, icy road—dangerous and full of hidden threats. “And I’m afraid I insist that we leave now. Nick, I’m sure Clark would love to hear about this lovely Coalbrookdale bench.”

Nick frowned and opened his mouth to object, but saw Alice’s subtle shake of the head. He smirked. Hmm. Alice wondered if Nick wasn’t all that fond of Clark either.

Clark shook his head. “I really don’t have time.”

“Well, use the time you would have used to ‘chat’ with Alice,” Collin told him, all dismissal as he turned, gently pulling Alice away. “Thanks, Nick. Tell Clark all about Ms. Laughlin’s grandmother.”

“Sure thing,” Nick said, waving affably.

As they walked away, Alice heard Nick ask, “Clark, you’re in the market for unique outdoor seating?”

“How far away do you need to get?” Collin asked softly as they strode smoothly away.

She vaguely heard Clark huff that he didn’t need any outdoor seating.

Collin didn’t drop her hand as they walked away.

He still held it in that perfectly proper “strolling” position, even as he stroked warm, comforting fingertips over the back of her hand.

“I was going to try to get to Shaddow House,” Alice whispered.

“Are you expected? Would you be safe there?”

She shot him a curious look.

“You don’t reach out to another human being, like you did just now, if you feel safe,” Collin told her.

She opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to produce an answer.

He added, “You don’t have to tell me anything.

I just want to make sure you feel secure.

But, if you don’t have plans, why don’t you join me at the hotel for lunch?

I know it sounds like a line, but I’d like to make you an offer. ”

“I’m not expected, and that really does sound like a line,” she noted.

“But an entirely sincere one. If you join me for lunch, I’ll know you’re OK. It’s minimal investment for you, and knowing that you’re OK is a priority for me at the moment,” Collin said.

Her cheeks went so hot, she actually had to look down at the ground. This was embarrassing.

But… If she went to Shaddow House right now, she would have to explain her lack of contact for the last two days.

She would have to admit to her coven what she’d been doing with Clark.

She would have to explain why there were holes in her magic that had kept them from feeling today’s distress.

And as much as Alice hated to admit it, this felt better, spending time with someone who didn’t know about her “ghost problems” and the questionable decisions she’d made.

“Is it true there’s a grilled-cheese sandwich named after you at the restaurant? ”

“Yes, there is,” Collin insisted, glancing over his shoulder. When he didn’t seem alarmed by what he saw, she relaxed ever so slightly into the long line of his torso. Through his jacket pocket, she felt his cell phone buzz against her elbow.

“Does it really have peanut butter and bacon on it?” she asked.

“I was seven when I came up with it, and it was sort of a sarcastic gift from the chef,” he muttered. “How did you know about that, anyway?”

“Caroline told me. She said there’s sprinkles on it too.” Then Alice smiled sincerely for the first time since bailing out of her shop.

Collin reminded her, “I was seven .”

***

Alice had never stepped inside the majestic Duchess Hotel, but she’d expected the interior to match the sweeping elegance of the rear exterior.

But the lobby was some sort of mod eclectic nightmare.

She’d never seen so many mismatched finishes and styles and old beautiful pieces mixed with chrome. Why did chrome vases exist?

And why were they sharp ?

“It’s so…orange,” she marveled. Vaguely, she could hear his phone buzz again in his pocket.

“I have a plan for that,” he told her, nodding toward the crews that were carefully taking down a massive wall accent piece made of shining aluminum panels.

It seemed like a bad idea to Alice, since there were still some guests milling around the lobby, but given the sharp-looking edges on the panels, she wasn’t sure how safe it was to leave it.

At least the lady dressed in a floor-length cotton pique tennis dress and flat straw hat wasn’t at risk.

She’d probably died right after the hotel was completed in 1900.

Alice had all sorts of questions about why the woman was dressed in Edwardian sportswear.

Had she died in her tennis clothes? Had she suffered an accident caused by the giant puffy sleeves?

But randomly yelling questions at dead people wasn’t exactly how one maintained a reputation for sanity over the long term.

Also, this wasn’t the only ghost in the lobby at the moment.

Alice could spot at least three more, in various outfits from across history.

She was suddenly glad she’d never stayed here. Imagine not knowing that the dead were watching you sleep. She shuddered.

Collin motioned toward an archway marked with an old-fashioned standing brass sign that read FORSYTHIA DINING ROOM.

She hoped the first change Collin’s decorators made was repainting, because even in this vaulted, open space with its stunning views of the lake, the constant battering of tangelo was starting to hurt her retinas.

Collin’s phone buzzed again from his pocket. He ignored it, and didn’t wait for them to be seated by the staff. He chose one of the many available four-top tables, one closest to the window.

“Would you mind if we sat outside?” Alice asked him, nodding through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the (definitely not Coalbrookdale, but comfortable-looking) cast-iron tables on the flagstone waterfront patio. “I think I could use some fresh air.”

“The orange?” Collin asked. She nodded. He didn’t get annoyed, simply opened the nearest door and gestured her through.

It struck her as odd that there were so many tables available during what should be the lunch rush on a summer day.

The exhaustion of dealing with Clark, the fresh air, and the smells drifting out of the kitchen were making her stomach rumble.

The streets were crowded with tourists. This place should have been packed.

He pulled a seat out for her, somehow managing to do it without making the iron legs screech on the stone.

While the breeze coming off the glittering silver water was lovely, she had the urge to tie her scarf around her hair.

Like most items in her wardrobe, her suit was gray, but she’d tried to “spice it up” as Caroline kept insisting she do by knotting red-and-gold silk around her throat.

Would preserving her hair make her look like she was trying too hard?

Sure, this was definitely the time to mentally overanalyze her accessories, she told herself.

“Do you want to talk about what just happened with Clark?” he asked as his phone buzzed. He pulled the latest-model smartphone from his jacket pocket and frowned.

“No, I do not,” she said. “Do you need to answer that?”

“No.” Collin shook his head as he tucked it away unopened. “No, I do not.”

“So, you have plans?” she prompted him as Henry Melton, an ancient waiter who had worked at the hotel restaurant since the 1960s, shuffled forward.