Twist of Fate (Taking Chances #2) - Tia Louise Page 0,59
the dream that never died, that grew deeper, closer to my heart as the years passed.
At least now I have plenty of money to distract me if he says none of those things. If he acts surprised or worse, hostile to us, I’ll come home and cry all night and make it up to myself with expensive presents.
“You’re in love with him.” Sly’s navy eyes level on mine, and I shift in my chair.
“I am not.”
“Liar! You’re so in love with him your cheeks are turning pink right now. You didn’t want to tell him earlier because you were afraid he’d be mad at you.”
Slapping my palms on the arms of the velvet chair, I push to my feet. “I didn’t tell him because Becky said everyone would blame me for trying to trap him. As unfair as that might be, I couldn’t stand it. Then Dad died, then we had that terrible year… I had to get to a point where I could stand on my own without his help.”
Sly swings her legs off the bed and stands in front of me. It’s not really fair because she’s four inches taller and able to look down on me. “You are in love with him. And I’m not going to take this sitting down.”
She turns on her heel and starts down the stairs. I’m left standing in the bedroom with Netflix going behind me and my mouth hanging open. “What does that mean?”
I take off running down the steps behind her. When I reach the kitchen, she’s pulling down a bottle of tequila and setting out two tumblers, a lime, and a shaker of salt.
“First, shots.” She hastily pours the clear liquid into the tumblers and slices the lime.
“Why are we doing shots?”
Holding a tumbler at me, she gives me a wicked grin. “Here’s mud in your eye!”
My nose wrinkles and I tilt the glass side to side, studying the clear liquid. “I’ve never understood what that meant.”
Doesn’t matter. She clinks my glass, spilling a bit of the tequila and quickly shoots it, jamming a lime wedge in her teeth as soon as it’s down.
After a sharp squeak and a head shake, she points at me. “We have to make a plan to get him back. Will you take Melody with you?”
“I’m not sure I want to do that.” I start to put the shot down, but she catches my hand, lifting it again.
“Yes, you do. Now shoot it.”
“Ugh!” I do as she says, jamming the lime between my teeth as I shudder. “Tequila is so fierce.”
“Just like us.” She’s fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker when a country song blasts through the kitchen. “I’m going with you.”
I watch as she dances to that old Shania Twain song, thinking it would be nice to have backup on my trip. “What about your massage clients?”
“I’ll reschedule them. The beauty of my job is I can arrange it around my life.”
Walking over to the pine table with the red and white checked tablecloth over it, I open the cover of a massive hardback. “What’s this?”
“The best thing about being a woman…” Sly sings as she dances to me, handing me a tumbler and a lime. “Is that the book?”
“What book?” I frown, leaning closer to read the inscription. “The Palm is Sacred. What does that mean?”
“Apparently Fireside was founded by a bunch of witches.” Her eyes flare and she does a little starburst motion with her hand. “Mom and Ms. Alice are putting together a history of them. They want to install a plaque.” She dances off singing about having a little fun.
“Witches?” I quickly shoot the tequila and jam the lime between my teeth as I wince. It burns less on the second shot. “Think they have any spells in here?”
“Ah! They might!” Sly scurries back to where I’m flipping pages. “Give it to me.”
I watch as she slides the book around and flips big chunks, scanning her finger across the titles. “Bylaws… membership requirements… Check this out.” She leans closer. “Only females with ancestral blood connected to Fireside may join. These bitches were hardcore.”
“I wonder why they did it.”
“To fight the patriarchy, of course!” Sly holds up her fist, and I shake my head.
“You’re drunk.” I push her aside with my hip and take over searching.
It’s like a scrapbook with old letters pasted inside, black and white pictures of women in giant swimsuits at the beach, an old photo of the same women in suffragette sashes with pantaloons and giant hats.