Spells of the Heart Page 4

  One by one I arranged the photos across the mantle. The stylish black and white Senior portrait of the twins, a photo of Aunt Gwen and myself that Ivy had taken at their Homecoming game, and the last picture that had been taken of my father, Arthur, and me.

  I showed an old photo to the cat. “Here’s my grandparents on their anniversary. Morgan and Rose. They called themselves Mo and Ro.” Luna rubbed against the ornate frame, and I gave the cat’s head a pat and placed the photo on the mantle. I set the picture of a toddler-aged me with my grandmother Rose in the gardens at the center of the display.

  Luna jumped in the cardboard box and began to swat enthusiastically at the bubble wrap.

  I left her to it, and added another photo; an informal shot of my brother and his family. Bran and Lexie sat on the porch swing of the manor. Lexie held the baby and Morgan who’d been named after his great-grandfather, sat grinning between his parents.

  I unwrapped another frame. “Here’s an old picture,” I announced, in case my ghostly roommate was listening. “This is of you, Irene, with your brother, and your sister Faye.” I placed the photo carefully with the others. There were a few other photos in the box, but I didn’t unwrap them. I left them where they were, and tucked the box back in the bottom of the closet. “New house, new beginnings,” I told myself.

  I added a pair of mercury glass candle holders to the arrangement, dug through my stash of candles, popped a couple of pumpkin spice scented candles in the holders, and lit them. Luna decided to investigate under the couch, while I arranged the new pillows, and draped the throw across the end of the sectional. Finally I sat down and stretched my legs out.

  I got back up made a few tiny adjustments to the photos on the mantle, and was congratulating myself on accomplishing yet another goal, when a knock on the front door had me spinning in surprise.

  I went to the door, opened it and discovered Holly on the front porch.

  She wasn’t alone. Duncan Quinn stood with her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Autumn,” Holly said. “I’ve asked Duncan to come over and see about completing your renovations.”

  Stunned, I could only stand there and stare. Duncan wore those same sexy jeans that were torn through at the knee, sneakers, and a navy t-shirt that stretched tight across his chest. I felt a little hitch of attraction in my belly and firmly ignored it.

  Duncan nodded. “Holly tells me you’ve lost another contractor.”

  Mentally I yanked myself back to attention, and glared at my meddling cousin. “Oh she did, did she?”

  “Yup,” Holly said cheerfully, and with an innocent smile, she pushed past me into the living room.

  Duncan stopped at the threshold. “Want to show me what you’ve got?” Duncan asked.

  My eyes jumped to his. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The bathroom,” he said blandly. “I’d be happy to take a look, work up a bid on finishing it. But only if you’re comfortable working with me.”

  Before I could say anything, the front door decided to swing open wider all on its own. I slanted my eyes to the door. Without warning, Duncan fell forward, straight into me and across the threshold. His chest slammed into mine, and we instinctually grabbed onto each other’s arms for support as we staggered back.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, steadying myself. Oh god, I thought as my fingers trailed over his biceps. He felt wonderful.

  “Sorry,” Duncan said as he straightened. “Something hit me hard, right in the back.”

  I badly wanted to test the strength of those biceps, and started to give in to the temptation. But I saw movement, and yanked Duncan out of the way right before the front door slammed shut on him.

  “What the hell?” he said, while a soft female laugh drifted around us.

  “Well that was subtle,” I muttered to my ghostly roommate.

  Duncan raised his eyebrows. “So it’s true, the bungalow is haunted.” He belatedly let go of me.

  “By my great-aunt, Irene Bishop,” I admitted. “She’s the reason I’ve gone through so many contractors.”

  Holly stood in the living room, grinning at us. “Told you,” she said to Duncan.

  “I thought you were joking,” he admitted.

  I crossed my arms. “Unfortunately, no.”

  “Well as long as I’m here,” Duncan began, “show me this bathroom that you need finished.”

  I tossed up my hands in defeat. “Fine.” I stepped off the landing and into the living room.

