“Well what?”
“Did the handsome young man invite you out? Or did the two of you just exchange phone numbers”—at this juncture Hudson made air quotes with his fingers—“for a future ‘booty call’?” His lips twitched with a smirk. Sometimes Hudson was thirty going on eighty with the way he faux-adopted the language of “the youth,” as he called it.
“No!” Ingrid wrinkled her nose. “Course not! He was just dropping off blueprints of Fair Haven. You know, for the show,” she said, holding up the bag. “And anyway, he’s much too young.”
“Oh.” Hudson looked disappointed. “Quel dommage. You looked so ecstatic for a moment I believed you had a date.” He went back to the card catalog. He had the thankless task of typing in all the archaic information into the computer. After resisting for many years, the library system was finally going digital. He began to type, hunting and pecking with one delicate finger.
Ingrid shook her head. She checked on the drawing under the steam tent. Once she was done with it she would begin steaming the Gardiner blueprints. The exhibit was scheduled for the end of August, as part of the library gala that usually closed the summer season. The fund-raiser would be the library’s last hurrah, and all the proceeds would help offset the costs of moving, if it came down to that.
Caitlin Parker, who had a desk next to Hudson’s, pretended not to hear their conversation. Unlike the others, Caitlin did not have a particular affinity for books or design and had fallen into the job almost by accident. She was pleasant and amiable enough, and never gossiped about anybody. Pretty and sweet, like a kindergarten teacher. Ingrid wanted to like Caitlin, there was nothing not to like, but she found her dull and insipid. Honestly, the girl was almost too nice; she always let patrons take out the rare books that were not allowed out of the reserve room and she never, ever collected late fees. It drove Ingrid crazy.
The three librarians worked in silence for a while, until Hudson piped up. “So, have you seen her yet?”
“Who?” Ingrid asked.
“Stevie Nicks.”
“What do you mean?”
Right at that moment, Tabitha walked in. Her hair was long and loose. She was wearing a long T-shirt, a skirt that swept the floor, and some kind of drapey caftan-like cardigan. The entire effect was not unlike a seventies hippie chick at the beach.
Hudson began humming “Landslide” under his breath.
“What’s so funny?” Caitlin asked, looking up from her computer as Hudson stifled a giggle and Ingrid smiled broadly. “I don’t get it.”
“I feel weird,” Tabitha admitted, looking self-conscious as she took her seat by the doorway.
“No, you look great. Really,” Ingrid told her. She didn’t need a pentagram to see that there were no more traces of the silvery menace anywhere around Tabitha; her friend projected health and happiness. Unloosening the knots had done the trick. Already she could see the magic working its way through Tabitha’s body, weaving an invisible glow around her, opening her chakras, letting in the air, freeing the spirit, preparing her body and soul to create new life and bring it to the world. She would conceive by midweek.
chapter nine
Love the One You’re With
Bran was back from his trip abroad and would arrive in North Hampton by ten o’clock that evening. Freya asked Kristy Hannagan, a bartender Sal had hired over the summer to pick up the slack, to cover her shift; otherwise she would have to work until last call as usual. Kristy’s family had worked the shore for generations, her father and brothers on the lobster trawlers, while her boyfriend fished for bigeye tuna they sold at auction to Japanese food vendors. She was a flint-eyed dame, with a sharp tongue and an easy smile, and had fast become one of Freya’s closest friends in town.
“You don’t mind, do you, Kris?” Freya asked.
Kristy shook her head and gave her a broad smile. “Not at all. If I had a guy like that I’d take off for the night, too. Go on, now.” Kristy was twice divorced and had four kids under the age of five. She likened her work at the bar to wrangling a bunch of toddlers. “I’ll man the ship.”
“I owe you one,” Freya promised, bumping Kristy’s hip affectionately on the way to the ladies’ room so she could freshen up. Bran was going to walk into the bar at any minute. Freya splashed water on her face, to try to rub the guilt out of it. She was dreading seeing him but couldn’t put it off any longer. This was the first time they would see each other since celebrating their engagement. (And, boy, did she ever celebrate, she thought, thinking of Killian and kicking herself again.)
He was waiting for her when she returned to the bar, sitting at his usual barstool, a newspaper spread in front of him, looking crisp and manly in his dark suit and red tie. “There you are,” he said, pulling her close and squeezing her waist. “Remind me never to leave you ever again,” he said as he ducked his head under her chin.
She laughed and squeezed back. “I’m sorry you had to wait, but Sal’s not feeling well and I had to wait until Kristy’s babysitter arrived.” She was glad to find that upon seeing Bran, she felt exactly the same way: that same warm, solid love that had drawn her to him in the first place. It was still there. He was the one she’d been waiting for, all these long years. She nuzzled his head and pressed her body closer to his, liking the immediate jump in his heartbeat that resulted. It had been a very long time since she’d felt this way.
“Is it serious? Poor Sal,” Bran asked, concerned, tapping his gold ring with the family crest.
“He’ll be all right,” she said. “He’s stubborn and won’t take his allergy medicine.”
“Ha!” Bran nodded. Even if Bran had only recently arrived in town, Freya took it as a good sign that Sal had given him his seal of approval when they announced their engagement. Not only because Bran was the only one who professed to like Sal’s homemade moonshine, although it never hurt. “He’s a quiet one, your boy,” Sal had once told her. “One of those people that take a while to get to know. I like that. Not like all these garrulous meatheads who talk your head off and say nothing.”
“How was the meeting? Is all the money gone yet?” she teased. His aim, he had told Freya, was to give away his inheritance to those who needed it more.
“Almost.” He laughed. “Working on it.”
“I guess we’re not Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy—carriages and Pemberley will not be a part of my future.” She sighed dramatically, as his hand around her waist inched a little below her jeans, rubbing the skin underneath, marking his territory, letting the world know she was his. Not so shy anymore, was he.
“I hope it’s not too disappointing,” Bran said with a grin, as he already knew the answer. “What’s this?” he asked, picking up one of the new laminated cocktail menus.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, shrugging, even though she was proud of it. After her success with the Baumans, she had been emboldened to expand her reach. Her new cocktail menu at the North Inn bar was an immediate hit, and it was not difficult to see why. Love Potions, it announced in big pink letters, seventeen dollars ea. Sal’s only comment about the new menu was that if she was going to use top-notch liquor and fresh ingredients, she should charge for them.
Infatuation: A blend of hibiscus rosewater and English gin. Turn heads for the evening and inspire a burning affection.
Irresistible: Vodka, pureed cherries, powdered cattail, and lime juice. Not for the shy. Prepare to lose your inhibitions.
Unrequited: St. Germain liqueur, honeyed lavender, and Prosecco. Stop yearning and start loving. Guaranteed to fulfill your heart’s desire.
Forever: Two glasses of the best French champagne, fortified with crushed daisy petals. For those hoping to rekindle their passion for each other.