discussing cases I’d read the night before. My lunch parties had become such a hit that I was beginning to feel like a salon hostess. Hallow Hill residents vied for invitations. Olivia thrived and bloomed from recognition for her outstanding cooking. It was such a hit that I planned enough space for a round table to comfortably seat six in my cottage-to-be-built.
Afternoons were divided into learning the operations of the shop, including my favorite part, which was viewing the new pieces that had arrived overnight, by mysterious magical methods, and planning my new house.
Because I had a tendency to get enthralled by the journals and read until the wee hours, I frequently took naps. At six I headed to the pub for supper. When Keir realized that I liked using my front door that faced the side lane, he began waiting on the stoop in front of my house. Even in rainy weather. He’d be standing there with an extra-large umbrella that would shelter, or partially shelter, two.
Gradually I began to relax into the possibility of actually being sexually attractive. One day I realized I might fit into the goal jeggings, tried them on, and whooped as I jumped in front of the mirror. Nothing sheds pounds like a romantic interest. So I gave Keir the credit for making me feel ‘hot’ for the first time since I was old enough to legally drink.
I’d suggested to him that we might revisit the love connection thing if I thought we were compatible and, if I was satisfied that, somehow, it wouldn’t interfere with my commitment as magistrate to the magical community. I took it seriously. As I was prone to do with everything that mattered to me.
It seemed that the first condition had been met. So I’d determined to bring up the second at supper that evening.
CHAPTER SIX Jealousy and All That Jazz
My luncheons had been an unintended means to get to know the people of Hallow Hill faster than I might have otherwise. They’d also become so popular that I began creating charts to rotate invitations for fear that someone would feel neglected or left out.
This had become clear to me on my return home late one evening after first having supper with Keir, then having coffee with Baileys at Lochlan’s and Ivy’s house.
I discussed my thoughts on my house and had decided I was ready. Lochlan was quick to assure me that the plan didn’t have to be perfect, that details could be changed just as easily as created.
“And you don’t need to worry about the garden,” Ivy said. “I have sisters who will care for the green things.”
“That sounds like borderline bribery to me.”
Lochlan gave Ivy a warning look. “I agree,” he told her. “The magistrate can afford to pay for gardening, Ivy. Come up with a reasonable barter so that the magistrate isn’t indebted.”
Ivy slumped like a teenager, saying, “Okaaaay,” a word she’d begun using more and more, although the pronunciation was odd sounding more like okai than okay. She grinned at me under her eyelashes like we shared a conspiracy.
“No, Ivy,” I said. “I really can’t accept help that I don’t pay for in full. I’d hate to have to hire humans from a nearby town.”
Her eyes flew open in surprise and she sat up straight, looking to Lochlan. “Can she do that?”
Lochlan chuckled and sucked on his pipe that he’d recently taken up again. He’d had Aoumiel spell it so that there was satisfaction but neither smoke nor smell.
“Of course, she can.”
Ivy scowled and crossed her arms in front of her. “Alright! Market rate.”
“Where did you learn a phrase like ‘market rate’?” Lochlan asked her.
“I overheard Rita say it to Dolan as I was coming to lunch last week. She said there’s no such thing as market rate when a piece is one of a kind.” She smiled. “We had salad sampler because I was there.”
Lochlan looked at me. “That was very thoughtful of you. Do you always tailor the menu to the dietary preferences of your guests?”
“Only if I happen to know about them.”
I left late, feeling excited about seeing the cottage of my dreams come to life.
As I passed the corner where the Hallows sat, just a few feet from my door, a figure hidden in the shadows stepped into my path. To my credit and personal pride, I didn’t scream. Or even squeak. I stilled and waited.
When I realized it was John David Weir, it didn’t lighten my concern one bit.