Page 11 of Witching You A Charmed Christmas

Jack ignored my question and hunkered down in his coat, taking the steps to the shop two at a time. I followed him into the rustic store and wrinkled my nose at the scent of paint and oil that hung thick in the air.

An older man stood behind the counter and he greeted me with a warm smile as I grabbed a basket by the register. Jack didn’t receive the same welcome. I watched as the man’s smile turned down and his arms crossed rigidly over his chest.How strange…

A few of the customers gave Jack a wide berth, some even changing directions to go down another aisle so they wouldn’t cross his path. It was hard to watch. Especially the way Jack seemed to ignore the looks, keeping his head high, even though there was the tiniest falter in his step.

Jack’s file had notes about the townspeople giving him the cold shoulder. His father had been a pillar in the community and was liked by everyone. The same could not be said for his son. I assumed it was because Jack was Scrooge incarnate, but there had to be more to it.

I filled my basket with a few items, keeping close to Jack as if my presence could somehow lighten the hostility shooting his way. I wasn’t sure why I felt so annoyed. Jack had been trying to drive me from the inn, but somehow, my feelings had shifted. That or I was delirious from lack of sleep.

Either way, Jack was my responsibility, and there had to be a way to not only help him find love but also change the attitude of the town. But first things first. I checked the time, surprised to find it was already past nine. We were burning daylight, and I had a match to make.

Jack pulled a new saw off the shelf and hoisted it over his shoulder. I wondered if I’d be neutralizing that one tonight as well. I hoped he had store credit. Our stalemate was going to get expensive.

“Do they make silencers for those things?” I joked, tossing a handful of disposable ear plugs into my basket. “Or maybe I should get one for myself and we can do dueling chainsaws at midnight?”

Jack’s mouth hitched as he headed toward the register. “After the last few days, I wouldn’t get within twenty feet of you and a blade.”

“Hmm…smart man.” I placed my basket on the counter and spoke to the older man ringing up our order. “Have you picked out your Christmas tree, sir? You should check out the selection at the Bradley Farm. I hear they’re the best in town.”

The old man grunted at my sales pitch and gave Jack a dark look. “That farm’s still running? I thought it died with your father.”

I swallowed against the sour taste in my mouth from the man’s retort. But Jack just snatched the receipt and our purchases from the counter and nudged me toward the door. He was silent until we were back out on the street.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered, locking the saw in the back of his truck.

“I’m sorry.” My throat felt tight as I followed him down the shoveled sidewalk. “I didn’t realize…”

“No, you didn’t realize. But you got a front-row seat, didn’t you? Everyone in this town thinks I ruined my father’s farm and tainted his legacy. And you know what? They’re not wrong.” Jack paused in front of a cute little bakery with a hanging wooden sign. He folded his arms over his chest. “I’ll wait outside for you to pick up Grandma Jean’s order, and then I need to head back to the farm. If you’re going to be longer in town, you can get a taxi back or call the farm and I’ll send someone to get you.”

I peered through the bakery window and spotted a young woman behind the counter.Becky Santos.The target of my matchmaking scheme. I couldn’t make two people fall in if they weren’t in the same room. No. Jack wasn’t going anywhere until I’d worked a little magic.

Chapter 7

Jack

“Let me buy you a coffee.”

Delia’s fingers rested on my forearm. Tiny snowflakes latched onto her gloves, making a fine crystal pattern. The flakes caught in her hair too and melted against her cheeks that had turned pink from the cold.

But her fingers lingered. An invitation that I let hang in the air until she rolled her eyes and huffed a frozen breath.

“I know what you’re thinking. But I promise not to poison it. I left my case of cyanide back in the room.”

“And my saw is in the truck, so I guess that makes the bakery neutral territory.”

“Only if you come inside.” Delia reached for the door and swung it open, flourishing her hand like an usher inviting me into a show. “Hurry up, you’re letting the cold air in,” she teased under her breath.

I scraped a hand through my hair and rocked back on my heels with hesitation. The thing was, Delia’s offer was tempting—though suspicious—and after yesterday’s moment in the woodshed, it was also an offer I should refuse before things got out of control. Even without the possibility of revenge for what I’d put her through or the temptation of something more, I hadn’t spent this much time in public since I’d moved back to Wood Pine. Already the morning was off to a rocky start with the verbal slight at the hardware store. Still, Delia didn’t look like she’d take no for an answer, and if I wanted to avoid a scene, coffee was my best bet.

“A quick coffee. Free of toxins,” I conceded, passing her to enter the shop. Immediately, the sweet smells of warm pastries and sugar cookies invaded my senses. If you bottled it up, you could label itDelia Frost, and sell it in the perfume aisle at Macy’s.

The shop was busy, and workers weaved behind the counter making flavored coffees, while wrapping pastries in little cardboard boxes. We stepped into line and Delia nudged me in the shoulder and angled her head toward the woman working the counter.

“Grandma Jean says the pastry chef here makes the best croissants.” Delia’s voice dipped with a sly murmur. “She also mentioned the young woman might be an old flame. Care to comment?”

I scoffed. “Who Becky? Don’t be ridiculous. We were in the same class and chatted a bit, but that was about it. She had plans after graduation to start her own bakery in the city, but they fell through and she took the open bakery position here instead.” I mimicked Delia’s devious tone. “What’s with the interest? Are you jealous?”

Delia threw her head back and laughed. “Dream on, Conifer Casanova. I don’t swoon at the feet of men who try to run me out of town.”