  “Is that going to be alright with you, Miss Bishop?” Duncan called out, staying where he was.

  From across the room, the door to the bathroom slowly opened with a loud haunted house style creak.

  “Oh for goddess’ sake!” I rolled my eyes at Irene’s theatrics, and marched towards the new bathroom.

  Duncan chuckled, and stepped down to follow me. I tried not to laugh when he started whistling the theme from the old Ghostbusters movie.

  An hour later, the two of us sat alone at the kitchen table while Duncan worked up a bid for the downstairs bathroom. Luna had gone off exploring the house, and Holly had made some lame excuse and had left us alone once Duncan began to survey the room. To my relief, my great-aunt’s ghost was making herself scarce.

  At least I hoped she was.

  Duncan handed me the bid sheet and began to go down the points for the costs of tiling the floor and shower stall, mounting the fixtures, installing wainscoting, baseboards and painting. He’d been nothing but casually friendly and completely professional.

  I’d managed to keep my mind off his body, and was finally starting to relax a little. His prices were fair, and maybe it was coincidence, but since I already had most of the supplies, he could start the work on Monday. He’d informed me that the reno would be complete in a couple of weeks, and that he would work on my bathroom in between his other jobs.

  I sat back, trying to decide what to do. I truly wanted the bathroom finished, the possibility of that sorely tempted me. However, I really didn’t like the idea of being manipulated into this situation by my witchy relatives—both the living and the dead.

  Luna chose that moment to make her presence known by hopping into an empty chair. Her head popped up above the table. “Meow?”

  “Who’s this?” Duncan asked.

  “This is Luna,” I said, smiling as the cat reached out a paw and pulled a pencil off the table. It hit the floor and rolled. “I adopted her yesterday.”

  “Shelter cat?” Duncan asked, holding out his fingers for the cat to sniff.

  “I found her in the gardens, and rescued her. The vet said she was healthy besides needing a little food and love, so I decided to take her in.”

  Luna rubbed the side of her face against Duncan’s outstretched hand. “So I’ll have supervision when I’m here,” he said.

  “Yeah, you will. Both the cat and the ghost. If you’re up for that?”

  “I can handle a ghost.” Duncan smiled. “It’ll be fine.”

  I studied the sheet in front of me. “Well, if you’re sure—I’ll go get my checkbook and give you the deposit.”

  “Okay,” Duncan said, focusing on the cat who’d begun to purr.

  I excused myself and went upstairs to the second bedroom I’d been using as an office. I congratulated myself at keeping any stray thoughts about him blocked, quickly wrote out a check, and jogged back down the stairs. “Here you go,” I said, only to stop short as Luna was sitting in the middle of the kitchen table with her nose pressed up against Duncan’s.

  I handed Duncan the check and scooped up Luna. “She shouldn’t be on the table.”

  Duncan pocketed the check and handed me a copy of the bid. “I’ll be back Monday morning, before eight, to get started.”

  “That’s fine.” I set Luna on the floor. “I leave for the museum at eight thirty.”

  He stood and gathered up his things. “By the way, I really like how your kitchen turned out. You bumped out the old dining room wall to expand t
he kitchen, right?”

  “That’s right.” I nodded. “Which also gave me room to add a bathroom on this level.”

  “Smart,” Duncan said as he walked through the living room. “You’ve got some great colors in here. I like the rusty orange against the gray.”

  “Thanks,” I said, following him to the front door. I tried my best not to act stiff or overly formal. You’re an adult, I reminded myself. And as such I was surely mature enough to handle the man working on my bathroom. I congratulated myself on not checking him out as he walked in front of me. And I was so busy applauding my personal restraint that I tripped up the one stair to the landing and bumped into Duncan.

  “Sorry.” So much for sophistication, I thought.

  “No worries.” Duncan steadied me without any reaction. “See you Monday.”

  ***

  The following Monday he showed up right on time. I watched as he began to unload his truck. Making the mental effort to keep my thoughts and emotions protected from him, I paused and addressed my roommates. First: the ghostly one. “Okay Aunt Irene, he’s here. So please, please play nice and let me get the renovations complete.”

