“Stop.” Lainey held up her hand in protest. “I am not going to a wedding that I haven’t been invited to, and I am not hiring you. I don’t need a love psychic. I am done with men, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Good, because I don’t want to hear about it. People who say they don’t need a love psychic are exactly the people who need them most. And I am offering my services for free. You should be thankful. People pay me good money to help them find their fated mate.”
Lainey took a healthy swig of her mint julep and realized she’d drained the glass.
“Careful,” Marigold said. “Those things pack a wallop.”
“Pour me another one, and it might even sound like you’re making sense.” Lainey held out her glass. Marigold poured again, but only half-full this time.
Lainey took another sip, and the sweet liquid warmed her like a well-stoked fire. “So, I’ll bite. Who’s my fated mate?” As she asked, a picture of Tate Calloway flashed through her mind, and she realized that she was actually hoping Marigold would say his name.
Right. The jerk who thought she was a tiara thief, who’d pretended to flirt with her so he could pump her for…information, unfortunately.
“I don’t know yet,” Marigold said. “My powers don’t always reveal everything to me right away.”
“Of course not,” Lainey grumbled cynically. “That would be much too easy.”
“Okay, I think you’d look good in a peach tone,” Marigold continued, surveying Lainey with a clinical gaze.
“Aren’t you going to suggest a girdle and a crash diet?”
“Heavens, no. Why would I want to disguise a figure like that? Guys around here love bigger women. Look at Ginger. She and I showed up in town a year ago, and immediately she got snapped up by the Alpha, the most eligible bachelor in the county. It’s a good thing he moved fast, because everybody was sniffing after her.”
“Really?”
“True story. Your figure is your fortune. Eat a sandwich, will you?” Marigold shoved a sandwich into her hands, and Lainey leaned back in her seat and bit into it. The chicken salad was creamy and delicious, with just the right amount of crunchy celery. Even better, nobody was glaring at her as if she were committing a sin by enjoying her lunch. “I’m going to go call Ginger and make sure she’s not freaking out about the Cypress Woods Witch and her tiara being stolen and all that jazz. Don’t go anywhere. I’m not done deciding what you’re going to wear.”
“Don’t worry, I’m already officially too tipsy to drive,” Lainey said, around a mouthful of sandwich. “I’m a cheap date.”
She leaned back in her chair and nursed her mint julep as Marigold headed inside the house.This was certainly unexpected. She’d come seeking peace and quiet, not crazy schemes and wandering witches and a town where all of the inhabitants seemed to have escaped from the same lunatic asylum.
Oddly, that didn’t bother her as much as it should, since the residents of the lunatic asylum were plying her with delicious mint juleps and obscenely good sandwiches. The old Lainey would have absolutely refused to crash a stranger’s wedding in pursuit of some nameless mystery man. The old Lainey would have been petrified of her family’s reaction to such an appalling breach of etiquette. The new Lainey/Kat/whoever-she-was-now was shocked to realize that she was seriously considering letting Marigold talk her into this harebrained idea.
Imogen stuck her head out the back door. “Do you know Tate Calloway? He just called to find out if you checked in here.”
Ouch, Lainey thought, straightening up in her chair. He actually hadn’t believed her when she’d said she was checking into Imogen’s boarding house? He was probably ready to put out an APB on her car. He probably thought she was halfway to Georgia by now, with a tiara tucked in her purse. Jerk. Double jerk.
Fine. I will let Marigold sneak me into someone else’s wedding and even though fated mates aren’t real, I’ll at least have fun and flirt like crazy. Take that, Tater-head.
Chapter Three
“Everything in Blue Moon Junction tastes so delicious,” Lainey said, tucking into a fluffy pile of eggs. They’d skipped breakfast at the boarding house, and instead Marigold had dragged her into town to meet Ginger at a small Main Street diner called the Henhouse.
“There’s something about country cooking,” Ginger agreed.
“It’s very nice of you to come meet us the week before your wedding,” Lainey said. “You must be incredibly busy.”
“Actually, any chance to escape my darling mother is a blessing. I mean that with love, but she’s turned into a mother-of-the-bride-zilla, not that I expected any less. She’s been planning this since I was born. Probably before that. I can see her doing the wedding planning in utero.”
“Me, too,” Marigold agreed. She was eyeing Ginger’s last piece of cinnamon toast. “Are you going to eat that?” Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed it off Ginger’s plate.