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“We should see what fell,” I offer.
“We should.” Jen’s chest rises and falls, the urge to reach out and touch her is becoming increasingly unbearable.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“It could be important?”
Jen’s lips tilt up. “It could.”
A charge of electricity sings through my body, still unable to look away. “Two of Cups, Two of Cups,” I repeat quietly to myself.
“Tarot?” Jen breaks the spell we’re under by looking to the fallen book. “I don’t know anything about it, but I picked out a few magical themed books for Halloween to have for tourists or teens who sawThe Craftfor the first time.” Moving to thebook she picks it up.
“Was there tarot mentioned in any of them?
“Fuck if I know, but I figured someone would be wanting to try out some witchy shit… What the hell?” She holds it up. “Tarot for the Naughty Witch. I didnotorder this book.”
As she thumbs through the pages, I move closer and glance over her shoulder. “Is there anything about Two of Cups or Four of Wands?”
“Should be, right?” she laughs. “Let’s see… Two of Cups is supposed to symbolize staying together. Four of Wands is…”
“Is what?”
She claps the book shut. “No, no, no. We arenotdoing this.”
“For fuck’s sake, what is it?” I snatch the book from her and she rubs her hand down her face as I stumble upon it. “So, what? I’m supposed to move in? We get a mid-size SUV and a sperm donor?”
“This isn’t funny,” she attempts to command but fails miserably as she bursts out in laughter.
“I am in town for one day, and your friend who is tricking us wants us to play house? Are you even into women? Or did you just invite me here because I’m an author?”
“What?” Jen snaps. “I didn’t even know who you were until you introduced yourself. I saw you at the bar and?—”
“And saw an easy target for your haunted bookstore ploy?”
“No! Nothing like that. You want the truth? I wasn’t thinking. I saw you and… Fuck, Tara, you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I just acted. All of this?” She gestures around us. “I don’t know what the fuck it is. I have a mess to clean up before my grand opening, and an old ghost woman is shouting nonsense at me. Meanwhile, all I can think about is you—the woman standing in front of me who probably wants to have me committed at this point.”
I’m stunned into silence; she can’t be serious. Could Greta be behind this? Last I heard, she was shacking up with two men, taking ‘sharing is caring’ to a whole other level.
Her emerald eyes are earnest. “I know you want to leave, but I can’t get the door open. You’re welcome to stay upstairs in my room while I get the store cleaned up. As soon as the rain passes, I’ll break a window and you’ll be free to go.”
I take a small step closer and hand her the book with a smile I can’t hide. “Or, we could play along? Find out if the ghost is a good witch or a bad witch?”
“You believe in this nonsense?” She wags the book in front of her. “Fortune telling and wizard shit?”
“No, but it’s probably just a friend pranking us. Neither of us are going anywhere, so why not make the best of it, eh?” I shrug. “Besides, I have no plans for the next twenty-four hours. Maybe it’ll inspire a paranormal romance I can release next year.”
“What if we’re wrong, and it’s not someone being a cheeky cunt? What if my shop is actually haunted and the woman is some sort of evil sorceress? We’ve read the books, seen the movies. We yell at the protagonists for being fucking idiots.” She folds her arms over her chest and cocks an eyebrow. “I’m not summoning a ghost.”
“I don’t believe yousummona ghost,” I laugh. “I think that’s a seance, which is something I know nothing about.” The rain continues to tap on the windows, and coupled with the flickering candlelight, this could be almost romantic. “Why not spend the afternoon cleaning up your shop, then we can research how to cleanse the space? I think it’s called smudging? My ex was into that sort of thing. Sage and whatnot. Couldn’t hurt, right?”
“I’m going to need a drink for this,” she sighs. “All right, let’s do it.”
Chapter 4
Jen
Tara and I make quick work cleaning up the fallen books and displays. My shop is quiet, only a soft humming I can’t quite place. It’s almost as if an electric toothbrush was left on upstairs. I feel like the unnamed narrator ofThe Tell-Tale Heart, searching for the sound.
