Read Online Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen - Free Book Online

on what a nice job she did serving. Sydney had been nervous at first. Back when she waitressed, she used to steal from customers, not giving them back money from their checks. She would smile and flirt and try to smooth things over if they called her on it. And it never hurt that she was usually sleeping with the manager of the establishment, so he would always side with her if the complaint got that far. She could con with the best of them. She’d been worried that serving again might bring that time in her life back to her, might make her want it again. But it didn’t. It felt good to work honestly and hard. It reminded her instead of what was probably the best time in her life, in Boise, when she worked at the salon. She remembered her aching feet and the cramps in her hands and the shorn hair that would get under her clothes and itch and poke her skin. She loved it all.
    But now Claire was saying she didn’t need her help anymore. Sydney stood there while Claire continued to work. What was she supposed to do? She would go crazy if she couldn’t do more than just help Claire out every once in a while. Claire didn’t even let her do housework. “Can’t I help you with anything?”
    “I’ve got this covered. This is my routine.”
    Without another word, Sydney picked up the envelope and walked outside through the back to her Subaru. She leaned against it as she counted the money in the envelope. Claire had been generous. Sydney could go out and do something with this. That’s probably what Claire expected her to do. Put some gas in the car. Go see someone.
    But she didn’t have a tag and she might get pulled over.
    And there was definitely no one she wanted to see again.
    Folding the envelope, she put it in the back pocket of her cutoffs. She didn’t want to go back into the house and watch Claire work, so she walked around the driveway, kicking gravel, which Claire would probably smooth over later with a rake, putting everything back in order.
    She walked to the front yard and looked over to Tyler’s house. His Jeep was parked on the curb. Impulsively, she crossed the yard and walked up his steps. She knocked on his door and waited, stuffing her hands deeper into her pockets the longer he took. Maybe he was asleep. That meant she had to go back home.
    But then she heard footsteps and smiled, taking her hands out of her pockets as he opened his door. He was wearing paint-splattered jeans and a T-shirt, looking sort of rumpled and forgetful, as if perpetually wondering where time went.
    “Hi,” she said after he stared at her a few moments, confused. “I’m Sydney Waverley, from next door.”
    He finally smiled. “Oh, right. I remember.”
    “I thought I’d come by and say hello.” His eyes drifted behind her, then to her side. He finally stuck his head out the door and looked over to the Waverley house. Sydney knew what he was doing, and she wondered how Claire had managed to make this guy so smitten. Maybe he had a thing for control freaks. “Claire’s not with me.”
    He looked chagrined. “I’m sorry,” he said, stepping back. “Please, come in.”
    She’d been in the house a few times when she was young, when old lady Sanderson lived there. A lot had been done to the place. It was brighter, and it smelled a lot better. Old lady Sanderson had been feline friendly. There was a nice red couch and some comfortable chairs in the living room, but they were placed oddly, like that was where the movers had set them. There were rows and rows of unframed paintings propped against the walls, and cardboard boxes were everywhere. “I didn’t realize you’d just moved in.”
    He ran a hand through his hair. “About a month ago. I’ve been meaning to unpack. I was just painting in the kitchen. What time is it?”
    “A little after five. What color are you painting the kitchen?”
    He shook his head and laughed. “No, no. I paint in the kitchen. That’s where my easel is set up.”
    “Oh, you’re a