  The cat was chomping away on her kibble, but lifted her head when I spoke to her. “Luna,” I began, “be a good girl and don’t get into any mischief while I’m gone.”

  The cat stared at me for a moment, then went back to her food and ignored me.

  “Good morning.” I held the back door open for Duncan as he carted in a couple of buckets of grout.

  “Hello.” Duncan took the buckets directly to the bathroom and returned a moment later. “I’ll install the wainscoting today, then start the tile in the shower.”

  “One can only hope.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Duncan assured me. Then he spoke to the room. “Good morning, Miss Irene.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking the whole ghost thing remarkably well.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve run into a residual haunting on a job site.”

  “I’m not sure what type of haunting this would be classified as.” I smiled blandly when the basement door opened all on its own.

  “She only wants to make sure that we know she’s still here.” Duncan shrugged it off. “It’ll be fine.”

  Luna scampered over, sat in front of him, and promptly swatted at Duncan’s boot laces. To my surprise he bent down and scratched behind her ears. “Luna seems to like you,” I said as the cat leaned against him. “I hope she won’t bother you while you’re working.”

  “I’m used to working around pets. It’s fine,” he said again. “Don’t worry so much.”

  “This is for the back door.” As I’d done with the other contractors, I handed him an extra key to the bungalow so he could let himself in and out as needed.

  Duncan accepted the key. “Well, I’ll get started. Have a good day.”

  I nodded and picked up my purse and lunch. “Call if you have any questions.”

  “Will do.” Duncan went off towards the bathroom, and I headed towards the back door. Luna sat in a sunbeam on the kitchen floor and began to clean her paws.

  “You girls, behave yourselves while I’m gone,” I said softly to the cat and to my ghostly roommate.

  Luna spared me a glance and went back to her grooming. The door to the basement shut with a soft click, so I let myself out the back door and headed to work.

  I was distracted all day thinking of Duncan being in my house. I had to talk myself out of leaving at lunch to go and check on him. I reached for my cell phone a dozen times throughout the day, wanting to call and see how things were going. I hadn’t done that with any of the other contractors, but I rationalized my behavior as concern—especially after three other contractors had been scared off the job.

  By the time four thirty rolled around, my boss Dr. Meyer had left and I had completed proofing the invitations to a fundraiser for both the University library and the museum expansion. The event would be formal and hosted by the Drake family. The event was slated for the first Saturday in November. I’d actually enjoyed working on it, as the theme was a black and gold masquerade.

  How I felt about going to the Drake mansion for the event was another thing altogether. I shook myself out of my thoughts, quickly straightened up my desk, shut everything down and locked up the office.

  When I arrived back at the bungalow, Duncan’s truck was gone. I let myself in the front door to the scent of lilacs perfuming the air, and Luna waiting for me on the little landing. “Hi kitty,” I said, bending to pet her.

  With Luna trailing along, I went directly to check on the progress in the bathroom. What I saw had me sighing happily. The wainscoting was in place. The design was in the classic craftsman style, and as I’d hoped, it helped make the new lower bathroom look as if it belonged in the home. The tile in the shower stall was underway. Little yellow spacers were between the white subway tiles, and they marched about half way up the shower stall.

  “We might actually have a second working bathroom soon,” I said to whoever was listening. In answer, the fragrance of lilacs grew stronger and then faded away. Luna leaned against my leg. “Come on, cat.” I scooped her up. “Let’s get some supper.” I carried her into the kitchen, feeling more upbeat than I had in a long time.

  Over the next few weeks the shower stall was tiled and grouted, and the lighting was installed. The new wainscoting had been painted bright white, and the walls were now a soft shell pink. The basket weave pattern floor tiles were in and grouted too, and the toilet was hooked up and operational. All that was left to do was the mounting of the chrome legged sink, hanging up the medicine cabinet, and installing the glass shower door. Which Duncan assured me he’d have finished very soon.

