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Authors: Heather Blake
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contradictions, that Ainsley.
“What kind of hot mess did you get yourself into?” she cried as she stepped onto the walkway leading up to the house, an enormous pocketbook hooked over one shoulder.
I let go of my locket and wiggled my hand. “It’s more like a lukewarm mess.”
Wiggling her way next to me on the step, she laughed. “That’s right. Your mess-o-meter is higher than mine on account that you burnt down that little chapel in Georgia that one time.”
“Accidentally.”
“So you say.” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “You know, you never did tell me exactly what happened that day.”
“Mostly because I’m trying my hardest to forget. The fire was an accident,” I said softly, emotion clogging my throat. I tugged on the hem of my shorts and wished that I really could forget. It would make things so much easier.
She studied me for a long second before nudging me with her shoulder. Gesturing to the piles of debris, she said, “Has your mama seen this mess?”
Grateful for the change of subject, I glanced around. “She just left.” My mama, thank the heavens above, had been dressed in her usual garb of shorts, flowy top, and platform wedges. I wasn’t sure I could have dealt with the fringe after all that happened. Frowning at the mess, I said, “She took pictures to put on the Internet.”
Ainsley laughed. “Your mama is two cups of crazy.”
“More like six cups.” I poked her with my elbow. “Thanks for coming over.” I needed her help with the love potions if I was going to get a batch done before tonight.
“Not a problem. I got Francie to keep the Clingons for me.”
The Clingons were the collective nickname of Ainsley’s three kids—four-year-old twin boys and a three-year-old girl who was in a perpetual bad mood.
“I just had to promise to bring her a box of wine and one of your hangover potions, since she’s fixin’ to drink the whole box once I pick up the kids.”
“Understandable.”
“Perfectly.”
Francie Debbs, Ainsley’s mother-in-law, was a saint in my eyes. Never mind the rambunctious boys, but three-year-old Olive’s tantrums were enough to make me want to stay celibate just to make sure I never had a child like her.
And that was saying something.
“They take after their father, you know,” Ainsley said, brushing off some pebbles from the steps.
“I know,” I said, playing along. Truth was, Ainsley had been a hellion from the time she learned how to toddle right up until her wedding to Carter Debbs. It was amazing what marrying a pastor could do for a troublemaker.
Now a part-time RN and a part-time employee of mine, she had mostly tamed her inner wild child.
Mostly.
Even though she was generally generous, loving, caring, and patient, there were still a few times her bossy, devilish, you-only-live-once side came out.
Karma had bitten her on the butt big time with those kids.
“You do have stuff here to make the hangover potion, right?” she asked, a bit of a wild look in her amethyst eyes. But that wildness might have been because in her haste to get out of the house, she’d put makeup on only one eye. It looked very
Victor/Victoria
.
Her light brown hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and her deep cleavage was spectacular in a form-fitting sundress. I’d always been envious of her hourglass figure, which only became more enviable after she had the babies.
“Actually . . . I had to leave the magic drops at the shop.”
It was no secret that I used magic in my potions. The only secret was what that magic was. I thought about the lab analysis the potion bottles Dylan had collected today would be undergoing and wasn’t too worried if any traces of the original potion that was in that bottle showed up. The Leilara drops would appear only as a
Liliaceae
(the fancy name for lily family) derivative. Its true origin would remain safe. Not that anyone (except for my cousin Delia) really cared what the magic was, only
“What kind of hot mess did you get yourself into?” she cried as she stepped onto the walkway leading up to the house, an enormous pocketbook hooked over one shoulder.
I let go of my locket and wiggled my hand. “It’s more like a lukewarm mess.”
Wiggling her way next to me on the step, she laughed. “That’s right. Your mess-o-meter is higher than mine on account that you burnt down that little chapel in Georgia that one time.”
“Accidentally.”
“So you say.” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “You know, you never did tell me exactly what happened that day.”
“Mostly because I’m trying my hardest to forget. The fire was an accident,” I said softly, emotion clogging my throat. I tugged on the hem of my shorts and wished that I really could forget. It would make things so much easier.
She studied me for a long second before nudging me with her shoulder. Gesturing to the piles of debris, she said, “Has your mama seen this mess?”
Grateful for the change of subject, I glanced around. “She just left.” My mama, thank the heavens above, had been dressed in her usual garb of shorts, flowy top, and platform wedges. I wasn’t sure I could have dealt with the fringe after all that happened. Frowning at the mess, I said, “She took pictures to put on the Internet.”
Ainsley laughed. “Your mama is two cups of crazy.”
“More like six cups.” I poked her with my elbow. “Thanks for coming over.” I needed her help with the love potions if I was going to get a batch done before tonight.
“Not a problem. I got Francie to keep the Clingons for me.”
The Clingons were the collective nickname of Ainsley’s three kids—four-year-old twin boys and a three-year-old girl who was in a perpetual bad mood.
“I just had to promise to bring her a box of wine and one of your hangover potions, since she’s fixin’ to drink the whole box once I pick up the kids.”
“Understandable.”
“Perfectly.”
Francie Debbs, Ainsley’s mother-in-law, was a saint in my eyes. Never mind the rambunctious boys, but three-year-old Olive’s tantrums were enough to make me want to stay celibate just to make sure I never had a child like her.
And that was saying something.
“They take after their father, you know,” Ainsley said, brushing off some pebbles from the steps.
“I know,” I said, playing along. Truth was, Ainsley had been a hellion from the time she learned how to toddle right up until her wedding to Carter Debbs. It was amazing what marrying a pastor could do for a troublemaker.
Now a part-time RN and a part-time employee of mine, she had mostly tamed her inner wild child.
Mostly.
Even though she was generally generous, loving, caring, and patient, there were still a few times her bossy, devilish, you-only-live-once side came out.
Karma had bitten her on the butt big time with those kids.
“You do have stuff here to make the hangover potion, right?” she asked, a bit of a wild look in her amethyst eyes. But that wildness might have been because in her haste to get out of the house, she’d put makeup on only one eye. It looked very
Victor/Victoria
.
Her light brown hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and her deep cleavage was spectacular in a form-fitting sundress. I’d always been envious of her hourglass figure, which only became more enviable after she had the babies.
“Actually . . . I had to leave the magic drops at the shop.”
It was no secret that I used magic in my potions. The only secret was what that magic was. I thought about the lab analysis the potion bottles Dylan had collected today would be undergoing and wasn’t too worried if any traces of the original potion that was in that bottle showed up. The Leilara drops would appear only as a
Liliaceae
(the fancy name for lily family) derivative. Its true origin would remain safe. Not that anyone (except for my cousin Delia) really cared what the magic was, only
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