A Modern Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,84
idea, Moira. We’ll try video chats with Chicago. Maybe that will perk up my rug rats a little. In the meantime, I’ll try ice cream.
…
Lauren crawled in her door. Was it a basic rule of physics that all planes flying to O’Hare must experience flight delays?
Add four hours of runway sitting in Las Vegas to breakfast drama and fixing earthquake fault lines, and you had the straw that busted the camel. She’d never been so tired. Making sure her suitcase wouldn’t trip her on the pathway to coffee in the morning, Lauren peeled off her jeans and collapsed onto her couch.
She was home.
Chapter 21
“Oh, God.” Jamie looked horrified. “Is it all going to match and everything?”
Lauren stuck to her guns. When a man had no furniture after three weeks living in a place, it was time to take action. “It’s not invasion of the home decorators, Jamie.”
Jamie crossed his arms and went to answer the door. Lauren trailed after him, not at all sure he’d actually let the movers in.
Her friend Kenya was a stager. She could take a lackluster real-estate listing, bring in a truck of furniture and accessories, and set up a stylish home in less than an hour. She owed Lauren a favor, although perhaps not this big a favor, if Jamie’s mood didn’t improve.
“We could go to the bagel shop while they unload.”
Jamie frowned. “No way. I want to see what kind of stuff she wants to leave here. If it’s frilly, I’m moving out.”
He was reminding her very much of a certain four-year-old witchling. “I specified ‘early man cave’—I don’t think there will be any frills. Seriously, look around. How can you live this way?”
Lauren pulled out her camera to document the sad state of affairs. She was going to win a bet with Nell when she sent the before and after pictures.
There was one sad and saggy couch in the living room, a donation from his friend Nash. Stacked plastic milk crates served as end tables. The rest of the sizeable open living space was vacant, except for a state-of-the-art workstation in the corner, complete with three monitors. One was turned toward the couch and apparently did double duty as the TV.
She braved a shot in the door of his bedroom, where a solitary bed continued his one-piece-of-furniture-per-room décor. That was as close as she was going to get. Nat said his clothes were stacked in piles around the outer edges of the room. The man was neat—he was just a decorating moron.
The only exception was the kitchen. In three weeks, Jamie had acquired every kitchen toy and gadget she’d ever seen, a gorgeous set of copper-bottom pots, dishes, even salt and pepper shakers. What kind of guy had no living room furniture, but outfitted a cook’s paradise?
Taking one last picture, Lauren tucked away her camera and went to defend Kenya’s movers from the wrath of Jamie. At the moment, he was in quiet shock, but that might not last.
She joined him at his post by the door. “Seen any frills yet?”
“No. Zebra print, though. If the head to that zebra shows up, I’m going to put it up on your door.”
“I don’t think man-cave décor runs to actual dead animals. Give this a chance, Jamie.”
Jamie grumbled. “It’s easy enough to tell someone else to be flexible. How’d you like to have your life invaded?”
Lauren snorted. “Says the guy who crashed my life a little over a month ago to tell me I was a witch.”
“Okay, you win that one. Forgot about that.”
Lauren elbowed him, glad to see the grumpies dissipating. Jamie wasn’t a guy who stayed unhappy for long. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“I already am.”
“Another one, then. Cover your eyes.”
Jamie looked at her suspiciously, and then spun around to watch his pathetic couch walk out the door. Dang, she’d hoped to slip that one by him.
“That couch was a gem. Where are they taking it?”
Lauren shuddered. To couch heaven, she hoped. “Jamie, look at your living room.”
Kenya stood in the middle of the room, ordering the final pieces into place with waving arms. In less than five minutes, she’d assembled a seating area that was twin to the one in Jamie’s Berkeley home.
She felt recognition hit him—the twinge of homesick, followed by gratitude.
Then Nat walked in the door. “Oh Lauren, it’s perfect!” She gave Jamie a kiss. “I saw your beloved couch heading down the stairs. I’m sorry it was a casualty of the upgrade. I ordered Thai food