  To my relief, Duncan and I had gotten along with no difficulties or awkwardness of any kind as he came and went during the reno. We’d fallen into a sort of friendly routine, and fortunately Aunt Irene had been on her best behavior. At least I assumed she’d been, as Duncan hadn’t mentioned any problems with the ghost the couple days a week that he was at the bungalow.

  My birthday came and went with a small family celebration. I’d cleaned up there with a few gift cards to the local hardware super-store. Which got me to thinking about replacing the upstairs bathroom sink and faucet. Hopefully I could find something more 1920’s Craftsman style appropriate. I considered asking Duncan about installing it for me, as I didn’t want to tackle plumbing myself.

  September rolled into October, and I studied that old cookbook of Irene’s in the evenings. Her recipes were fascinating and their titles, hilarious. As Irene had adapted, amended and altered the recipes along with their names: Lies Be Gone Lemon Bars, No Strings Spaghetti Sauce, Orgasm Ambrosia Salad, Turn Him from Sour to Sweet Coleslaw, Really Passionate Raspberry Lemonade, and Chocolate Sin Cake.

  I wasn’t surprised to see astrological symbols doodled in the margins, and recommended lunar phases listed along with the baking times. After all, Irene had come from a family of Witches. Why wouldn’t her cookbook have a magickal slant as well?

  The museum staff was having a potluck luncheon on the first Friday of October, and I’d been tagged to bring a dessert. I read over the Lemon Bar recipe and thought that sounded like a winner. I worked up a batch and had to admit, they smelled divine.

  Since I was on a roll, I scanned through the cookbook, found the raspberry lemonade recipe, and mixed up a pitcher full of that using the leftover lemons. I added some fresh raspberries, covered the pitcher with plastic wrap and left it in the fridge to chill and hopefully become pink overnight. I didn’t have the dark raspberry liqueur the recipe called for, but I figured it would taste fine without it.

  When the timer sounded on the oven, I took out the cake pan and allowed the dessert to cool on a rack on the counter. The following morning, I sprinkled the lemon bars with powdered sugar, snapped the lid on the pan and brought them to work.

  I set the pan at the end of the table along with a few o
ther desserts, propped the little card I’d made next to it that listed my name, what the dessert was, and that it was nut free. I hoped they’d be a hit.

  I was late getting to lunch, and found myself as the last person in line. With a shrug, I helped myself to whatever was left over from the buffet. By the time I made it down to the end of the tables, my lemon bars were completely gone. There weren’t even any crumbs left. I guess they’d gone over really well. I took an empty seat next to Julian Drake, who appeared to be finishing up a lemon bar.

  “Hi Julian,” I said as I sat down. “Do you like the lemon bars?”

  “I managed to get the last little piece.” He smiled. “It was excellent.” He wiped his fingers on a napkin.

  “I’m surprised they’re all gone,” I admitted. “So what do you think—”

  Julian cut me off. “I think that I like your hair much better since you let it grow back out.”

  “Wait, what?” I said, flabbergasted at the comment.

  “I also think that you are an asset to the museum,” Julian continued, ticking points off on his fingers. “I wished you worked in my department, and I hope someday we can become real friends.”

  Shocked at the admission, I promptly dropped my fork. It bounced off the table and landed on the floor. Where in the sweet hell had all of that come from? I goggled at Julian’s casual declarations.

  “Let me go get you another fork.” Julian popped up, took his plate to the trash, picked up a new fork for me and cheerfully came back.

  “I’m such a klutz,” I muttered, and took the fork from him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He patted my shoulder in a brotherly way. “I don’t think you’re clumsy, by the way. I think you’re too busy seeing everything else—and because of that, you don’t always focus on what’s right in front of you.”

  “Oh.” I blinked at him.

  “That’s what I told Holly anyway,” Julian said. “See you later.” He strolled off and I sat there stupefied over our conversation.

  “The lemon bars were wonderful!” A gray-haired secretary beamed over at me.