Gypsy Magic - J.R. Rain Page 0,29

conversation at hand, I couldn’t help but get a bit concerned about Witch Tayir. I had to wonder if Henner’s grandmother was a witch, was he a warlock, rare though they were?

But when I’d touched his hand to shake it, I couldn’t feel any magic rolling off him. So, that would lead me to believe the answer to my question was a ‘no’.

“Thank you for all of this,” I said, gesturing to my surroundings. I still couldn’t believe it—how amazing everything looked—how they’d completely gone overboard. For me.

“That looks like a smile of happiness,” Henner said.

“It is!” I answered with a laugh. “It’s... well, the shop looks incredible. I just don’t even know what to say or how to thank you.”

“I think you just did,” Marty answered with a chuckle.

“I… I still feel like I need to reimburse you, Henner,” I said as I faced the man in question. “For all your grandmother’s things.”

Henner looked thoughtful for a moment as he scratched his chin with his index finger and I braced myself for a high number. After all, most of the bookshelves and cabinets appeared to be antiques. An alleged curse might dissuade those in the know in Haven Hollow, but it wouldn’t depreciate the value outside this strange, little town.

Finally, Henner shook his head and dusted his hands off on his shorts. “No charge, Poppy. Consider it a ‘Welcome to Haven Hollow’ gift.”

“But, there must be something…”

“How about your friendship?” Henner asked with a big grin. “I can always use more of those.”

I laughed, immediately drawn to him. He had the same goodness in his eyes Marty did. They seemed to be cut from the same cloth and it was no surprise they kept company with each other.

“I’d love to be your friend,” I said, overcome yet again by a wave of gratitude.

Aside from the nightmare visions and my unwelcome ghostly hitchhiker, life in Haven Hollow was shaping up to be exactly what I needed. It felt like the cosmic lashing I’d been experiencing in my life, thus far, was finally coming to an end.

Tears of happiness welled in my eyes, and I had to blink them away. I wasn’t exactly keen on being emotional in front of people I’d just met.

“What’s that on the floor?” I asked, scrubbing at my eyes.

“It’s our homemade ghost box,” Henner answered.

“What does it do?”

“Well, it’s supposed to allow ghosts to pick up on radio waves, songs, and other signals to get their message across,” Henner answered. “I brought it to your store so I could show Marty and we could figure out what was wrong with it.”

Marty looked at me then. “I think I mentioned it to you when we first met?”

“Oh, right,” I said, but I honestly couldn’t remember the conversation at all.

“Most of the spirits we’ve encountered are willing to move on peacefully,” Henner continued. “The sentient ones, anyway.”

So they were aware there was a difference between residual spirits and intelligent ones. That was a good thing.

“I can’t imagine how frustrating it must be to have people ignoring you day in and day out,” Marty went on with a heavy sigh. “I’d throw things across the room too, just to get a scrap of acknowledgement.”

I considered him for a few seconds. The boyish exterior hid an exceptionally perceptive and compassionate man. And as he turned to smile at me, I couldn’t help the butterflies that suddenly swarmed my stomach. Just as quickly, though, I opened the window and released them. I had no business feeling silly butterflies with someone who seemed like he’d be a great friend. Even if that was all we were destined to be, I was still a lucky woman. In so many ways, friends were even better than romantic relationships. They definitely lasted longer.

And who says you’re interested in romantic relationships, anyway? I asked myself.

Right. No one.

I quickly thought of my Match.com profile, which had sat untouched since I’d matched with Marty. Now it was keeping company with a choir of crickets.

“Why are you dismantling the ghost box?” I asked, looking to Henner for an answer.

“The wires keep getting crossed,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I swear I’m picking up on people’s television sets. Hard to understand spirits when they suddenly start sounding like Jerry Springer or some old Western.”

I laughed even as Henner frowned and Marty shook his head, like the whole thing was one huge shame.

“Is that the only thing you use in your ghost hunting expeditions?” I asked. I had my own ways