Kristin Hardy - Under His Spell

“Marry me, George,” she said seriously.

“I couldn’t afford to keep you in coffee.”

“Wow, that coffee cake was pretty amazing.” Liz patted her belly as they wandered along the Salem waterfront, past docks lined with fishing boats and white sailboats.

“See? There are some good things about Salem.”

“‘Some’ being the operative word. You really are just a small-town girl at heart.”

“I’m not a small-town girl,” Lainie replied, stung. “At least not anymore.” She wasn’t. She’d left the tiny burg of Eastmont, Vermont, where she’d grown up, and she’d never once looked back. She was a cosmopolitan girl who knew her way around a Cosmopolitan, and she fully intended to live in the city one day.

When it made financial sense.

And if lately her visits to Boston had seemed mostly noisy and rushed, that was probably just coincidence. “I’m going to look harder,” she said, as much to herself as to Liz.

“It’s about time.” Liz stared out at a nearby boat where a shirtless deck hand was raising the main sheet. “Yum. You suppose Popeye over there would give us a ride if we asked pretty?”

Lainie grinned. “Down, girl. You’re cradle robbing. He happens to be in high school.”

“How do you know?”

“I know his parents.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Do you know everyone in this town?”

“I know enough, and unless you want to get arrested, you might want to keep away from Jared. At least until he turns eighteen.”

Liz squinted. “He looks older from here.”

Lainie patted her shoulder. “It’s your eyesight, dear. Anyway, we’ve got a job to do before we can relax.” She steered them toward the shop-lined pedestrian street that circled near the wharf. “I’ve got to buy wedding and shower presents for my cousin Gabe’s wedding.”

“I seem to remember you asking me up to have fun, not do your errands.”

“But this will be fun, and you’ll find it even more satisfying knowing you’re helping me get a little item or two out of the way.”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

“Not at all. So, what should I get?”

“Dish towels,” Liz grumbled.

“Too boring.”

“Candlesticks?” Liz moved to step inside the crafts store they were passing.

“Wow, and you’re calling me small town,” she said firmly, closing the door Liz had opened. With a wave of her hand, Lainie headed toward an art gallery down the way.

“Hey, he’s your cousin, you figure it out,” Liz protested.

“It’s not like I was— ‘The Salem Witch’?” She stopped in front of a gift boutique and stared at the gothic letters painted on the window. “Is that like being the town mascot?”

Lainie turned around and came back to her. “She certainly manages to show up here and there.”

“You have an official town witch. Are you people nuts?”

“Hey, you play to your strengths.”

Liz opened the door.

“What are you doing?”

“Playing to your strengths. Maybe you can conjure up a present for your cousin. Among other things.”

“It’s a gimmick, Liz,” Lainie protested, following her in. “You know this stuff doesn’t work.”

“What? The woman who runs the witch museum says witchcraft doesn’t work? Aren’t you an honorary Wiccan by default or something?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s me, the family witch.”

“So you should feel right at home. Besides, every marriage needs a little magic.” Liz wandered along the wall, studying the candles and herbs, the spell packets and charms. “So, let’s see, how about a potency charm?”

Lainie rolled her eyes. “I’m thinking Gabe can do without that.”

“Oh, really.” Liz’s eyes brightened. “Does he have any brothers?”

“You’re about a year too late. They’re all spoken for.”

“Just my luck.”

“We could always get you a love spell,” Lainie said, picking one off the wall and scanning the back. “Here. You just make tea with these herbs, light the candle and dance buck naked in the moonlight for three nights running.”

Liz eyed her. “Buck naked?”

“I’m just reading you the directions,” Lainie said blandly.

“I live in the middle of Boston.”

“I’m sure if your dance is quick, you can get it over before you get arrested for indecent exposure. Better yet, do it on Friday night and the spell will probably be effective immediately.”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

“What’s that?”

Liz’s eyes gleamed. “A love spell for you.”

Lainie cast a glance at the ceiling. “Trust me,” she said. “The last thing I need is a love spell.”

It was the fondest wish of Al and Carol Trask to see their children all married off eventually, with families of their own. Lainie didn’t have any problem with the idea in concept; she just had a few differences of opinion with her parents on the particulars. Like, for example, their definition of the word eventually. To Lainie, that meant before she turned, say, forty. Or fifty, if it suited her.

To her parents, twenty-six was high time to start thinking about settling down.

Which was why she was happy, quite happy to be going to her cousin Gabe’s Jack and Jill party as part of the run-up to his wedding to Hadley Stone. After all, Gabe’s wedding would buy her at least six months of peace from the reminders and questions. Given that, springing for a shower gift and driving a couple of hours to the party was a pleasure. She’d cheerfully have driven twice as far, if that were the sacrifice required.

Although, to be honest, it wasn’t much of a sacrifice. She and Hadley had become good friends over the past year. Lainie was looking forward to a nice, long gossip after the party. Besides, it was a perfect day for a drive and she was itching to see the renovated ski lodge where the party was to be held.

Gabe and Hadley had bought the eyesore as a fixer-upper the year before. And fix it up they had, Lainie realized as she pulled in. The grubby, underprivileged-looking buildings she remembered had disappeared, replaced by a soaring complex of two-and three-story cedar-and-glass structures that were the architectural equivalent of a breath of fresh air. The Crawford Arms, the once-faded Victorian grande dame at the edge of the property, had been pulled back from the brink of seediness to boast a subtly gorgeous multicolor paint job and windows that sparkled with newness.

Even the brilliant white stripes on the freshly paved parking lot gleamed. The positively enormous freshly paved parking lot, she amended as she whipped into a spot and turned off her car. In fact, if a natural disaster ever hit the New Hampshire International Speedway, they could probably just move the race to Gabe’s lot. Clearly, her cousin and his bride-to-be knew how to do things right.

Lainie stepped out into the summer afternoon and reached into her back seat to pull out a gaily wrapped package. None of that tired, old white-rose bridal paper for her. A person should make a statement, she figured; all the better if it was red and silver stripes.

A light, warm breeze whisked under her pale aqua skirt, lifting up the short flared silk, making her laugh. Summer might have come late to the north country but it was well worth appreciating when it finally arrived. And appreciating it, she was, with her stretchy, bare midriff top and strappy high heels. After all, in two or three months they’d be back in the frigid temperatures of late fall.

And three-inch heels didn’t go so well with snow and ice.

Nope, she was a summer girl at heart, happy to toss aside her tan-in-a-bottle for the real thing. Fall was for prickly people; winter was for the melancholy; spring was for the ambitious.

Summer was for people who knew how to enjoy life.